Drew Brees tonight was the first of perhaps several QBs this season who will pass Dan Marino’s single-season passing yardage record. Tom Brady could realistically pass Breesus next week and render all the crazy celebration in the Superdome hilariously moot. Oh man, it’s just like ’98 with McGwire and Sosa except thankfully not baseball and America doesn’t have to pretend really hard that something is capturing its imagination.

As the record breaking approached, I wondered whether ESPN would go out of its way to embarrass themselves with overwrought graphics like they did with Favre’s 500th TD pass the year before.

It’s closer than I figured, but The Gunslinger’s is still a bit more ostentatious. And you can tell that ESPN thinks Favre has a bigger moment because they have their branding all over it. Sorry, Breesus, you’ll have to be more of a self-aggrandizing turd to get on Brittfar’s hype level.

So what else happened? A blowout? Most assuredly, there was that. But that’s to be expected with live blogged games. ALSO: Was there fodder for the sports talk guardians of proper conduct for the shield? Yes. Yes, in fact, there was.

Pierre Thomas put a bow on a football and handed it to a fan.

“Look.

Look, Pierre Thomas. Where I come from. When I come from. There was a thing called respect. If our efforts achieved positive results, in any field of human endeavor, that was to be attributed to the amount of hard work we put in beforehand. If it was a contest of sport, we were thankful that our hard work bested their hard work. You knew yourself to be fortunate. Whenever a man commits fully to working his hardest, as we all did in those days, you knew yourself to be lucky if your largest commitment of effort was greater than the man across from you, because you accepted he gave his all, and such a display of vulnerability was nothing to mock. You certainly showed no flash in victory. We cut a fine figure, possessing a workmanlike stoicism the likes of which you could only ask your daddy about.

Oh, and I’m probably the model of a guy who plows Bob Costas in his dreams.”

Lance Moore will probably also be fined for having Christmas foot wrap.

I don’t know about fines, but someone should be held accountable for what happened in the Betty White intro to the broadcast. Her stint with ironic last-gasp fame before death expired roughly a year ago, but she’s not comparing anyone to Hitler, so I guess she’ll do.

If it wasn’t already clear from the Juicy Fruit segment in the Saints’ America’s Team special, Sean Payton has an OCD issue with bubble gum.

When the Steelers weren’t getting manhandled by Aldon Smith, they were busy turning the ball over. Whoops, there goes the 1 seed, Yinzburgh. Best of luck with the Tebow Time versus The Ben morality play in the first round of the playoffs. Should make for fun sermons on the wickedness of rapeyness. Of course, the actual game wasn’t the biggest story of the night. Not when there were rolling flaming gay blackouts that reminded Chris Berman of earthquakes that he was able to experience firsthand and tell you about, even though they have zero bearing on ongoing breaking news.

“JUST LIKE 1989 WHEN I WENT TO THE TROUBLE TO BE AT THINGS AND REPORT LIKE I GAVE A SHIT. THAT WAS BEFORE CANNED SOUND EFFECTS BECAME MY CALLING CARD! WHAT MARVELS I SAW! WHAT MIRACLES I OBSERVED! Don’t you wish to know what I was like then? You’d like that guy. He thought about people. Bzzzzt. SIKE! PEOPLE LIKE ME! HAHAHA, THAT EARTHQUAKE WAS JUST MY EGO SHIFTING ITS WEIGHT.”

No one yet had any idea what happened other than that a transformer, like the scientific process, went boink. But no one has any less of an idea than WORST JOURNO EVER John Sutcliffe, reporter for ESPN Deportes who happened to be on hand in San Francisco to get no useful information whatsoever about the two power outages.

“When asked why they went out, the upper tier lights had no comment.”

Well, I went up to the control room. They wouldn’t open the door for me, but I banged loudly and offered chips. When they cracked the door open a slice and reuested that I prove that I have chips, I let them inspect the bag. At that time, they slid the chips inside the door and slammed it behind them. At this point, the status of the chips is unclear. BACK TO YOU, GUYS!

HARF HARF HARF COME BACK JAMES HARRISON AND HEAD SHOT THE LIGHTS BACK ON

AWWWW JAMES HARRISON Y U NO STOP THE HIGH ANKLESPOT FROM THROWING PICKERFUMBLECEPTIONS?

I am weak. My weakness is strong. I let my hopes get stoked that the Giants could come into the Marcedes-Benz Maybach Music Superdome and give the Saints a semblance of a game, but it ended up being only slightly less lop-sided than the 62-7 New Orleans blowout of the Fat Humps back in Week 7. Next Sunday, we’ll be forced to live blog the Suh-less Lions against the Saints on SNF just because the alternative is Chargers-Jaguars on Monday night. And Detroit is gonna lose by 40. Such is the live blog.

Gruden is very amused by people on crutches, btw, especially if they’re Sean Payton. In the waning minutes of the blowout, he had some poor production assistant bring him a pair to goof with in the booth. It’s not only visual puns that Gruden is after. He also clumsily described Payton as “up and at ‘em” right as the camera cut to Sean on crutches.

Then again, Payton does nothing to discourage this by using the crutches as a celebration prop. In the best of all worlds, we can impale Mike McCarthy on one in the NFC Championship Game.

Lest we forget – Eli had a sad. Many a silly orange ‘stached sad.

The video below was actually my favorite sequence of the night. First, we get a SPROLES NEEDS NO HOLES Seussian rhyme from Gruden. Then, after Gruden proceeds to call Tiny Darren the greatest free agent acquisition of the off-season, Jaws feels the need to smart up the room by suggesting the Texans’ signing of Jonathan Joseph, which draws five seconds of dead air before Tirico is basically forced to be, like, “NO, ASSHOLE”.

“I say, dearest Mortimer. Victory is less a promise than an assurance this night.”

“That it is, Shadrach. These Nordic marauders haven’t the faintest idea of how to scotch our potent attack.”

“Now there’s an idea! Scotch! Tipples all around! Let us quaff at once in remembrance of this triumph!”

“Be there enough scotch and we shan’t remember much at all.”

“Too true. Too true. Nevertheless, a gentleman simply does not waste scotch of this caliber.”

“Then I will imbibe. For the sake of moderation, I shall await the next home score.”

“Ah, there it is!”

“Very good. Tally ho!”

“Oh, how the other team does doddle with the ball.”

“It is less football than it is skylarkings.”

“It recalls the last time the underclass revolted. How they cried when crushed underfoot.”

“The screams haunt me still.”

“Not I. For a gentleman should enjoy a good suppression from time to time. Keeps him virile.”

“Sound advice. Accordingly, my recommendation is for a great mirth-having at the downfall of our enemies. To hegemony!”

“Capital idea! May their lamentations find comfort in our ear drums.”

[Glasses clink]

Okay, enough with that. We got the blowout we expected. Moving on. Let’s focus on how we’re gonna live blog Tebow getting killed on Thursday. Because tonight wasn’t very pleasant to watch. Gruden didn’t make it any easier by wondering aloud “WHO IS THIS JAMES STARKS?” and not having any idea how the game of football works despite coaching it at its highest level and OH YEAH HE WON A FUCKING SUPER BOWL KILL ME NOW.

Seriously, Tirico goes into a lengthy explanation about how Rodgers doesn’t commit grounding in the end zone because he’s out of the pocket and the throw goes beyond the line of scrimmage. And, like a child wandering into a theater, there’s Gruden not five seconds later shouting WAIT THERE’S NO RECEIVER OVER THERE. Tirico, with the patience of Job, has to correct him again, which prompts the most Gruden response ever: “There’re a lot of rules.”

That probably took five years off my life. In which case, gotta get busy living, so I won’t bother setting up these screencaps of fat, obnoxious, holier-than-thou Cheesetards.

Oh yeah, this last one. The Packers fluffing was so intense that they trotted out some decrepit season ticket holder from the last 50+ years. Tirico gushed that she used to go bowling with Ray Nitschke’s sister. DOIN’ IT THE RIGHT WAY EXPRESS, COMIN’ THROUGH. What I wouldn’t give for Bill Murray to shove her ass over and tell her Nitschke was a pussy.

Awwww, sorry Eagles. You’re a dream team deferred and other such lazy Vince Young jokes. It was nice that you kept the game interesting for the duration of the broadcast. That was a thankful departure for the live blog. A entertaining, mostly well executed game. To their credit, the Eagles also provided a few memorable derps, like Chas Henry missing a wide open receiver on a 4th down punt fake. And Jeremy Maclin falling down on another late 4th down attempt.

Still, this was something of a schadenfreude tease, this Iggles season. When Philly got Nnamdi (elite level pass interference penalty on the Bears’ last scoring drive) expectations were high. We feared that worst of all things – a first ever Eagles Super Bowl title. But, hell, this won’t even be a playoff team. What’s the fun in that?

Okay, it’s still a lot of fun. But you blew your fun load early. Watching the Eagles limp toward a mid-first round draft pick won’t be anywhere nearly as fun as a postseason meltdown.

Nevertheless, credit to Asante Samuel for playing through the very terrifying injury that is a GROIN LACERATION. LeSean McCoy expressed his solidarity through crotch grabs following his TD.

Let’s also give it up for Jay Cutler performing an impressive 6-step into a dumpoff. Who, when they first spotted that dour Midwestern Cutler moue, thought anything other than future B-boy? No one, obvs. Okay, maybe Jaws. Tonight, he tried to make it seem liked Sulky was forever destined to be one of the greats. And why not? A lot of people seem to be under the impression that Eli Manning is elite now. Hell, why not Cutty?

I feel like I spent all of Derpoween sitting out in the field waiting for The Great Pumpkin Marmalard to show himself, only for nothing but derps and derps and derps and derps. It felt like forever. But oh my. How ever did he derp.

In reality, they all derped. They derped their guts out. The Chargers derped so hard motherf*ckers wanna herp them. Marcus McNeill might have amassed a 2,000 yard season in penalty yardage tonight alone.

To their demerit, the Chiefs, too, did everything they could to lose this game. For those who love it when a team really tries to lose, when they take extra effort to set the table for the other team, bring out the fine china and write VICTORY on their plates in a sauce you’re not sophisticated enough to identify, you had to love the Chiefs tonight. In a game like this, you hate that someone had to be declared the winner, because these teams tried so hard to lose and it breaks your heart that one has to feign triumph when they gave their level best to fall on their faces.

The camera caught Todd Haley yelling FUCK YOU at someone, presumably his offensive coordinator, over the headset as the Chiefs were settling for a field goal before halftime. But no one is surprised at Haley chewing someone out for his own mistakes. The bedraggled look, however, is an unsettling departure from the semi-kept douche.

I like that Haley would like to challenge the Eagles’ offensive lines coach Howard Mudd (and Belichick of course) for most hobo NFL coach, but you’re in way over your head, Todd.

In the end, it wasn’t only the teams that derped. It was the refs and the fans, too. It was us for watching this game. We passively derped while they derped actively on the field; Such is the magic of Derpoween.

Worst day ever? No, sir. Just worst game ever.

Behold the other lowlights and costumes presented largely without commentary or moutheyes. WE WILL PLAY FOOTBALL!

 
[rivers gif via]

The penalty riddled opening drive of tonight’s game culminated with a familiar sequence for Lovie Smith. In Archer-friendly terms: CLASSIC LOVIE SMITH. After the Bears failed on a 3rd and short in Lions territory, Lovie called a timeout, then proceeded to run the exact same play, which naturally failed. Not content to settle for mere pedestrian failure, Lovie challenged the spot of the ball on the 4th down, which was clearly short to even the most glaucoma-stricken observer. Just a great job playing to type.

Look, we love Cutler sulks, possibly more than any.

HOWEVAH The Sulkface Chickenwing played about as well as he could have given his protection. Yeah, I gagged when Jaws started practicing his Romo kegels in the booth by saying it was the best performance of Cutler’s career, but we can still be somewhat fair while disdaining Jaws’ rampant starfluffing. Bet his QBR was through the roof! Also, there was Devin Hester’s big drop and other associated screwups. PK was talking mad shit on the Twitter, Hester. RETURN HIS CALLS! In addition to Cutler’s scary competency, Jahvid Best averaged more than six inches per carry. By a significant margin. Good thing there were flags on every play to distract from these frightening new realities.

SIDEBAR: “Arrested Development” returned to Detroit before the rest of the country.

There were several audio errors at the outset of the broadcast that gave Jon Gruden a temporary Max Headroom effect. It’s possible it was an eerie side effect of the Orange Drank “Mega Juice” that Gruden was lugging around in the booth in honor of Megatron’s favorite sideline Pedialyte receptacle. It’s funny because Gruden might actually be more tolerable if he were drunk.

Wooftastic derpfest, all around. Between Steelers-Colts and tonight’s game, this was a banner week for closely contested football of extremely poor quality in primetime. We are a nation in need of flex.

For our three hours of viewership, we were awarded with nine field goals, four turnovers and a touchdown pass in the flat to Tim Hightower that was still almost dropped. Oh, and an inexhaustible amount of Tony Romo fluffing. Yes, yes, the ESPN booth is packed to the gills with starf*ckers, so we shouldn’t be surprised. But the herculean lengths that Jaws went to to excuse Romo for every Cowboys mistake. He wouldn’t even try that hard to save his family from a burning building. Unless Romo accidentally started the fire and Jaws didn’t want Romo blamed for any fatalities. Possibly then.

Let’s use for an example, say, an underthrown ball in the end zone to Marty B. Marty is covered by a DB at least eight inches shorter than him. Rather than throw a jump ball, Romo tries to drill it in Bennett’s chest.

SPIN IT JAWS: “Martellus Bennett simply has to anticipate that his quarterback is suffering from a rib injury and is therefore unlikely to get the ball where it needs to be. Disappointing effort there by the tight end.”

AND THIS 30 SECONDS OF CRAZY STRAW QUAFFING FROM ROMO’S URETHRA WHEN THE COWBOYS TOOK THE LEAD! NOT ONE SOLITARY TOUCHDOWN SCORED! AND YET THIS! GAHHHHHHHH!

I will grant that not every mistake was on Romo. See? Fairness! Phil Costa is already being mishandled into an unmarked grave outside Cowboys Stadium. We will forever remember the best two-yard gain ever, however. Your legacy lives on, Costa.

Anyway, back to Romo and how odious he is. OH THE MATURITY! OUTWARDLY BLAMING HIS TEAMMATES ON NEAR PEYTON-ESQUE LEVELS! WAH WAH WAHHHHH!

If only you’d have had one more drive in you, Rexy. Or one fewer fumble. Either way, this will probably trigger a sequence of events that leads to John Beck starting miserably in a few weeks, because, as we know, nothing fun can stay.

I think Brett Favre started this game only so ESPN could have one more quarter of stroking him long and hard before Corey Wootton could bounce his head off the rock-hard turf. And stroke they did. Jaws made sure to take every last snap as an airport tongue bath before Brett boarded the gate for long overdue retirement.

That’ll do, Brett. That’ll do.

You drove from Florida for a game that he wasn’t expected to start until two hours before kickoff? WEST PALM BEACH KNOWS TOO MUCH!

I can’t say I watched a lot of the Giants-Vikes game, but from what little I did, I could tell I wasn’t missing much. And ESPN seems dedicated to catching you up on all the forlorn looks Brittfar made on the sidelines. Among every other shopworn moment from his thankfully concluded career.

Hard to tell but that hat plays Big K.R.I.T.’s ” Country Shit” on loop.

The regularly scheduled Monday night game wasn’t faring much better until Houston peeled off an amazing comeback to tie the game with a touchdown and two-point conversion with less than 30 seconds on the clock. It being the Texans, though, they had to find a way to blow it. Of course they did. Bastards.

ESPN is better than most about getting ridiculous crowd shots. Hell, you’re lucky if you ever see NFL Network pan a camera through the stands. Normally, that means a few of the most retarded fans make the entire fan base look bad, but man, Houston really brought its tard fan game to a new level on Monday. Just uncanny amounts of fan DERPitude.

YEEEEE HAAAAAWWWWWW I TOOK ALL THE FOAM THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO GO IN THE COLUMBIA SHUTTLE

Scoreboard or mirror?

Good show, Texans. Barbara Bush offers a polite clap for your ability to fail in engaging and entertaining ways. Keep it up and she might no longer advocate for you to be shot into space along with the poor people.

Monday was Mike Tirico’s birthday. The Texans even put up a reminder on the Reliant Stadium scoreboard. The whores. Gruden and Jaws presented Tirico with his own personalized Texans jersey. Mike looks about as thrilled as you might expect.

Another highlight from the booth: Jaws makes the most painfully forced joke of the season. Somebody should run an asshat route next week.