Sports News Without Fear, Favor or Compromise
Sports News Without Fear, Favor or Compromise

Beef Vs. Pork: WHO YA GOT?!

Illustration for article titled Beef Vs. Pork: WHO YA GOT?!

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we're covering mucus, decapitation, suicide by sledgehammer, and more.


Before we get to the Funbag, a quick note: Boss Craggs has asked me to round up some of the worst fraternity listserv email chains in history. So if you have any regrettable group chats, send them my way. Now, your letters.


You can eat the pig or the cow for the rest of your life. Meat only. Dairy products don't count. Which one do you pick?

The pig includes bacon (Official Meat of the Internet), ham, pulled pork, pork chops, whatever part of the pig's labia they put in Italian sausage, and so much more. Pig is the hipster animal, the one that appears in tattoo form on the back of chefs who haven't showered in eight weeks and whatnot. Go to any fashionable "nose-to-tail" restaurant cashing in on the Bourdainization of America and you will find every part of the pig on the menu: pig jowl, pig foot, piggy poop balls, etc. And I can't blame anyone for fetishizing it, because it's bacon, and it's delicious. I have bacon salt in the cabinet: It's salt, but with bacon flavor in it. In other words, it's salt that somehow has more salt added to it. I had suckling pig once, which is the best-tasting horror movie ever.

But I'll take the cow. The cow gives you steaks and burgers and brisket and pot roast and prime rib and beef franks, and I ain't saying that's a better TRUE TEAM of meat, it's just what I prefer. In the imaginary food truck that I run in my head (I spend an inordinate amount of time inside this truck), I am doing something cow-related. Burgers. Shakes. Big dripping steak sandwiches with buttered bread sopping up the juices until it's mush in your hands and you have to cram it inside your big gross mouth before it all falls apart… OH GOD FUCK YOU I JUST WANNA EAT THAT FOREVER. You gotta find your focus in life. Mine is killing and eating many cows. Delicious, stupid cows. They don't even know what kind of evil cannibalistic plans I have for them. I'm gonna make a burger that uses two ribeyes as the bun. You're dead, cows. I am coming for you.


I've got a trip to Vegas in two weeks for a bachelor party, and I got to wondering: Is there a point in a 24-hour day where no two people are having sex in Las Vegas? If there isn't, when do you think the last time was?


I'm sure it's happened as a kind of freak accident. I can't find any study on peak sex-industry hours in Vegas, but we can probably sort it out using common sense.

LATE NIGHT: Peak hooker hours. Clients have eaten and gotten substantially shitfaced, and are now ready to top off the evening with an unexpectedly sad 10 minutes of paid sex.


EARLY MORNING: Hooker business declines, but not sharply. Clients are still coming back from the clubs and strip bars, not quite ready yet to call it a night. It's pancakes and blowjobs for everyone!

MID-MORNING: Worst time for business. People who were out late are finally going to bed. Clients who went to bed earlier are eating breakfast and maybe getting some gym work in before going back to being terrible people.


AFTERNOON: Business picks back up as Persian hotel guests rent out pool cabanas and keep them stocked with hookers as needed.

EVENING: Why not get a hooker BEFORE you go out so that you don't have to worry about getting too drunk and having the hooker's bodyguard beat you to death and throw you in a drainage basin? It's really the way to go.


So if there's ever a moment when no sex is happening in Las Vegas, it's probably sometime around 10:30 a.m.


I'm in Porto Alegre, Brazil, for the World Cup and just met a bloke at a bar who is a pediatric cardiologist. Is that the ultimate one-upping occupation? Is it even a contest? Being a doctor is impressive enough as it is, but that surely takes the cake.


Nah, I think you can beat the baby-heart surgeon in lots of ways. What about the President? He trumps that easily. "Oh, me? I work in government. Well, to be specific, I run the country and manage all our wars." You've won the cocktail party with that. That doctor doesn't have a prayer. Plus, if you tell me you're a doctor, I'm gonna assume that you're a dick. You probably showed up to the party 78 minutes late and didn't even apologize. You suck, baby-heart doctor. I'll be over here talking to Moonlighting Sex Worker and Astronaut.


If a team like the Browns or Raiders tried to trade for Andrew Luck, how many first-round picks would it take? I know that conventional wisdom says it would never happen, but let's say they offer 10 first-round picks? Twenty? Thirty? Personally, I think the number is somewhere around 12-15.


I think the Colts would turn down pretty much any offer, because NFL teams are fueled exclusively by ego, and nothing gets a GM harder than being able to say NO. "We like our team a lot, you guys." For the Colts to entertain the idea of a trade, second- and third-rounders would have to be added to the mix. I think 10 years of first- and second-rounders from Oakland would probably do the trick. And even then, there'd probably be some asshole Colts fan who stitched together a half-Colts, half-Raiders Luck jersey in memoriam.

This is how valuable quarterbacks have become in football. You can trade away Andrew Luck for a mountain of picks and still wring your hands over it because Andrew Luck was a sure thing, and there's no guarantee that the 20 picks Oakland gave you (all cursed, mind you) will net anyone as good. And spending any time without a decent quarterback on your roster is fucking AGONY. This is why another team could offer up $100 million in cash and all the pills Jim Irsay could ever want for Luck, and Irsay would probably still have to sleep on it.



Of the four major sports, do you think we'll ever see a team re-locate again? I say we won't, with the long-shot exception of someone to Seattle in the NBA.


Never ever? Nah, I have a hard time buying that. The Nets JUST moved. As local economies boom and bust over decades, pro sports teams will follow the money. The Bills could still move, as could the Chargers, Raiders, and pretty much any NHL team. Did you know the Phoenix Coyotes are still the Phoenix Coyotes? I'm shocked.

That said, pro sports teams have become very adept at manipulating local governments into giving them whatever concessions they demand: new stadiums, tax breaks, a no-show job for the brother-in-law, etc. This is why no NFL has re-located since 1997. The League is so good at threatening to move that they rarely have to see it through these days. They can just muse openly about Los Angeles and suck every last resource out of the average sputtering rust-belt town. It'll take a lot to get the Bills to actually have their bluff called and move. Frankly, I'm kinda tired of having my dick teased. I want a team to move. I want a new team in London or L.A. to hate.


It'll happen somewhere down the line, either via some local government growing a backbone (unlikely) or some kind of natural calamity that irrevocably alters the makeup of the United States and perhaps the world at large. "Sixteen mega-volcanoes erupted on the Pacific Rim this week, killing over 400 million people… what does this mean for the Chargers' future?"


When people get decapitated with one quick "clean chop," are they able to see and think for a couple seconds after? Like, if my head got chopped off, would I be able to look up and recognize my headless body as I fell to the ground before the lights went out?


According to this site, it's possible but unlikely. You could maybe "see" and "think" for half a second after having your brain severed from your spinal cord, but it probably wouldn't be the kind of clear thinking and seeing that you're accustomed to. It would be a spasm. You would not be able to process it and think of a clever tweet before the lights go out for good. So do not get your head cut off.


My best friend is the worst person to text. His texts are either pointless babble, unfunny "you had to be there" texts, him constantly asking what I mean or what am I saying in a text, or having arguments just for the sake of arguing. For instance, he recently argued with me through text that Josh McDaniels would make a good NFL coach (again, a fairly recent text). Besides that, in person he's very personable, hilarious, and doesn't display any of these qualities. So how do I rectify this situation?


You can't. Even if you tell your friend that he sucks at texting, that won't magically make him better at using digital communication. I know people who are unfathomably bad at sending emails. Just a list of fragmented thoughts that don't even come close to cohesion. "at gym LOL!... late run… you around to maybe help jimmy and I with a frank house???... we should do a movie… annie got a cat CRAZY!" These are perfectly competent people I'm talking about. They aren't pill addicts or anything, but give them a phone and suddenly everything short circuits.

We need comprehensive internet education for all Americans. Kids right now are being run through the public school system with no internet/texting education of any kind, and that's completely insane. You need to be taught basic texting and emailing etiquette. You need to know what an operating system is and how to recognize when it isn't working (I know people who will happily toil on an infected laptop for decades without realize anything is wrong or bothering to do anything about it). You need to know what phishing is, and you need someone to tell you that YouTube comments are the fucking worst.


You, fair Deadspin reader, take all this knowledge for granted. But you are significantly outnumbered by the amount of remedial internet users out there… people like my oldest kid, who will scream out WHY IS THIS COMPUTER SO SLOW?! and then punch it to make it work. That's the baseline info level for the average American computer and phone user, which is bad.




In my 53 years on Earth, how many gallons/pounds of cold and allergy-related phlegm, etc., have I swallowed? And further, what happens to that stuff? Do I pass it like anything else I ingest? Does it pass as solid or liquid? Or has it congealed amongst my innards, a gelatinous mass decades in the making? There are no thoughts like Nyquil thoughts.


I don't think you pass it. I think it gets reincorporated into the natural mucus lining of your digestive system. If you have mucus in your bowel movements, that probably would indicate a severe problem. I would be more specific, but fuck you if I'm gonna do a Google search of "mucus bowel movement". I know what kind of thumbnail images that will deliver to my screen, because I am internet-educated. But here is a fun fact for you:

Even when you're healthy, your body is a mucus-making machine, churning out about one to 1.5 liters of the stuff every day. Most of that mucus trickles down your throat, and you don't even notice it.


That's right. You're drinking a yard of snot every day. TONS in your lifetime. God, that makes me so fucking hot.


Recently, the grocery store I work at (I'm in college, so minimum wage... yay) has started selling rugs. Surprisingly good-looking rugs too, not some dusty-looking shaggy things you see people donating at Goodwill that they've pulled out of hibernation from their basement. However, something about that just seems weird. I don't think anyone goes into a grocery store to buy rugs (a store like Walmart may be an exception to this, but they sell everything there. My store isn't big like that, but still a pretty well-recognized grocery store). Is it weird to buy rugs from a grocery store? It sounds weird.


It is weird, but take it from me: One of the shocking things about adulthood is when you go to buy a rug and find out how much a rug costs. It's just a rug, right? Well, turns out that rug was hand-woven by ancient Macedonians and is worth $400,000. I dunno how BIG RUG gets away with it. We're not even talking about rugs that can fly. These rugs just sit there on the ground, ready for a child to mash Goldfish into them. The prices will astound and horrify you.

So if you're telling me that I can get a decent rug at the Safeway, I'm on that shit. I know that it feels weird to buy lamps and patio furniture at the grocery store, but a bargain is a bargain. I'm the sort of the person who will exalt over a bargain like I just discovered the source of the fucking Amazon. "You where I got this rug? AT KROGER. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!" It's like meeting a Costco person. Costco people will never ever ever shut the fuck up about what they got at Costco. LOOK AT THESE PECANS!



The other day we noticed that my son hadn't pooped in about a day. Naturally, my wife was starting to freak out, so I went to the store to get some kiddie laxative and prune juice, which leads me to my email: Why is it prune juice is only sold in half-gallon bottles for $5? Everyone knows the only reason ANYONE EVER drinks prune juice is to get the ol' digestive tract moving again, and once the mission is accomplished, no one EVER says, "You know what? I got a hankerin' for a refreshing glass of prune juice," so you end up tossing out about $4.79 worth of the $5 bottle. My question to you is, does my local Kroger suck, or is this all a big conspiracy by BIG PRUNE?


I think that there's only enough demand for one kind of prune juice bottle on the drugstore shelf, and so you get them stocking the big bottle to fuck you over on price and to satisfy all the old fogies out there who have to guzzle the stuff just to prevent their bowels from going into rigor mortis. And it's a problem because prune juice SUCKS. It's brown. Why it is brown? We dye our fish so that it isn't brown. Why can't they add something… anything… to not make prune juice look like anal runoff?

Plus, that big bottle takes up a lot of fridge real estate that could be used for milk and beer. It tastes awful. And when you feed it to a constipated the child, the child will simply let it dribble down their shirt, staining it doo-doo brown forever. It stains deep. It's like oil paint. That can't be good for your clothing. How did THIS come from plums? Plums are an attractive, delicious fruit. A prune is like a plum that was beaten in Catholic school and turned criminal.


So if you have a child in desperate need of shitting, I strongly suggest you ask your pediatrician if you can use Miralax instead. It's odorless and comes in a small container and will have your child shitting like the wind. No prune juice required.


Which of the major sports would change most if it was played with one fewer player?


I was gonna say basketball, because it has the fewest players on the field/court/ice at a time, therefore one player equals a greater percentage of the active team. But then I thought about it, and it has to be baseball, because in baseball, every field position covers such a significant area. You can't take away an infielder or an outfielder without turning it into the Canadian Baseball League. The fragile stability of your defense would be annihilated. Scoring would increase dramatically. Games would take FOREVER.

It's not like football or hockey or basketball, where you have equal numbers going up against equal numbers on every possession. In baseball, the fielders are defending against the ball itself, which can travel at 100 miles an hour in any direction. It's like a snitch! A horrible, bruising snitch that wants to crush your skull. You can't alter the fragile setup of the fielders without fucking everything up.



Who do you think spends more money in a month: a single guy in his mid-twenties, or a guy in a serious relationship in his mid-twenties? My buddy (who is in a relationship) and I (single) are always arguing about who spends more. He thinks that being in a relationship is more expensive, because they pick up the tab anytime they do anything or go anywhere. He also brings up birthday/holiday/Valentine's Day gifts. But I think that being single is more expensive, because every time I go out I have to spend money on drinks for girls (who may or may not talk to you after you buy them), not to mention the 10 drinks for myself before I can be comfy talking to a complete stranger (like you would at any other social function!). In your expert opinion, who do you think is spending more?


Not to duck the question, but doesn't it depend on who you're in a relationship with? I've dated the dreaded "high-maintenance woman" who will choose expensive restaurants and will never buy any clothing that's marked down and will DEMAND a destination wedding, etc. That kind of relationship tends to end with you flat broke and singing Wham's "Everything She Wants" softly to yourself at night.

Or you date a practical woman who understands the concept of budgets and sees a visible correlation between spending habits and account balances. I spent less money while dating my wife, because once you're in a relationship, the pressure to go out all the time wanes. The only reason men go out is to get laid, and a relationship snuffs out that incentive. You can eat in. You drink less because your girlfriend is eyeing your beer count. You trade off restaurant tabs, etc. You have a cheap night out because you don't need to dazzle each other. In theory, you'll save money.


Until marriage. Once marriage and children kicks in, your spending habits leave your single friend in the dust. I had to buy a door the other day. You know how much a fucking door costs? ALMOST AS MUCH AS A RUG. Whatever you save in a relationship in your twenties compared to some playboy out on the town gets lost immediately.


What do you think is the song to which the most sex has been had? I imagine playing music during sex is a relatively recent phenomenon, so my guess is something by Marvin Gaye ("Let's Get It On" seems like a go-to, at least according to a ton of movies).


My answer, of course, is "Ave Maria."

Seriously though, it's probably some song by Donna Summer or Marvin Gaye, but not Barry White. I bet the amount of sex had to Barry White has been vastly overstated. "Here honey, let me get you into the mood by listening to this horny bear." No way. It's like having a sex coach in the room staring at you.


My personal preferences are Jimmy Cliff and Otis Redding. And Radiohead! Who among us hasn't orgasmed to "Let Down"? Like an oyster in musical form, I tell you.


How difficult do you think it would be to commit suicide by sledgehammer? I mean, you have to wield that hammer yourself, get that hammer head going with enough speed and connect with your own skull with enough force to cause fatal damage. It would be physically easy and technically simple enough, I think, to get one of those five-pound hammers going fast enough to do the deed even with just one hand. And with the bigger sledge, I think there is more potential for technical mistakes to compromise the greater potential impact damage offered by the larger and heavier tool. I'd go with the smaller, more accurate option, but friends (?) disagree. What do you think?


You could kill yourself with a sledgehammer. Look at these things. They will kill you if you nail your own face right on the money. Sometimes I will take out a regular hammer from the toolbox and think to myself, "Boy, I could really do some damage to my head with this." Sometimes, and I swear this is true, I'll even tap my head a few times with the hammer, just to see what's going on. And it hurts. Very badly. That's just a light grazing. If you were dumb enough to take a giant metal sledge hammer and whip it around into the side of your brain? Dead. Don't underestimate yourself. Or the hammer. It can be done.

A rubber mallet would be a much more interesting challenge. Because sometimes I'll hit myself with a mallet, and it feels kinda good! But if you do it too hard, then things become problematic. I bet it would take a lot of quality blows to do yourself in with one. You'd probably give yourself CTE or something. I'll try that tonight and get back to you.


Email of the week!


Recently my son started playing tee ball. The other day, the coach asked if I would mind working the electric scoreboard in the outfield from the little tower behind home plate. Maybe I am easily entertained or something, but I couldn't say yes fast enough. I walked in the door up the spiral staircase, and there it was, mission control… .microphone, CD player with a mix CD of baseball music (Fogerty's "Centerfield," Henley's "Boys of Summer," etc.), the scoreboard controls, and a fresh pack of sunflower seeds. Up until that time I had no idea the park even had speakers. On that night, I was the greatest baseball announcer/DJ that park had ever seen…. music fading in and out between innings, announcing each kid coming to the plate, and working the scoreboard to perfection.

Then my eight-year-old daughter found me and wanted to take over mic duties, which I reluctantly gave up. Then she wanted to get in on my dwindling pack of sunflower seeds. I dumped some in her hand and she threw them in her mouth chewing them up shells and all. I didn't want to share and may have been angry with her bush league announcing. Does that make me a bad father?


No. All decorum goes out the window when you get to man the scoreboard at a local ballpark. That thing is AWESOME. We had an announcing booth at my college's football field—one of those tight little spaces where you gotta climb a ladder to get in and all that. I don't know anyone who checked out that booth that didn't immediately fiddle with the scoreboard controls and stage a pretend radio broadcast.

Drew Magary writes for Deadspin. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at You can also order Drew's book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.


Art by Sam Woolley.

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