Time for your weekly edition of the Defector Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. You can also read Drew over at SFGATE, and buy Drew’s books while you’re at it. Today, we’re talking about halls of fame, Chuck Klosterman, taxes, how to lose your virginity at 50, and more.
Before I get to your emails, let’s address the Super Bowl. Yes, the game was boring. Yes, the redemption arc of Sam Darnold is one of the better football stories in recent memory. Also, the Seahawks may have been one of the greatest teams in league history if you go by DVOA, but they didn’t have enough brand names on the roster to keep casual fans and postgame shouters from accusing them of Tim Duncanism. You’ve already scavenged those narrative morsels from the game’s carcass. But I’d remiss if I didn’t personally take a moment here to shine the brightest of lights on the greatest of Sunday’s failures…
Josh McDaniels was one of the most unpopular head coaches in NFL history, twice over. But he could always find succor by retreating back to Foxboro and serving as offensive coordinator to whichever gifted QB the Patriots happened to have lying around. This year, with Drake Maye as his charge, McDaniels did such a nice job that he was named Assistant Coach of the Year for his efforts. The man couldn’t run a team on his own, and ended up loathed by every player under him whenever he tried. But he sure could draw up a winning game plan for other head coaches!
Until Sunday. On Sunday, McDaniels got fucking rinsed by the braintrust on the opposite sideline. His game plan was dogshit, his adjustments were nonexistent, and his QB was lost. And guess who I’m choosing to blame for New England’s O-line accidentally tipping off play calls the entire game? Oh, you know I’m gonna take a shit on Joshy McD’s face for that one. Also, his boss Mike Vrabel reverted to Titans form and called for punts like he had money on his opponent. Drake Maye now has first-world PTSD as a result. So please join me in celebrating this momentous failure. We don’t have Tom Brady and Bill Belichick to kick around in New England anymore. But we still have their handsy frog of an owner to dump on, and we have Josh McDaniels and his resting dick face getting shown up by a simple four-man pass rush. That’s well worth remembering Super Bowl 60 for.
Your letters:
Rick:
I saw the Super Bowl Hellman’s ad. My thoughts are with you. Did you puke?
I did not. For the uninitiated, I hate mayonnaise and always have. Because I’ve written about this distaste at length, my mentions go nuts anytime mayonnaise shows up in the news: the Duke’s Mayo Bowl, Will Levis putting mayo in his coffee, and so forth. It’s nice to know so many people are thinking of me in such moments.
But I only hate eating mayonnaise, not seeing it out in public. So when Hellman’s—a company that loves to troll mayo haters like myself—busted out a Super Bowl ad where Andy Samberg dressed as Neil Diamond and squirted an offensive amount of mayo on every sandwich within eyeshot, I did not recoil. I didn’t even change the channel. I was just like, “Hey, that’s pretty good for a Super Bowl ad.” Will that stop any of your readers from sending me mayo content? Of course not. This is America. We don’t learn things here.
Michael:
What would affect your jump shot more: a slap in the face or a slap to the groin? Both are mid-jump.
The face slap. I kinda need my eyes more than my balls to make a jump shot. Also, any man who helps raise small children is inevitably subjecting his testicles to a years-long gantlet. Small children are both spastic and testicle-height. This is not a winning combination for daddy’s milk duds. My own kids took turn using my scrotum as an impromptu speedbag when they were preschoolers, which toughened me up more than I would have preferred. Getting hit in my nuts is still a singularly painful experience. But it’s not like when I was in my tweens and considered a nut shot to be the most traumatic thing that could ever happen to me, or any other man. It’s an awful pain, but one I’m familiar with. I know I’ll live. Also, I’m done procreating, so I don’t even need this ballbag anymore. Have at it, opposing point guards.
Now if the choice is between a slap to the face or a camera up my dick while I’m trying to hit one from downtown, then I’ll take the former. Turns out getting your balls grazed is NOT the worst pain in the world. Not even close.
Abbey:
Curious how the Chambers of Commerce in Canton, Ohio, and Cooperstown, New York, feel about a bunch of random dorks deciding to make every Hall of Fame a lukewarm county fair weekend.
It is odd that football hall voters took a look at the baseball hall’s logjam of worthy nominees and were like, “Let’s be like that!” Two years ago, they adopted a new voting system to make that dream a reality, and everyone fucking hates it. Please don’t ask me to explain the new voting rules; I’d have an easier time explaining how this country votes for presidents.
All I know is that the adrenaline rush of seeing Bill Belichick get stiffed on his first ballot isn’t worth the side effect of having an obvious Hall of Famer not be in the Hall of Fame. Again, these museums are tourist attractions. It behooves them to induct MORE nominees to include in their exhibitions, not less. I don’t wanna go to a baseball Hall of Fame that pretends Barry Bonds never existed, and I don’t wanna go to a football Hall of Fame that’s a physical manifestation of petty grudges between petty men. Let everyone in and then give visitors the dirt on each of them. It ain’t that hard. Every year the discourse ends up being more about voting processes than great athletes. That’s stupid, even if it’s predictable.
The good news is that the Pro Football Hall is already considering changes to its procedures. I’m sure the NFL will shoehorn some kind of replay element into it.
Kurt:
I love the Olympics, but find it hard to be excited about cheering for Team USA. What are your feelings on this? My current plan is rooting for Canada, as I feel they deserve it more than us.
Oh I root for the U.S. Athletes have always redeemed whatever crooked league/federation/country they play for. That’s how the forces of evil are able to get away with it so consistently. I know the IOC is evil, and I know that the U.S. is even more so. But then I see our figure skaters win the team gold, and I’m like U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! I can’t help it. These people are all so talented and, frankly, hot. It’s not their fault that Stephen Miller is the Rudolf Höss of the 21st century. They’re just trying to win gold so that they can get a decent endorsement deal before they have to go out and find a real job post-Olympics. So I’m able to stick to sports pretty easily when that’s the case. I root for us to win, but I don’t really care if we lose. That’s the best way to go for me.
I will root against the U.S. if I dislike the athlete involved. Like the USMNT? They’re all slobs who play a torpid brand of soccer. I couldn’t care less if they get drubbed by Guyana in a World Cup qualifier. My country doesn’t have to make me proud in order for me to cheer you on. But YOU have to make me proud, and that’s no guarantee. Looking at you, Ryan Lochte.
Robert:
What are your thoughts on the American flag? What does it symbolize now?
I still like it. I like the anthem, too. I like all of that Americana, because I’m an American in my bones and that flag design represents the Amercian part of my identity. That’s the reason I hate that shitbags have co-opted the flag, and many other national symbols, to champion Nazi shit. You’re making something I like uncool, and that’s the greatest crime I can think of. I want to protect the good things about this country, not disavow them. This is why every pickup truck that has a full flag decal across its windshield deserves to get run off the road.
Dan:
When are you and Chuck Klosterman fighting in a basement?
Dan is asking me this because he read this recent New York Times review of Klosterman’s new book. Reviewer Dwight Garner included this paragraph in his assessment:
Klosterman reminds me of an updated version of one of the garrulous young men in Barry Levinson’s wonderful movie Diner, sparring over records and the Baltimore Colts as if their mother’s reputations depended on it. He reminds me, too, of the very funny journalist and commentator Drew Magary, but Klosterman is cool while Magary is hot. I’d like to see them, a humidifier and a dehumidifier, fight it out in the same damp basement.
Not a common erotic fantasy for people to have, but I’ll take it. And you might be saying, “Drew, Garner only meant you’re hot in the sense of your temperament.” No. No, he meant that I’m sex personified. I’m so hot, I should be an Olympic skier. Stop trying to read his words in bad faith.
By the way, the book in question doesn’t sound very good. Also from the review:
Klosterman suspects that a near-extinction level gambling scandal will arrive someday, but he thinks betting enriches the game, “at least conversationally.” He writes: “Listening to someone talk about their fantasy football team is like listening to someone talk about their garden. Listening to that same person talk about their gambling failures is fascinating as hell.”
No it’s not.
I actually met Chuck Klosterman once. He was coming out of a shitter at a bar. I stuck my hand out, he shook it, and then he was gone. He’s roughly my height, build, and age. So if the two of us ever fought in a damp basement, we’d get two swings in before both collapsing onto the floor in exhaustion. Then we’d probably share an awkward bro hug and never see each other again. I’d like to tell you that I’m a manlier man than Chuck and could beat him to a pulp. But you’ve seen the Chopped GIF. You’re not betting on me in any fight. But hey, if you do, then Chuck Klosterman will be fascinated by the story of how I cost you $500.
Dan:
How long will we be feeling the consequences of this administration for? 30-40 years conservatively?
For the rest of your life and mine. That’s true of pretty much every president, by the way. You and I are still feeling the consequences of even the James Polk administration. This is because Polk is the president who coined the term “manifest destiny” and ended up yoinking California from Mexico in the process. Thanks, Jimmy! Kinda!
By its very nature, the presidency is a job in which you will make decisions that have permanent ramifications on the citizenry. That’s Polk forcing westward expansion, FDR implementing the New Deal, and Gerald Ford pardoning Richard Nixon. Every president leaves a mark. In the case of Trump, it’s a giant piss stain that will require an ocean’s worth of bleach to wash out.
Chuck (not Klosterman):
Have you ever tried a men’s nightgown? Total game changer. All the freedom of no pants while not being pantless and grossing everyone out.
You don’t go commando in your mangown? Lost opportunity right there, Chuck.
I have no interest in a nightgown. I wear shirt-and-shorts PJs to bed now, but I usually strip the top off (Dwight Garner swoons) before falling asleep. The top of the pajama set is far less important to me than the bottom. I can’t sleep bottomless, because then my genitals get too excited that something is about to happen. And the top gets too hot when I’m settled under my comforter, plus it rides up on me if I toss and turn. So ditching the shorts for a longer top would only exacerbate that problem. If anything, I need to go in the opposite direction and sleep in boy shorts (Dwight Garner swoons again).
HALFTIME!
Jim:
I watch a lot of hockey. Not a game goes by where I don’t hear the announcers mentioning that a Conor did such and such: Conor Bedard, Conor Hellebuyck, Connor McDavid, Conor Sheary, Conor Murphy, Conor Clifton, Conor Dewar… Connor, Conor, Conner. Should parents who want to have NHL-caliber sons name their kids Connor?
Yes. And parents who want their sons to get their emails answered in this column should name their kids Mike. That’s just analytics.
Baron:
Is it me, or is the current spate of good-to-very good NFL teams ditching their longtime head coaches en masse a sort of groupthink panic that goes something along the lines of, “Jesus, the Chiefs have come and gone and now it looks like the fucking Patriots are back and we still have the same guy we had last time they were winning?”
If you count this season, 66 head coaches have been fired in the past nine years alone. If this year’s firing squad felt different from the others, it’s only because two long-tenured guys, Mike Tomlin and John Harbaugh, were put out on the curb with the rest of the garbage. But really, mass panic among NFL owners has been the norm for pretty much my entire adulthood, if not longer.
The only thing that changes is the reason to panic. One year it’s because no other coach can find a way to beat Patrick Mahomes, another year it’s Oops, turns out that hiring a 30-something who used to pick up Sean McVay’s dry cleaning was a bad idea all of us made! It’s all the same flavor of irrationality. Teams never learn, nor do they give us fans anything to learn. How the fuck was anyone supposed to know that Mike Macdonald was the next coaching god when nobodies like Josh McDaniels had already been given two cracks at it beforehand? Does every owner pick the new guy by spinning a fucking wheel? They may as well. Because this year, they’re all gonna barge into team HQ and scream, We need to be more like Seattle! to everyone they employ. This is how Klint Kubiak ends up coaching the Raiders. It’s nonsensical, and it will always be thus.
James:
I’m fifty years old and I’ve never had sex. When I was younger, I focused on finish an advanced degree and getting established in a good job before focusing on a romantic life. It hasn’t panned out the way I had hoped. I’m now 50, have a full time job and consider myself lucky to have it. I’m also a full-time caretaker for my mom, so I don’t have the energy to devote to a relationship anytime soon. I’ll probably be very depressed when I do. Is it too late to bother? Is it even worth the effort at this point? I know this isn’t your usual thing but I’m baffled where to start. Anything would be appreciated. Thank you.
It’s absolutely worth the bother. You wouldn’t be asking me for help otherwise. Don’t wait until your mom passes away to get started on the effort. There’s never a good time to do anything in this world: have a kid, search for a new house, get your car fixed, whatever. All of that shit is inconvenient because life itself is inconvenient. But people make the time anyway.
Same deal with you, James. You’ve been single for so long that the idea of finding someone feels like an enormous project that you can’t fit into your schedule. You’re equal parts tired and daunted. There are countless single people your age who feel the exact same way. They’re divorcees, widows, recovering addicts, careerists, itinerants, or people who are just plain unlucky. I know that sounds like a dire talent pool, but it’s not. It’s just a bunch of people who have been through some shit, which makes them interesting. Attractive, even. You’ll have a lot to talk about with these people. I guarantee it.
And the better news is that you don’t necessarily have to commit to awkward shit like dating apps or adult mixers to find such a person. Ask virtually anyone who’s been married a long time (raises hand) and they’ll tell you that didn’t expect to find love where they found it, nor did they expect it to feel so easy. That was true in my case (I met my wife simply by running into her at a bar), and it can be true in yours. You could meet your first girlfriend at an ICE OUT protest, or at a support group for parental caregivers, or at a barbecue. It may not happen right away, and you’ll probably get shot down here and there. But if you’re willing, starting today, to spiritually make yourself more available to the rest of the world, then you’re giving yourself a chance. It’s worth it. Don’t say “maybe later” to any of this shit. You know that you want more than what you already have, so shake off the social rust and get after it.
OK, that’s my little pep talk. Also, hit the gym and make sure your wardrobe is on point. You’ll love yourself for doing it, and the ladies pick up on that sort of confidence. True story.
AB:
It’s tax season! What do you think about the process of filing taxes? How do you do it, and how has your process or your feelings about it changed over time?
Hire an accountant! They’ll usually save you way more money than if you do your tax return yourself.
Meanwhile, even though I finally started using an accountant only a few years ago, a lot of my process remains the same. My wife and I keep files of all our tax statements, credit card statements, and bank statements in a file cabinet. I also have our digital statements (Amazon purchase and the like) bookmarked to comb over. Every winter, I boot up Excel and create two spreadsheets: one to tabulate my freelance earnings over the course of the tax year, and another to log all of my potential deductions: home office expenses, computer equipment, cell phone payments, and anything else I can sneak by the taxman. Was that family trip from last June deductible? It is now!
Putting this second spreadsheet together takes me at least a full working day, if not two. But no one else knows the line items in these documents as well as I do, and I’m the designated tax guy in my immediate family. So if I want a fat-ass refund, I have to do all of that detailed busywork myself before turning everything over to our CPA. That’s the way I’ve always done it, and probably always will. I strangely enjoy the work, plus I love punching big numbers into the cells, because I know Uncle Sam is gonna be on the hook for it. There’s nothing dads like me enjoy more than crowing about our tax savings. That’s true whether you use an accountant or you use demon TurboTax. Happy filing.
Chris:
You’re a supervillain. Like, old-school Batman or Hanna-Barbara type of supervillain. The kinda villain where your well-laid plans get foiled by Johnny Quest, or a gang of dapper teenagers with a talking animal sidekick or some shit. What kind of henchmen do you have? I realized a long time ago mine would be the guards from Stargate (the movie). The ones with the alien mechanical suits that look like Tony Stark watched The Mummy and got really into Egypt stuff for a while. Nothing else about my villainous oeuvre would reference Egypt, but people would be too scared of my bad-ass henchman to question it.
Oh yeah, I love me some evil henchmen uniforms, like the kind the Emperor had in Return of the Jedi. If your henchmen wear evil masks and dress like they’re part of a ceremonial death cult, then that makes you just that much more of a badass villain. Even if my archnemesis is Scooby-Doo. This is why I would dress all of my henchmen in MF DOOM’s Madvillainy mask. Scooby-Doo would shit a pile of Scooby snacks at the sight of them behind me.
(Alternately, give me a gang of cockney British thugs for my security detail. They all have to be wearing pageboy caps, have fingers thick as candy bars, and be carrying lead pipes. Again, Scooby stands no chance.)
Email of the week!
Jimmy:
Minneapolis resident here. First of all, Skol! Due to Recent Events here I haven’t been quite as online as I had been in the past. I just had the chance to read your 1/20 Funbag entry and I have some thoughts I’d like to share, along with a bit of a challenge I’d like to make.
I understand your pessimism watching the ICE occupation here from afar. It’s a sentiment I’ve shared for the better part of this current Trump administration. But I believe that things actually feel significantly more hopeful on the ground here than they do for folks who are following along from home. Despite the horrors that continue to be inflicted upon all of us living here, and the significant loss experienced by those in our community who have been most affected, we are winning. The Trump admin knows this, too. It’s why they kicked Bovino’s ass to the curb and are now aggressively pursuing charges against those of us who have dared to tell ICE that we don’t like what they’re doing. They’re trying to intimidate regular folks from standing up and intervening on their neighbors’ behalf, because they know that there are simply more of us than there are ICE goons that they could ever hope to deploy here.
The strength of this movement lies in our numbers and our ability to work in parallel without answering to a defined hierarchy. Each time they arrest a college kid at a protest or shoot a nurse for filming them from the sidewalk, five more people step forward to take their place to resist. We’re doing just fine without a leader. You see, we don’t need a hero. We have plenty of those on every street corner of the city already. All we need are regular ass folks to find their strength, protect their neighbors, and make it just as difficult for ICE to conduct their work in those communities as they’ve made it difficult for us to do ours.
I believe the main thing preventing most people from doing exactly that is the same pessimism you mentioned in your Funbag entry. But I know from recent experience that the cure for this malaise is to simply get involved. I suspect most of your readers aren’t too different from how I was a month ago: politically aware, despondent about the increasingly fascist vibes emanating from our country, but not terribly engaged in any efforts to change those vibes. Having a fascist militia dropped on your doorstep is legitimately life-altering, and I think you have a platform to empower some of your readers to become more engaged in their own communities.
So, a challenge: come to Minneapolis, talk to a few of the incredibly normal folks involved in what’s happening here, write about what you find, and try to bring some of that same neighborly spirit home with you. I have a feeling you’re going to need it there soon, and your readers are likely going to need it in their communities too. Lord knows we could all use a good lawyer right now. If enough of us discover how we can share the skills we already have with our neighbors, they won’t be able to build a statue large enough for us all.
Nothing I can add to that.