I have never cared about my car. The first one I owned, a 2000-something Geo Prizm, came to me by way of my aunt when I was 15 and stayed with me until I moved to New York City when I was 24. It got me through high school, college, and the first two years of my post-graduate life, which in hindsight is more than I deserved considering how little care I gave it in return. One day the power steering stopped working, and when I took the car to the mechanic, he told me that I had somehow punched a hole in the steering column and that all the power steering fluid was leaking out. I told him I would just drive it like that.
My current car, only the second I’ve owned, is a 2014 Subaru Impreza that I only ever neglect and complain about. I drive it as little as possible. I hate how low it sits. The front bumper is always threatening to completely detach itself, and sometimes it takes a disconcerting amount of time for the engine to start. A friend was recently sitting in the backseat and sheepishly alerted us to the fact that she had discovered some cobwebs back there.
In case it’s not obvious yet, I hate being in the car. This was a constant source of anxiety as my wife and I went about planning a three-week road trip that would take us and our dog across the country and back. Once the itinerary was finalized, all those hours in the car were staring me in the face and causing me to dread what was in front of me: endless miles of interstate, dozens of gas station coffees, and the annoying way my right ankle gets sore during long drives (stupid car doesn’t have cruise control).
A few days into the trip, something strange happened. I woke up in our tent, bracing to discover what new degrees of back and shoulder soreness another night of camping had inflicted on me, only to find one thought filling my head: I can’t wait to get back in the car. I was practically rubbing my hands together, like a greedy little goblin. I wanted to get on the road!
I couldn’t wait to get the steering wheel back in my hands, to cue up another album that I hadn’t listened to in far too long, to glance into the backseat every half hour and say “Such a sweetie” at my snoozing dog, to develop more lazy and impenetrable bits meant to entertain me and annoy my wife (“We’re in Big Sky country!” shouted at nobody and for no reason). The car had become a place of comfort. I had learned exactly how much pressure to apply to the gas pedal to maintain a crisp and consistent speed, how to perfectly adjust the volume when switching from an album to a podcast, and how to precisely arrange my feet in the passenger seat so as to prevent the snack bag and giant water bottle from tipping over. I looked forward to scouring the map to find a cute town to stop in for lunch, to looking up from my book to stare out the window for a few seconds, and to the dog popping her head between the front seats every few hours to ask for water. I looked forward to how swiftly and efficiently I would deliver it to her.
While I was discovering a new sense of comfort inside the car, wonder was leaking in from the outside. Our trip was highlighted by days spent traipsing around various national parks, but the coming and going was more pleasurable than I had anticipated. The car was taking me to incredible places. A day’s drive could start in a scruffy high desert, thrust us through stark red badlands, and then end in a pine forest. My eyes became like a baby’s, slowly scanning every inch of the windshield while I audibly ooh’d and ahh’d at vermillion cliffs, enclosing canyons, and shimmering aspen groves. In an art museum in Santa Fe, I got caught up in a Georgia O’Keeffe painting called Black Place III, an abstracted view of one of her favorite landscapes in New Mexico. In the museum, I couldn’t imagine what segment of the red desert surrounding me could have possibly been understood as a “black place.” A day later, we were driving through some badlands where the road snaked between two charcoal-tinted sandstone hills. As we came down the road, the sun passed behind a cloud and the brilliant bright day was briefly snuffed out by shadow. The hills were on top of us, breathing down our necks. There we were, in the black place.
As the car kept shuttling us to and from little moments of awe like that—two bald eagles flying in tandem over a road outside Jackson, Wyoming; a buffalo grazing within spitting distance—I started to develop, well, I guess a reverence for it. What had previously been a tool, whose inclusion in my life I viewed as a necessary annoyance, was suddenly a glorious vehicle. In my possession was this device that could run for hours upon hours and miles upon miles, and take me to places I’d otherwise never be able to see. For the first time in my life, I began to understand my car as a transportation device, with the loftiest possible definition attached to the term. It was enough to finally make me understand how this big, stupid, beautiful country destroyed its own mass transit infrastructure in service of car travel. I imagined myself as someone born in the 1920s, who by the time he was an adult had access to a machine that could magically shepherd him across the country, all the way to the Grand Canyon and beyond. Would I have been able to resist pulling up railroad tracks and puking carbon into the atmosphere to maximize a gift like that?
Thankfully, this experience has not made me a Car Guy. In fact, it has only increased my distaste for our car-centric society. We invented a truly incredible piece of machinery, and paid a heavy cost, only to see 90 percent of its regular use confined to unncessary commutes and traffic-snarled journeys to and from big box stores. After driving a car directly into a rainbow arcing across the Teton Mountains, driving one to the grocery store feels like riding a quarter horse to the bathroom.
The road trip’s over now, and the car is back in the driveway. On Tuesday, I drove it to the dentist, five minutes from my house. I didn’t see anything cool, listen to any good music, or even have time for an interesting thought. I looked down at the tripometer, which I’d set to 0 at the start of the road trip, and saw a meaningless mile get tacked onto the 6,837 it had taken me over the previous three weeks. I felt bad for us both, me and my tremendous machine.
The Games
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Five Throwgasms
Buccaneers at Lions: This is the game most likely to determine where my rooting interests lie for the rest of the NFL season. All I wanted coming into it was a Super Bowl victory for either Lamar Jackson or Josh Allen, but now Jackson’s hurt and Allen’s season is getting sunk by a non-competitive defense, so all my hopes are going to hell. I’d happily give my allegiance to the Lions, but a loss this week would edge them a little too close to the Fraud Zone for my liking. So if Tampa wins this game, I’m going all in on the Baker Mayfield experience. I like the cut of his jib! Make him the MVP! Give the little scamp a Lombardi trophy!
Four Throwgasms
Eagles at Vikings: Much like Drew, I have enjoyed watching incompetent dunce Mike Lombardi reach a wider audience thanks to his contributions to the ongoing disaster at UNC. Whereas it can be annoying to witness the popularization of an unheralded cultural product of which you’ve been a longtime fan, it is nothing but gratifying to see a longtime object of personal derision acquire more haters. I call that Hater’s Delight.
Meanwhile, did you know Lombardi has a TikTok account? The first video he posted was supposed to be one of those “Ha ha, this old guy doesn’t understand how technology works!” goofs, but without any of the charm or charisma that might actually endear him to recruits. His latest video is a perfect encapsulation of his whole deal:
You know how some people can say really stupid things, but in such a way that you have to stop for a second and really consider what they are saying before you realize it’s stupid? Mike Lombardi isn’t even a good enough bullshitter to be one of those guys. “Sometimes the mistakes that you deleted have really powerful messages in them.” What the hell are you talking about? Shut the fuck up!
Falcons at 49ers
Three Throwgasms
Colts at Chargers: This is the point in the NFL season at which it becomes almost entirely impossible to decipher which teams are actually good and which teams are actually bad. And so I refuse to accept this 5-1 Colts record. We will have completely forgotten this happened when the playoffs start and they are not in them.
Raiders at Chiefs: It’s going to happen again, isn’t it? This goddamn Chiefs team is going to pratfall its way into another Super Bowl, where they will beat the Buccaneers by three points and everyone will be so disgusted that the league will just skip the trophy presentation.
Rams at Jaguars
Two Throwgasms
Commanders at Cowboys: We dove into the Off Menu podcast during our road trip, and I give it the highest possible recommendation. The premise—British comedians Ed Gamble and James Acaster invite guests to explain their dream restaurant meal—is both remarkably durable and revealing. The Rob Brydon episode is a good place to start if you want to get the gist. The Stephen Graham episode is one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard, and I was delighted to discover that Bob Mortimer is basically just Dave McKenna reimagined as an Englishman.
Giants at Broncos
Steelers at Bengals
Saints at Bears
Patriots at Titans
Texans at Seahawks
One Throwgasm
Dolphins at Browns: Might as well call this one the Ah Crap, I Probably Shouldn’t Have Said That Bowl. On one side we have Tua “My Teammates Are Lazy Pieces Of Shit” Tagovailoa, and on the other we have Dillon “My Mom Used To Beat My Ass” Gabriel.
Panthers at Jets
A Random Selection Of Small Towns That We Stopped In During The Road Trip, Ranked:
- Cedar Falls, Iowa
- Eureka Springs, Arkansas
- Harpers Ferry, West Virginia
- Cookeville, Tennessee
- Thermopolis, Wyoming
- Santa Rosa, New Mexico
- Getting hit by a semi truck
- Clinton, Oklahoma
Pregame Song That Makes Me Wanna Sit In Silent Contemplation
“Atlantic City,” by Bruce Springsteen. Nebraska is one of the first albums I played at the start of the trip, which was a tough break for my wife as I discovered over the next 7–10 days that it is impossible not to groan-sing, “Well they blew up the chicken man in Philly last night,” anytime there is a prolonged silence.
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 current 2025 chopping block:
Jonathan Gannon***********
Brian Callahan (FIRED)
Zac Taylor*
Mike McDaniel***
Brian Daboll
Aaron Glenn*
John Harbaugh
Kevin Stefanski
Pete Carroll
(* – potential midseason firing)
Jim Harbaugh’s Lifehack of the Week!
“It’s stew season, which means it’s time to make the necessary wardrobe preparations. You always have to PREPARE before you can ATTACK.
“You’ll want to do what I do, which is set aside a designated sweater to be worn when consuming your breakfast stew. I’m at the kitchen table every morning at 4:30 a.m., wearing the same dark blue sweater, ready to take in my morning chowder. No matter your stew of choice, remember to STIR, SLURP, and then fire down a sip of ice cold milk. That’s how you maximize the flavor. Once I’m done, I take off my freshly stained stew sweater and head out to dominate the day, clean as a steel-forged gun.”
Great Moments In Poop History
We ran into remarkably few snags on our trip, bathroom-related or otherwise. The one exception being when the dog had some brief gastrointestinal issues that necessitated a pit stop at the emergency vet. I knew we were in trouble when, having reached our destination for the day, I took the dog out of the car to let her pee only to witness her have explosive diarrhea while simultaneously vomiting. I didn’t know dogs could do that.
Brick Johnson’s Executive Proposal Of The Week
“Dad, are there any openings in the front office for my buddies, Pete and Willy? They both got in trouble at work and are looking for a more chill sitch. We both know the vibes have been off in the building lately, and both of these dudes are pretty based, so I think they could really improve our team culture. Oh my god, Dad, Pete tells the funniest jokes, dude, I swear. I’m cracking up right now just thinking about them.”
Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
State Park Blonde Ale! This is apparently brewed by the Tennessee state park system, and if you buy it, some of your money goes toward supporting the parks. Wow!
It also tasted pretty good.
Gameday Movie Of The Week For Jets Fans
The Ballad Of Wallis Island, which has a very 2012 premise—a reclusive lottery winner pays the estranged members of his favorite folk duo to come to his island and put on a reunion concert just for him—but is just British enough in its execution to prevent it from becoming unbearably twee. Tim Key’s performance alone makes this a great way to kill some time on a Sunday.
Gratuitous King Of The Hill Quote
“Bobby honey, um, what do you know about sexual relations?”
“I don’t know. Nothing much. I’m a little worried about being a slut?”
Enjoy the games, everyone.
