Bring it in, men. No, no. Further in. To the locker room. I gotta take a shit. A 45-point one.

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San Diego is well on its way to turning another dreadful start into a playoff run that culminates with an underwhelming performance once the postseason actually starts. And that’s good – just enough success to ensure that Norv Turner remains their head coach.

You could tell ESPN was all evening trying out Rivers for the fun-loving Southerner who plays like a kid out there archetype recently made vacant with Brett Favre’s career having sounded the death knell. Every play came with a comment about Rivers’ child-like enthusiasm. Then they actually showed footage from his childhood. Gruden even had Marmalard on the bus teaching him how to trash talk using dopey rhetorical questions to Jaws. I prefer him calling someone a cockwallet then laughing in their face.

Woof. That’s not up to the usual standard of tackling by Bill Parker lawn signs. Maybe we can chalk it up to Rivers’ innate lumbering elusiveness. Or maybe Rivers’ froze him with a icy stare from the Laserface. ESPN wanted to make sure a national audience got an up-close view.

That’s intimidation at its doughiest!

Oh, for the love of all things holy, those San Diego fans purposely dressed up as Na’vi? Inexcusable, though you know San Diego would be unstoppable if the team had a couple 12-foot-tall receivers available to snatch Rivers’ floats.

I don’t get the Devo connection to the Broncos that fattie here is going for, but if the other side’s fans are repping Avatar costumes, I’m willing to let a lot slide.

A frightening scene if you happened to be a concession stand or a timeout in FedEx Field last night.

So… Ookie had a bit of a night in Raljon. If you happened to be starting Vick in fantasy, congratulations on your win, because there’s no excuse if you did start him and still lost. Even Jerome Harrison, the incumbent Browns starter in preseason who turned out to be a waste of
a mid-round fantasy pick, was incredibly productive in that game. And man did I love LaRon Landry talking shit before the game then getting toasted for 88-yards on the game’s opening play.

As for the Reid doppelganger, I especially enjoy how this is at least the second straight game where the broadcasters have made an effort to make fun of Reid. The previous instance, of course, came last week when CBS unearthed little footage of Baby Huey Reid competing in the Punt, Pass and Kick competition in 1971. Not surprisingly since Andy sprang almost fully formed at birth already at 5′ 3″ 240 lbs. If Momma Reid didn’t die in childbirth, she must be the single strongest woman ever.

Not much interesting to say about this one. The Texans ran the ball well, but Matt Schaub shit the bed with marbly logs that would please even Rex himself. Onto the random assemblage on screencaps.

Gruden as the sheriff of Shticktown in the booth during pregame. Because Peyton is “The Sheriff,” you see, and we are “The Dumbf*cks Who Keep Tuning Into This Shit.”

Even Gruden-inspired costumes are perplexing and idiotic.

This jolly corpulent fellow was mocking the officials who marked Peyton short of a first down on a rare gambol beyond the line of scrimmage. Some in the live blog labeled his invention “boo googles.” Others called them “boogles.” That’s better than redneck pince-nez, which would have been my initial choice.

Been nice knowing you, pleasant dreams.

Hate your joke. Hate your font. Hate your chin. Hate your chin. Hate your chin. Hate your chin. And hate all the other chins.

Christ, I’m sorry, here are a couple of the Saints’ costumed cheerleaders yesterday as a small effort to make amends.

Yes. Yesssssss. Share with us the magic markers of unfathomable sadness. Don’t worry, Jon Kitna has a lot of sternly worded homilies to share with you about the hidden advantages of hardship.

Here are abandoned remains of your hero:

Stumbled on by a stray official wandering an emptied-out Cowboys Stadium. A once vibrant smile frozen in decaying flesh. This would be the opening shot of The Walking Dead in my version, just before Zombie Rom lunges into the refs’ neck.

Ha.

Haaaaaaaaaaaa.

Oh, you bandwagon assholes don’t care about baseball. That’s it – all my rooting interest is thrown behind that charming stoner Lincecum and his fat buddy Sandoval.

Oh, and Gruden can get stuffed for dubbing the Giants receiving corps “Jet Blue” then dimly explaining to the audience that, shucks, he was inspired by this random airline company that someone might have heard of. Double dickpunches to Tirico for boasting that JetBlue Tweeted a response to Jaws and Gruden to smartly take advantage of the stupid golden opportunity for free whoring.

Oh, you’re lucky your flights are cheap and you carry SundayTicket or this would convince me to pretend like I could consider more expensive flight options.

Anything but more of that game. We were sold a bill of goods, America. Some of us showed up for a middling football contest and were instead hoodwinked into watching Trent Edwards and Kerry Collins. I don’t want to talk about it.

What’s more, I needed 21 points out of Cop Speed and Nate Washington. Even with Jeff Fisher being a dick and running Johnson late to pad his stats, I still lost by eight-tenths of a point. I know you don’t care, but no one gave a shit about this game either. DIE NATE WASHINGTON YOU FAUXHAWK ASSHOLE I HOPE EVERYONE AT TIFFIN CHOKES ON AIDS.

Whatever. I’ve got nothing for you but tragicomic shots of rubes of the northern Florida variety. I’m not sure how they feel about the loss, but I bet EverBank Tarp Nation isn’t taking it very well.

Jeebus Retweeting Christ, if I ever manage to forgive ESPN for the thousands of other disgusting things they’ve done to sports, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get over the travishamockery this broadcast was tonight. From all the constant invoking of Favre’s Dead Dad game during what was him having to face TOTALLY UNFAIR criticism for alleged lewd acts to the constant apologizing that not at all subtly turned into straight up cheerleading later on when Favre wasn’t a complete joke in the 4th quarter. Gah GAAAAHHHH! It wouldn’t be so enraging if it wasn’t so predictable.

First half commentary distilled: OH GOD IS THE BRITTFAR ELBOW OKAY? I THINK HE’S REALLY STRUGGLING WITH THE ELBOW TONIGHT

Early third quarter blather: OH YEAH, THAT ELBOW IS GONNA BE A PROBLEM. WE KNOW SUZY ASKED CHILDRESS AND HE SAID IT WAS FINE. BUT WE’RE JUST GONNA KEEP BRINGING IT UP

[Brett Favre sets all-time record for most fumbles, only gets a minor footnote when he ties the record]

[Then God decides to hate us a little]

Oh, get the f*ck out of here with the goddamn birthday party bubble letter font on that shit. You might as well had the chyron shoot out of the ALLEGED picture of his cock.

WAIT BRETT DON’T LET THEM FORGET ABOUT YOUR ELBOW! IT’S SO YOU CAST YOUR MAGIC SPELLS OF BOYHOOD SANDLOTTERY

Yes, there’s a good attention whore. You just keep that thing cradled whenever you’re not banging it against a lineman’s helmet in celebration.

Did you hear Tirico go off when the Jets were passing right before the two-minute mark? You would have thought he was a dipshit sports radio caller. Yeah, it was most definitely poor clock management from Rex, did we hear anything that impassioned against Brett, like when he overthrew a wide-open-by-seven-yards Percy Harvin in the f*cking flat?

NO, YOU FOOL. NOT CRYING INTO BOTH HANDS! GET ONE BACK ON THAT ELBOW PRONTO! WE NEED A SCAPEGOAT!

Via reader Rafael: Here’s your real happy-clappy bubble letter festive f*cking touchdown, assholes.

Special teams fiesta, you guys. Tirico told me so. I brought the brews. Are you gonna text the MerBros to see if they wanna come?

MerBros are in. They are ON. BOARD. But I think SkullFace is harshing their special teams fiesta. We need a festive hat guy. He’ll make it all right. Someone get on the horn.

Okay, good. All hands on Dreamboat deck. This is the special team fiesta to end them all. A shame Mark Sanchez couldn’t be there to enjoy this. Tom Brady is choked up that he was allowed to behold it all. He is crying tears that block punts and make kickoff returns. Anything goes in special teams fiesta.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen more interceptions overturned by penalty in a single game than the array that were negated tonight. Cutler had a half dozen in him, for sure, but the Bears caught break after break, whether it was a pass rusher hitting him helmet-to-helmet by accident to Nick Collins dropping another sure pick on the Bears’ final drive. Or that James Jones fumble that tight-roped the sideline. Apparently, all that sucking up to God with Cancer Girl didn’t get you far, Green Bay.

Of course, it was Devin Hester actually being allowed to do what he does best that proved to be the deciding factor in the game, with big punt returns either setting up or scoring the two Chicago touchdowns. That is, other than the 142 yards in penalties that the Packers accrued. But even if the Bears dimly stumbled to the second victory they didn’t necessarily deserve this season, at least be comforted that Cutler still manages to look like a diptard even in victory.

Alex Smith is pickin’ AND I’M GRINNIN’

Jeebus, San Francisco, you couldn’t possibly try harder to give this game away, could you? I feel annoyed to have rooted against Breesus for a team so clearly intent on not winning games. But anything involving Mike Singletary vomiting rage on referee faces will never not be fun to watch.

If Reggie Bush did sustain a significant injury on his recovered muffed punt, at least we got one more moment of him being crushed by a defender. You really do deserve better, Patrick Willis.