The Internet Can Belong To You Again

Drew Magary’s Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo runs every Thursday at Defector during the NFL season. Got something you wanna contribute? Email the Roo. Buy Drew’s new novel, “Point B,” here.

Not all of you will get to read this post. This site has a paywall. That means that you’ll only be able to read it for free if you haven’t used up a predetermined allotment of free articles we dish out to newcomers each month: blog-pushers giving you a taste of the primo shit. If you’ve already used up that allotment and you ain’t paid up, you’re gonna have to shell out a few bucks to read past this single, lustrous, expository paragraph.

But if you DID pay up … well now, here we are. It’s just you and I now, isn’t it?

[dims the lights]

[pours you a stiff one]

If the world we live in weren’t so fucked, I would have preferred that everyone be able to read this. It’s what my ego craves, so much so that I regularly ask my boss Tom Ley for page view counts on my posts, followed by him reminding me that we don’t have to care about those numbers anymore. But a decade of working on the free internet gifted my ego a habit it’s not too eager to kick. When I first started blogging, at my own Blogspot site, it was a revelation because it meant I didn’t need anyone’s approval to publish my work, and that anyone who wanted to read it could. And they did. That hit of attention was all I needed. If I didn’t write “The internet is the ultimate meritocracy!” at some point afterward, then I certainly nodded in approval at anyone who did. We could all be here, I thought. We could all make this work.

We could not. I didn’t see that the same inequalities that plague the analog world are all too present here online. Nor did I foresee the advent of social media consolidating the collective internet and placing it under the thumb of just two or three companies. I certainly didn’t expect those companies treating Nazis among their most valuable customers, like an NFL team refusing to bounce a violent drunk from the stadium because he paid full freight for a season ticket. It was inevitable that large companies would find a way to harness the internet’s users, organize the content they read and watch, and then find a way to wring maximum profit from the exchange. I suppose it was also inevitable that, as in real life, people can’t all get along here.

Because they can’t. They shouldn’t even have to. Every day you spend on Twitter or Facebook means you inevitably encounter someone who, in real life, you’d want absolutely nothing to do with. If you’re a tech CEO, or you’re just some pie-in-the-sky shithead, you could make the argument that forcing unlike people to interact can lead to a better understanding between them. That argument, as the past four years have REPEATEDLY proven, is worthless. Turns out that interacting with random dickheads not only makes me like them even less, but it makes me hate anyone else who DOES like them. I got better things to do with my time than spend it trying to understand the origin story of a fucking Ted Cruz fanboy.

I am hardly alone in coming to this epiphany. Before social media, and before your parents figured out how to use the internet, the web was ramshackle enough that you could find your niche and hide there if you liked. There’s nowhere to hide anymore, especially now that the big boys have all but destroyed the smaller, independent, localized branches of the American media. And the isolating effects of the pandemic have, in yet another goddamn feat of tragic irony, forced many of you to expose yourselves to the terrors of the online horde even more often than you would have normally. In 2020, the internet has become a place where you have to be, but don’t necessarily WANT to be.

You can think of this as one of the growing pains of a species that wasn’t ready to exist digitally and has only begun learning to do so. It’s like any other facet of life: You need to fuck up in order to learn how to do things right. And what people like me have slowly come to learn that the internet needs its niches back. Those niches are slowly arriving in new forms: Substacks, co-ops, privatized social media accounts (in fact, Twitter’s quality filter is so stringent now that even I, with a public account, can see only a fraction of my replies these days), group text chains (which I despise but my kids swear by), subscription-based indie joints like this one, and message boards that assorted perverts never bothered to leave. Not all of those niches are good, especially those in the Weiss/Sullivan/Yglesias district, but at least I never have to visit those areas if I don’t want to. There are a few walls now, be they paywalls or otherwise.

This is the slow disentanglement of the internet playing out in real time. It won’t be clean. And God knows there are people at all levels of the food chain who would prefer it never happen. But it’s happening all the same. As in real life, people need shelter online. Because online IS real life now. How much time do you spend on here every day? Eight hours? More? First thing I do when I wake up is check my phone, man. Same with my oldest son and my daughter. It only makes sense to re-organize the internet into distinct neighborhoods, so that people can find a home online and enjoy it.

Again, it won’t be clean. Using a paywall, as Defector and other sites do, automatically shuts out people who are short on cash at the moment. If you have a private Snapchat account, screenshots are still forever. Echoes of segregation, both voluntary and involuntary, lurk all around. And the desire to be as public as possible is still strong among an American population that’s been groomed to crave fame and taught that notoriety is equally valuable. I count myself there. So this is a process. But it’s a worthy one, because the model we have now is clearly a bad one. Everyone needs to be able to fuck off to their corners. And look at that: We have our own corner now. Zillow says Defector’s curbside appeal is STAGGERING.

I started reading Deadspin back in 2006. I’ve written this before, but I remember logging onto that site for the first time and being like, “Holy shit, these are my people.” Back then, the site had an invite-only commenting system. When Will Leitch gave me an invite, I felt like I got a ticket to the fucking Wonka factory. I felt like I had found a home. A safe space, as it were.

It’s both fitting and amusing that, over a decade later, I and the rest of this staff had to flee Deadspin in search of a new home of our own. Real full-circle shit. We had to build this new home ourselves, but it’s finished and it’s safe for both ourselves and hopefully for you as well. Feels comfortable here, doesn’t it? Of all the things that happened this year, I’m just happy we have this now. Maybe one day you’ll branch off and build a home of your own for you and your friends. You can do it. You can be part of building new niches. New communities, even. Because there’s an infinite amount of real estate to be had here, and don’t ever let anyone trick you into forgetting it.

The Games

All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.

Five Throwgasms

Cowboys at Giants: I ache for a 6-10 NFC East champ, and the only way to get it is if the Giants win this game and the WFT loses. That’s not a guaranteed outcome, but this division doesn’t deserve the relative dignity of having a 7-9 team at the top if it. I want the East to be utterly humiliated, which means Dave Gettleman is my only hope.

Steelers at Browns: After everything the Browns have done this season, it would be so painfully Browns if they somehow blew a playoff spot by losing two weeks straight to the Jets and to a Steelers team with nothing to play for. I can’t look. The second Lamar Jackson came back from wiping his ass, everything went downhill for Cleveland.

Dolphins at Bills

Four Throwgasms

Packers at Bears: Troy Aikman made a rare cromulent point last week when he pointed out that, because only two teams get a bye in these playoffs, more teams will be forced to play their starters in Week 17, as the Packers will have to do on Sunday. This obviously makes for a better Week 17 than previous years, where over half the slate was just preseason-quality garbage. But it’s not worth making Week 17 mildly more interesting at the expense of one bye per conference. Byes already skew the odds considerably, even more so if only two teams get to enjoy them this time around. I want the byes gone. And no 17th regular-season game in 2021 either! HAVEN’T YOU FUCKED WITH MY POOR SPORT ENOUGH, ROGER?!

Cardinals at Rams: I’m quietly glad the NFL staged a full season. It was hilariously irresponsible and it added a whole new level of bootlicking to the Schefter division of the NFL media. But I still remember when there were no sports in the spring, and it was the worst. I can’t go through that again, and thanks to aggressive corporate negligence, I won’t have to. HOORAY!

That said, it’s all too 2020 that a playoff spot in the NFC could come down to a potential duel between John Wolford and the immortal Chris Streveler. I know Kyler is gonna play Sunday, but the Streveler lurks. One tweak is all it takes. It would be like watching Matt McGloin square off against Matt McGloin.

Three Throwgasms

Ravens at Bengals: I drank a lot of egg nog before Christmas and my daughter started trolling me by calling it mayo every time I poured a glass. She was like HOW’S THAT MAYO, DAD?! Not cool, girl. Not cool at all.

Titans at Texans

Seahawks at Niners

Two Throwgasms

WFT at Eagles: Dwayne Haskins was released this week because he’s awful. Haskins’ downfall is gave our most venerable sportswriters yet another opportunity to treat young athletes like toddlers in need of a beating. Witness Sally Jenkins at the Post:

Nope. Not gonna read another word of this patronizing garbage. Get your shit together, Sally.

Saints at Panthers

One Throwgasm

Chargers at Chiefs: I love Justin Jefferson because he plays for my team, but I won’t complain if Justin Herbert wins OROY over him instead. Look at Herbert’s numbers, man. Eat the tape if you’re so inclined. The man plays like he’s been in the league for seven years now, and he did it with a millstone of a head coach in charge. This is probably the last losing season Justin Herbert endures for a long while. I can’t believe Dean Spanos lucked into him. The world is wrong.

Falcons at Bucs

Jaguars at Colts

Raiders at Broncos

Jets at Patriots

Vikings at Lions

Pregame Song That Makes Me Wanna Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

“Anarchy Up Your Anus,” by Mr. Bungle! First time Mr. Bungle has ever graced this column, and they’re long overdue. Reader Tyler explains:

Here is a very specific middle-aged dad take: Mike Patton is the greatest lyricist in rock history. I’m not saying that merely because “Anarchy Up Your Anus” is called “Anarchy Up Your Anus.” Go back to Mike Patton’s work with Faith No More. You won’t find Taylor Swift singing a song about being a selfish newborn called “Zombie Eaters.” She’s too busy wearing vintage hats in a forest somewhere. Mike Patton is a genuinely, beautifully weird person, and there aren’t enough of those right now.

Gregg Easterbrook Memorial Haughty Dipshit Of The Week

It’s investigative journalist AC Shilton, who apparently never investigated how NOT to sound utterly fucking tone-deaf in the middle of a pandemic.

A farm. A FUCKING FARM! A normal person would be like, “Well, I bought a waffle iron.” AC bought a goddamn farm and then had the sack to pine for a squat rack after the fact. The Hilaria Baldwin energy only goes stronger if, like me, you go foolishly wading into the replies.

That IS very extra, lady. Me? I’m just glad I bought a home gym and a Gulfstream prior to all this. We really went for it!

Cryptkeeper Al’s Lock Of The Week: Patriots (-5.5) vs. Jets

“EEEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!!! Bad news for A-DAMNED Gase, my kiddies! Our friends from the SEVERED HEADowlands are happy they won two games in a row. But I’m afraid HACKobi Meyers and Jarrett STITCH ‘EM will leave your hopes for a third win … [holds up a basement noose] HANGING!”

Cryptkeeper Al’s 2020 record: 0-1

Bad Local Commercial Of The Week!

Bay Ridge Chrysler! Did you know Chrysler dealerships still exist? Apparently they do! Here’s Justin to explain, kinda:

The crash test dummy in this ad is a real man in a dummy suit, so emphasis on the “relatively” there. If anything, you should be even more suspicious of a dealership that has a healthy TV production budget and yet still turns out an ad like this one. That’s not a bad deal on a Durango, though.

Fire This Asshole!

Is there anything more exciting than a coach losing his job? All year long, we’ll keep track of which coaches will almost certainly get fired at year’s end or sooner. And now, your potential 2020 chopping block:

Bill O’Brien—FIRED!
Dan Quinn—FIRED!
Matt Patricia—FIRED!
Anthony Lynn
Adam Gase
Doug Marrone
Doug Pederson
Mike Zimmer
Jon Gruden

(* - potential midseason firing)

Came so close to Nagy, Fangio, and Taylor all getting the boot next week. And yet.

Great Moments In Poop History

Reader Andrew sends in this story I call CROCODILE DUMPDEE:

Honestly, all I wanna do now is check out that park.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

PB Max! This was the greatest candy bar ever and it was allegedly discontinued because the Mars family hated peanut butter. How the fuck you run a candy empire while hating peanut butter is beyond me, but these candy Sacklers did it all the same. I DEMAND MORE CANDY THAT HAS PEANUT BUTTER AND LITTLE CRUNCHIE THINGIES IN IT.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Jeju Pellong Ale! Reader Scott sends in this strangely tropical-looking shit beer from South Korea:

OK but hear me out: Soju beer.

Alex Guerrero’s Lifehack Of The Week!

“The average spool of dental floss runs about 40 yards. That’s MORE than enough floss to pass through your entire digestive tract with a single strand. Experiencing this passage, in a quiet room, is a favorite practice among my clients. We call it The Running Of The Qi. It’s a full physical and spiritual flossing. It rids the soul of unwanted debris.”

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Jets Fans

The Gentlemen, which brings Guy Ritchie back to the Lad Cinematic Universe. I wish he had never left it. I still have Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels committed to memory, so I’ll watch any Ritchie movie featuring British scum doing scummy British things. Given that Ritchie is now wealthy and famous, this movie’s inner workings take place at the top of the crime food chain instead of the bottom. Hence, there’s a lot of violence but also a lot of fetching interior design. It’s like if Nancy Meyers made good movies.

The Gentlemen features an American lead character in Matthew McConaughey—presumably so that the movie could get financed at all. McConaughey speaks in Lincoln Navigatorese through the whole thing, but I didn’t mind that. I also didn’t mind Hugh Grant playing the kind of louche shitbag that the REAL Hugh Grant clearly is. And I didn’t mind Henry Golding showing up as a belligerent ganglord on the rise. I will now watch Henry Golding in any movie he’s in. He’s the absolute shit.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

Enjoy the games, everyone. And have a happy new year.