Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering treasure maps, onside punts, prison phone mishaps, and more.
In light of the Cardinals/Astros hacking thing, I’m wondering: What would be the most interesting team to hack?
That’s the funny thing about Birdghazi, because the Cardinals hacked into the dullest, boringest team possible. That Astros aren’t even good! What could you possibly glean from hacking them, apart from their plans for Baptist Night? (First thousand Baptists get a free promise ring!) If I’m hacking a team, I’m picking the juiciest, least digitally secure team possible. I was gonna say the Patriots were No. 1, but they already let the NFL hack a portion of their data voluntarily, and it was AMAZING. So here’s how I would rank them:
1. Cleveland Browns. The motherlode. Remember: This is the team that somehow got punished for fucking up TEXTS. I bet their database includes terrible trade ideas, white-collar-crime blueprints, rejected uniform designs (“What about a dog right on the crotch?”), gossip about Johnny Manziel getting drunk and fondling your pets, and OCEANS of private bitching. It’s the Browns. They all hate each other. I’d read their emails with my pants down.
2. New York Knicks. Again, everyone involved with that franchise hates one another, so I’d give anything to infiltrate their network and read all of Phil Jackson’s rambling horseshit (He’s like a New York Times commenter that someone allowed to run a basketball team). Just the most eminently skimmable email missives you can imagine. I bet he has Deepak Chopra shit in his email sig. Also, you’d get all of the harassment complaints about Isiah, and James Dolan openly demanding people go see his band if they want their Christmas bonuses.
3. St. Louis Cardinals. If only to find out what other teams they hacked. I would like to expose ALL of the Cardinals’ hypocrisies. By day, they are scrappers. By night, they wear goat leggings and ritually slaughter a baby in the center of a lit pentagram. That’s a fact. I just need the emails to prove it.
4. Philadelphia Eagles. “Guys, we need more white players.” MY GOD, LESEAN MCCOY WAS RIGHT!
5. Baltimore Ravens. Somewhere in that data breach, I could find a damning email that re-ignites the Ray Rice controversy and lets it burn for another nine months. Someone emailed a casino manager, or got a delivery confirmation from FedEx, or they have a phone vid of Terrell Suggs biting a woman’s toe off. I can take any email like that and use it to bitch endlessly about Roger Goodell. It’s my lifelong pursuit.
6. L.A. Lakers. Just Kobe typing in all caps at everyone. “I’M NOT HURT.” “OUR PLANE NEEDS BETTER UPHOLSTERY.” “YOU PEOPLE ARE WASTING MY PRIME.”
7. Dallas Cowboys. I’m sure the Double J scribbles most of his trade ideas on cocktail napkins, but there have gotta be a few gems that made it into email form. Also, Jerry gets surreptitiously photographed with a new hooker every week. God knows how many blowjob shots his son has to order wiped from the team server. CUT IT OUT, DAD, JEEZ.
8. Washington Redskins. So much bitching about RG3. “Christ, what did he do now? Oh God, really? Jesus.” Plus, we could discover the franchise’s plans for putting white spokespeople in redface, read their media-strong-arming tactics, and bask in all of their collective paranoia. In private, I guarantee you that everyone with the ’Skins is as humorless and imperious as they are in public. Their lack of self-awareness is practically god-like.
9. LA Clippers. “What if we signed my nephew? He’s really good!”
10. NY Yankees. They hate A-Rod so much publicly. Imagine how much they hate him privately! In private, I bet they have elaborate plots to kill him: big diagrams with a stick-figure A-Rod walking under a falling piano, a cached Google search for INTERNATIONAL ASSASSINS, etc. They probably have emails from the team lawyer that are like, “Well, you COULD do that if you were able to somehow lure him into international waters ….”
11. Cleveland Cavaliers. You’d probably find a PDF schedule for when David Blatt has to go mow LeBron’s lawn. Speaking of which…
David Blatt just proves Phil Jackson is overrated, right? LeBron took a bunch of nobodies and a shitty coach to the Finals and even managed to win two games. It turns out having one of the greatest players on your team is a huge competitive advantage. Who would have thought? Phil’s latest tweets make it seem like he doesn’t know anything about the way the game is played now. Is it possible he never did? He had Jordan, Pippen, Rodman, Kobe, and Shaq, not to mention a serviceable supporting cast. How many coaches couldn’t have won titles with that? David Blatt never would have gotten Jordan to the Finals, because Jordan would have had him fired immediately. Is Phil’s greatest achievement doing enough not to get Jordan to remove him?
BUT HE BOUGHT PLAYERS BOOKS! You have to give him credit for that. Listen, Phil Jackson is an out-of-touch loon these days, and he took a no-show gig for James Dolan because Dolan’s paying him a fuckload of money. But clearly, he did something right to win all those titles. It’s not like Kobe Bryant won a title with any other coach. He needed Phil’s patented blend of thoughtful book-lending and Buddhist horseshit. Maybe Phil is so up his own ass that big-name players ASPIRE to be like him one day. “Look at what an aloof prick that guy is. If I do what he says, maybe I can be that comically arrogant, too!” He and his players are of one mind.
In general, you can formulate any annoying sports argument where X guy was only good because of Z guy: Montana was only good because of Rice, Brady was only good because of Belichick, etc. You can’t prove any of this, but you also can’t DISPROVE it, which is what makes it so much fun. A dog could have coached Jordan to six titles. Prove me wrong. You can’t. Suck my balls.
How much money would it take for you to stare at an analog clock for an entire hour? Watch every single second tick by. I’d do it for the sum of my student loans, no problem.
Just an hour? I did that for free back when I took Spanish. Anyway, I would gladly do that for a thousand bucks. A thousand bucks an hour is good money! No one should turn that down if we’re talking about just an hour. Now, if we’re talking about a whole DAY, or a whole year of eight-hour shifts staring at a clock, then my fee goes up. I remember that one Spanish teacher I had, man. He was torture. I swear I saw the second hand tick backward at one point. It happened. I entered some kind of boredom nether-portal. God, school is terrible. We should ban school.
If, once your kids are off to college & you can finally exhale, you one day got a thoroughly detailed treasure map in the mail from someone claiming to be a long-lost relative, how long would wait before taking action? A few weeks? A year?
Half a second? If I find One-Eyed Willie’s map in the attic, I’m rounding up Data, Chunk, Mouth, and all my wacky friends to go salvage it. Some treasure hunts are real, and can involve shitloads of cocaine! I want to believe. I want to believe there is a cave somewhere that contains a pile of gold and jewels and has literal treasure chests bursting with shiny minerals. I will never be the guy who cries out PHOTOSHOPPED! when presented with a kickass treasure map. People like that have no soul.
Besides, don’t underestimate how bored old people are. Once the kids leave, you are left with all of the anxiety of a parent but none of the busywork. It’s torture. That’s why old people get into genealogy and shit. They have no clue what to do with themselves, but they are incapable of doing nothing. So if a treasure map fell into my lap, I’m commissioning an ocean submersible that same day to start the hunt. HANDS OFF ME POT O’ GOLD.
I wanted to know why no football team has never tried an “onside” punt. Let me run a scenario and let you know how I think this would work. I see a situation like a fourth and 8 when you have the ball on the other team’s 40-yard-line and you’re down by more than a field goal with say about 3 minutes left to go.
What would happen is the punting team would line up in punt formation and act as if a typical punt was about to occur. Then punter would then kick the ball basically straight up into the air but just past the line of scrimmage. The ball would then fall just near the unsuspecting defensive linemen, having a fairly decent chance of the defensive team touching the ball with the offensive side aware of what was about to occur and waiting to pounce on the ball. I would put the odds of this working about 50 percent.
There’s no way that has a 50 percent chance of working. First of all, if you recover it near the line of scrimmage, you probably didn’t get enough yardage for the first down. A defender has to pick up the ball and then fumble it for you to get a fresh set of downs. And even on a short-yardage punt, 10 guys on the offense have their backs to the ball, and they’re all running downfield. This is why you rarely see an offensive player recover a blocked punt. The defense has an inherent advantage in locating the ball and seizing it. Also, if you fuck up this proposed onside punt, you’re left with a three-yard punt that could very well be scooped up and returned for a touchdown. You know how mad you would be at your coach if he drew up that play and that was the end result? You would throw a pitcher of warm Coors directly at your TV.
The way you would have to set it up is like this: It’s fourth and way short, and you’re at the opponent’s 45. You bring in the punt team, tricking everyone into thinking you’re pussing out. You put two upbacks on either side of the punter, just a bit in front of him. You snap the ball, and then each lineman cuts block his man, then stands up and turns around as the punter aims his kick directly AT a defender on the ground, and then you pray that the ball rolls the necessary two feet or whatever for first down yardage. The linemen and the two upbacks then converge on the ball. A pile ensues. Fingers are twisted. Penises are grabbed. I would give this a 0.2 percent chance of working, which means Chip Kelly should try it.
In general, I don’t like that kickoffs and punts have disparate rules regarding a live ball. If a punt goes 10 yards, it should be live. Then you’d have your onside punting. That would give me a boner.
I’m sitting on the train, right now. The guy I’m sitting next to just pulled out a bag of popcorn. Fresh popped, like you get at the fair. It smells really good. What do you think he’d do if I just reached over and took a handful? Would I be awesome, or an asshole? Aw damn, they are pulling into my station. What do I do? Auuuuugh I can’t do it! I’m 40! I’m too old for this shit! Did I make the right choice?
You did. Don’t bogart that guy’s popcorn. That’s a dick move. Imagine some grubby stranger doing that to you at a movie theater. You’d be well within your rights to kill that man. You don’t fuck with other people’s food. Not in America. Every time I walk by a sidewalk café, I want to grab someone’s omelet and eat it like a taco. But I don’t, because I am civilized, and because I don’t want to be murdered.
Frankly, I’m more impressed that a dude on a train somehow whipped out a fresh bag of popcorn. Where did he get it? Was there a carnival happening inside the train station right at the moment of departure? Did Amtrak give him exclusive access to the café car microwave? What’s his secret? That’s a really difficult smell to withstand. There are certain food smells that induce mooching, where you go, “Oh, that smells SOOO good,” and then silently wait for the other guy to offer you some, which he NEVER does. Popcorn is up there. In fact, let’s just rank the mooch smells right now:
2. Movie popcorn
3. Freshly baked cookies
5. Bubble gum. How the fuck does a stick of bubble gum create so much odor?
If you could fly, what is the correct position for your arms assuming they do not influence speed and direction?
The correct position is straight out in front of you, just like Superman. That is what looks the most badass. The problem is keeping them up. I held my arms out just now to see how long I could do it. After one minute, fatigue set in. After two minutes, I was whimpering like a clubbed monkey.
Your arms would also get similarly tired if you held them fast against your body, pretending you’re some kind of human bullet. Thus, if you could fly, you would probably end up flying horizontally but with your arms hanging DOWN, looking like a complete moron. Still worth it, obviously. But I figured it was worth warning you.
Why haven’t vending machines been redesigned to move the change dispenser up at least three feet from where they typically are now? It’s a goddamn hassle having to bend down nearly all the way to the bottom right corner of a vending machine to retrieve my 10 cents in change.
They want you to earn those Skittles, fatty. For real though, I assume the machinations of processing the change factors in, plus the need for gravity to assist in getting the coins into the slot. Besides, there’s nothing sweeter than reaching into a change slot and discovering that the last person was either too lazy or too forgetful to grab their change. You should see the look on my face when I find a rogue quarter in there. It’s like finding that map to One-Eyed Willie’s pirate cove. I’M RICH, BITCH!
What particular type of athlete do you marvel at the most? Is it a hockey goalie who can do those crazy splits and catch a 100-mph shot from three feet in front of them? Is it a switch hitter in baseball, a guy who can hit a home run at the highest level of baseball as both a lefty and a rightie? Is it an offensive lineman in football, a guy who weighs 350 pounds but has the same agility (and maybe even speed) as someone who is 200 pounds lighter?
I usually marvel at basketball players the most, namely small guys who can dunk the shit out of the ball. There’s no luck to that. That’s not a freaky play. That is a routine thing certain guys can do because they have the athletic ability of a fucking god. That is so far removed from my skill set that I want to hurt myself looking at it.
Also: gymnastics and figure skaters and any other athlete that can jump up and then do 500 crazy twists and flips and land on both feet (or just one!): What those people can do does not biologically compute. I find those people extraordinary and terrifying.
What happens if you misdial your one phone call in jail? Legit one of my top concerns if I got thrown in the slammer.
Don’t they give you your cell phone now? Or do you still have to ask for a quarter and then use a pay phone, like it’s 1972?
Anyway, I went poking around to see if I could find an answer to your question. And while I could find no definitive answer, I did discover this completely fucking insane story about a lady who became lovers with a prison inmate who dialed her number by accident:
We’ve dealt with multiple incarcerations and homecomings, parole and the joy of being off paper, good times and bad times and everything in between and I can honestly say I wouldn’t trade a minute of it.
While I wouldn’t have gone looking for it I am grateful that we originally were a MWI (met while incarcerated) couple. This meant we were free to focus upon and nurture a loving relationship without the usual sexual activities couples who meet in more traditional ways have available. It’s interesting to me that I of all people should feel this way but truth be told expressing ourselves for the first 14 months of our relationship only through letters, phone calls and visits had a tremendous and lasting effect on both of us …
We’ve come a long, long way and are currently building a business together which I am pleased to note that he is able to participate in even while he is away. Once he is home again we will no doubt be in a much better position than ever before on that front.
HOLY SHIT! Let’s assume this story is true, because I want it to be true. How does that phone call go down?
WOMAN: Sorry, wrong number.
PRISONER: Oh, sorry. It’s just that, I’ve been in jail for eight years now, and haven’t known the touch of a woman in so long.
WOMAN: You poor creature. We should get together and fuck in a conjugal trailer.
PRISONER: Also, thinking about opening up a magic shop when I get outta here. You down?
WOMAN: AM I?!!
PRISONER: Okay, while I’m in here, just pick me up some pickaxes and iron files. You know, for building the magic shop.
Love finds a way, people.
In the spirit of Caitlyn Jenner, what if an existing quarterback went transsexual, assuming they lost none of their current ability in the process? Could such a player succeed or be accepted? I think Karen Rodgers and Beth Roethlisberger could get their fans behind them.
So they lose none of their natural ability? Fuck, I’d take Tonya Brady as my QB any day. All I care about is WINNING, people. But I am in the pocket of BIG GAY here at Gawker, so I ain’t exactly representative of the overall NFL fan population. Obviously, the press would welcome that player with welcome arms (Karen Rodgers would write an eloquent cover EXCLUSIVE for SI about it), but that player would be get a river of shit from fans, coaches, and the Pro Football Talk comment section (“Guess they’ll let anyone play QB now smdh”).
Whether or not Jamelle Winston would be able to deal with all that blazing hatred, or would even want to, is impossible to know. Michael Sam never did play in a regular season NFL game, and no NFL player has come out since. So I’m not brimming with confidence that the NFL would be willing to accommodate Drea Brees. It’s still the NFL. It’s still DURRRRR DON’T BE A DISTRACTION DURRRRR.
If a high school teacher created a 20 to 25-question multiple-choice test and made every correct answer “A,” there’s no chance anyone taking it gets them all correct, right? Not even the smartest high school kid has the balls to answer A 25 times in a row. One of these must be wrong!
Yeah, but all the stupid kids would ride with the pattern to a perfect score. Why NOT keep answering A? You were gonna fail that test anyway. Maybe the computer fucked up the answer sheet and you get to take advantage. I used to get psyched out when one letter went on a run, but that’s because I lack poise. A levelheaded stupid kid would clean up on that test.
My sister’s boyfriend recently got a job as one of those guys the MLB runs out there to hand the umpires the replay headphones. His job is to sit beside the dugout, and then, when called upon, traverse the field without making an ass of himself so that umpires can correct the call they got wrong the first time while expending the least amount of energy possible. The MLB demands that these employees (who are contracted out) wear beige khakis. Why?
I assume so that they don’t stick out? If you want to blend in, you wear beige khakis. No one stands out in beige khakis. You could escape from jail in beige khakis. There is no khaki fetish porn. If you want someone to hustle some headphones out to an ump in the most discreet manner possible, you throw some ugly-ass khakis on them and send them out there. It’s like being invisible.
Also, baseball is an old-fashioned sport, and they probably mandate khakis because they want employees to look nice, even though everyone looks forgettable and shitty in khakis. They should give the headphone boy a pair of Zubaz and a burrito cannon to get some mileage out of the delay.
Would you rather fuck you Mom’s body, but it’s your significant other’s brain, or would you rather fuck your significant other’s body, but it’s your Mom’s brain?
Mom’s brain. I’m no dummy. Who’s picking the other option? “Yes, I’ll have the literal embodiment of my Oedipal complex, thanks.”
For $10,000,000, would you shrink down to the size of an insect and live amongst these insects for one day? I mean, the concept of seeing a bunch of ants face-to-face is quite unnerving, but 10 million dollars is a lot of money.
So I have to live WITH them? Fuck. I’m scared to death of giant insects, and I go to sleep every night fearing that the world’s insects will become human-sized and devour us all. If there’s any chance of death, I can’t risk it, not even for such an insane sum. If you’re telling me that I’ll live, but that I just have withstand my day confronting enormous spiders and ants … I think I could … maybe … FUCK. Fuck. Nope. Still a coward. I can’t face the spiders, man. It’s too much. It would break me.
EMAIL OF THE WEEK!
My friend Matt and I played on a lacrosse team in Connecticut in middle school. Our team was terrible and rarely won any games. While warming up for an away game at a high school a few towns over, Matt got some bubble gut and ventured inside the school to find a bathroom. He eventually found the locker room for the boys baseball team and did the deed. Only then did he realize that there wasn’t any TP in ANY of the stalls. At the same time, the baseball team entered the locker room and found this poor kid post-poo (bad enough that he was in middle school AND from a rival town).
I don’t know exactly what transpired in that bathroom, but I do know that he returned to the field with his white jersey covered in poop. Anyway, he also happened to be one of our best players so our coaches started him at attack. The other team definitely didn’t find it funny, because he scored three fucking goals in the first five minutes. Nobody on the other team would get near him. Our entire offensive performance was predicated on wearing poop like a forcefield of feces.
Oh yeah, we still lost the game.
Drew Magary writes for Deadspin. He’s also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at firstname.lastname@example.org. You can also order Drew’s book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.
Image by Sam Woolley.