Let’s Remember Our Cars | Defector

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. And buy Drew’s book, The Night The Lights Went Out, through here.

My first car was a Jeep. Two-door Cherokee. Black. It had a working tape deck and an eager gas pedal, which was all I required. I drove that car to college and back a hundred times. I drove it to work. I drove it to my best friend’s house. I drove it to Boston. I drove it to New York City. I drove it to see girls. I drove it to parties, houses, stadiums, and ski resorts. I almost always drove alone, and preferred it that way. If I had a trip coming up and I knew it would be just me and my car, I was content. I’d load up on shitty food, plunge a cassette into the stereo, jack the volume up to the point of pain, and tear ass up and down I-95. I loved that car.

I’m not alone. Americans love their cars, which bodes ill for the future of civilization but makes perfect sense to anyone who’s ever had a long-term relationship with their own Jeep, Honda, or Ford pickup. Even in the digital age, you will spend an inordinate amount of your life inside a metal box rolling on asphalt, so you better have a car that feels like home. And every car I’ve owned has felt like home, in ways both good and bad. Every car of your life doubles as an era.

After the Jeep, I had an old Audi that my old man sold to me for a buck. I would have loved that car, except that it was already a sunk cost, to the point where it was worth three figures when I traded it in for a Kia Soul. In advance of our first child, we became a two-car household, with my wife buying a Honda CR-V. Every time our daughter spotted another CR-V on the road, she’d scream out “ANOTHER NEW CAR!” from the backseat. We don’t own that CR-V anymore, but we still shout out “ANOTHER NEW CAR!” whenever we pass by any CR-V on the road. When the third child came, we traded in the CR-V for a minivan. White Toyota Sienna. My wife loved that car. I respected it, but it wasn’t my old Jeep. It wasn’t my sanctuary. No minivan populated with small children ever is. I loved things about my Kia Soul, but its apparent lack of shock absorbers left it short of being The One.

Then the pandemic hit, and both our cars got sick along with the rest of the world. My wife traded in the old minivan for a new one. I traded in the Kia for a Hyundai. I spent more on this car, because I am old and particular. I spent wisely. I love this fucking thing. It won’t turn heads in any parking lot (I still have trouble spotting it in a crowded one), but I don’t buy cars for the status. I buy a car for the car, and this car treats me right. I love the seats. I love my CarPlay setup. I love the seat aircon. I even love the GPS lady’s voice, and I’m hardwired to despise automated voices. The fact that GPS lady knows where all of the speed cameras around town are located is probably the biggest reason I’m so taken with her.

Because your relationship with your car matters. As with your favorite album or your favorite film, your favorite car is a talisman. A motorized repository of memories from a certain stretch of your life, and all of the drives you made to and from those memories. I’ve only had my Hyundai for three years, but my car and I have already lived a lot together in those years. I’ve driven that car to beaches, to cities, to work, and to see my loved ones. Some of these trips were fraught, both emotionally and traffic-wise. But a great car, a car you truly love, softens all of those harsh contexts.

I can’t count on the rest of the world to cooperate with my wishes. But my car? My car understands my needs. It knows I’d like to keep listening to that episode of the Check The Mic podcast. It knows how I like my seat positioned. It knows that I will sing my ass off for the first few minutes of a song before my voice gets tired and I shift down to humming. And it knows that I was mildly jealous that my daughter got to drive my car to school every morning. It knows I’m lost without it.

I’m at the Defector team meetings this week. The drive was relatively short, but still long enough to count as romantic. I’ve had a long summer. Made a lot of long drives. Had a lot of long thoughts on those drives. But my car never failed me during those extended, solitary hours. My car was there, ready to blow a gentle stream of cool air up my backside whenever I needed it. I loathe driving as much as any other harried American does. At the same time, I still have the same Kerouac-ian ideals (NOTE: I have never read Kerouac) about the great American road, and the vehicles that populate it every day. I don’t always love the road, but I do love my car. As long as I have it, I’ll always have somewhere to go. I’ll always be able to roam freely.

The Games

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

Five Throwgasms

Bears at Commanders: You better get used to seeing this matchup in this slot whenever it pops up again over the next few years. Both Caleb Williams and Jayden Daniels are fascinating to watch even when they’re eating shit, and soon neither QB will be eating shit in this league terribly often.

Four Throwgasms

Eagles at Bengals: I have no use for Saquon Barkley discourse, regardless of how he plays with the Eagles or how the Giants play without him. Running backs have conspicuously undervalued for decades now, but the Giants would still look like shit even if they had God himself getting 30 carries a game. And the Eagles are still coached by your sister’s worst boyfriend, which means that the only meaningful games Barkley will play for them will come against … the Giants.

Bills at Seahawks

Three Throwgasms

Cowboys at 49ers: Both these teams can’t be imploding right in front of us, can they? I ask that with hope, not disbelief.

Two Throwgasms

Falcons at Bucs: The Bucs no longer have any wideouts and the Falcons have already gotten the full Kirk experience in just seven tidy weeks: big yardage, strip sacks, winning record, negative point differential. The NFC South will never escape itself.

Vikings at Rams

Giants at Steelers

Titans at Lions

Colts at Texans

Packers at Jaguars

Cardinals at Dolphins

One Throwgasm

Chiefs at Raiders: My short list of teams that are in active freefall now includes the Raiders, Jets, Pats, Saints, Browns, Panthers, and Titans. Before the trade deadline, all of these rosters will get looted like a trick-or-treat bowl with a TAKE TWO sign taped to it.

Panthers at Broncos

Ravens at Browns

Saints at Chargers

Jets at Patriots

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

“We Strive For Excellence,” by Clutch! Yes, Clutch has returned to the Jamboroo, courtesy of reader Nathan:

While this isn’t Clutch’s best song ever, it is still an awesome song and my favorite on their new album. Also, it takes us back to the halcyon days of Schwinn bikes, homemade bike jumps, and Evel Knievel. Pledge allegiance to the denim flag!

Done.

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 2024 chopping block:

Robert Saleh—FIRED!!!

Mike McDaniel

Brian Daboll********

Dave Caneles

Doug Pederson**

Kevin Stefanski**

Nick Sirianni

Mike McCarthy*

Antonio Pierce

Dennis Allen*

Jonathan Gannon

Jerod Mayo

Brian Callahan

Kyle Shanahan

(*potential midseason firing)

Now that Robert Saleh has been fired early, I have a taste for blood. I was rooting FOR the Pats in London, strictly because I wanted to see Doug Pederson get dispatched directly into the Thames. You can’t just fire one guy and then leave me hanging, owners. I demand more heads be brought before me.

Great Moments In Poop History

Reader Joe sends in this story I call ABOUT LAST DUMP:

This happened yesterday and I haven’t found out the full story. I may never. Some friends were staying with us for a week and, since they were on vacation, drank plenty of booze and ate plenty of bad food. Yesterday they were in the airport lounge waiting for their flight home. As they were packing up their stuff to board, the husband leaned over to fart and totally shat himself.

He had to do a walk of shame thru the lounge with an ever-growing wet spot on the ass of his shorts. With checked bags, he had no change of clothes and they were boarding shortly. At that point, his wife texted my wife to tell her exactly what had transpired up. After that, I presume they got on their flight because we haven’t had any contact since. I assume he found out that she ratted him out and told her to knock it off. I’m not seeing him for several months, so I may never hear how this ended but it’s definitely the worst type of nightmare. That is all.

Joe, please update us on this story should it develop further.

And Now Let’s Go Down To The Sideline And Check In With Charissa Thompson

“Drew, you were talking about cars earlier. Here’s another car story: former Packers tackle David Bakhtiari owns eight, yes EIGHT, Cybertrucks. When I asked Bakhtiari why he liked the Tesla vehicles so much, he told me that I wouldn’t understand because I was, quote, ‘a girl.’ Back to you, Drew.”

Thank you, Charissa.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Ursus! Talk about a MAJOR beer! From Oliver:

Ursus beer. From lovely Romania, where I lived for a while. Would highly recommend going there. I lived in beautiful Bucharest, the Paris of the East.

It’s just cheap-ass standard beer, tastes like Coors Light, whatever. It’s totally fine. Having taken Latin in high school (nerd alert), I could kind of understand 30% of Romanian, because it’s based on Latin. So I knew that “Ursus” just means “bear.” So it’s “Bear Beer.” Bear Beer! For some reason, the basicness of the name always killed me.

Anyway, I was having trouble with drinking at the time, and would hide from my Romanian girlfriend in the park to have some Ursus. Then I’d come home, and she’d be like, “You were drinking fucking Bear Beer again, weren’t you?” It wasn’t really funny because she was mad, but I could never hear the words “Bear Beer” without cracking up, which then would get me in more trouble.

Also, in Romania, they sell beer in two-liter plastic bottles, like a two-liters of Coke. I drank those for a while. My girlfriend was like, “This is very shameful. And white-trash. These are meant for long-distance truckers. Only truck-drivers drink these.” So I guess there are a lot of drunk Romanian truckers prowling the roads. Anyway, this is what I love about living in foreign countries. You learn so many new things.

And now I have too! BEAR BEER ON THE LOOSE!

Gameday Movie Of The Week For Browns Fans

Rebel Ridge, which is exceedingly well made but also fails to deliver enough ownage to leave certain viewers (me) satisfied. Also, Don Johnson should be in more good movies. Playing a total dick. Three stars.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

“Attention families, this is Mother Goose. The following cars have been broken into:”

Enjoy the games, everyone.