Grantland's Rembert Browne is in New Orleans for Super Bowl week, and he has some very specific goals in mind: (1) to chronicle everything seen, heard, tasted, smelled, and felt — emotionally, (2) to wake up first and fall asleep last, (3) to make his way into events he has no business attending, and (4) to somehow talk to Beyoncé. We don't exactly know where he'll be at any given time, but we've asked for at least two dispatches a day, if for no other reason than to know he's still alive.

Tuesday, January 29. 3:15 p.m. CST. Approximately 124 hours until Beyoncé.

The Scene: Super Bowl Media Day.
Immediate Reaction: A zoo, but between the media and the athletes in attendance, it was unclear who were the spectators and who were the animals.

The Rules: Each team enters the arena for about an hour, with the more prominent players and coaches having personalized booths set up to sit and field questions, with the rest of the lot roaming the grounds, doing whatever they please, until someone stops them and asks to talk.

Rough week last week. My NFL prop picks got smoked harder than a blunt backstage at a Bieber concert. I pulled a giant oh-fer, wiping out my entire jermajesty savings account. In fact, I now owe 22,500 jermajesties*.

But look at me. Do I seem worried? Not even a little, and you know why? Because I have this week — traditionally the most effed-up week of the NFL season — completely figured out. Every year during the divisional round of the playoffs there's a huge (eight points or higher) upset. Let me quickly refresh your memories:

2012: Giants 37, Packers 20
2011: Jets 28, Patriots 21
2010: Jets 17, Chargers 14
2009: Cardinals 33, Panthers 13
2008: Chargers 28, Colts 24

In 2007 Tom Brady and Peyton Manning for some reason played on the road, otherwise the streak would've been six-plus years.

The divisional playoff round is when the bookies make a killing. Well — this year we're gonna kill them right back. Come Monday when you're gathered around a water cooler talking about the games you'll be able to pull out your own bottle of artesian mineral water and tell everyone you've got boatloads of it back home thanks to Cousin Sal steering you away from the big favorites.

Here's how we're doing it. I'll do it with jermajesties. You use the real stuff. Just follow my lead. Especially with this first prop:

Why does rooting for sports hurt so much? How does one allow himself to get to a point where his favorite player blowing a winnable game for his favorite team is as painful as hearing about the near death of a loved one or a breakup of a long-term relationship?

A normal person would step back and realize that the sadness/frustration that goes with rooting for a game played by mostly thuggish multimillionaires who couldn't give a crap about you should fall somewhere between getting a parking ticket and not being able to guess someone's offering on Draw Something. That's it. No more demoralizing, no less.

So what if Tony Romo came up short again? Why, after 41 years on this planet, why should I care? If I were still 7 years old, fine — but 41? The fact that I can't outgrow this is grotesque. I feel like I can laugh off "I know you are but what am I?" retorts. I can roll my eyes at a grownup singing about my wife and me sitting in a tree … K-I-S-S-I-N-G. So why is it so enraging if a hundred Twitter followers send me the same stupid tweet: "How do you say Romo in Spanish? Sanchez." Not funny — don't laugh.

Don't worry — I don't expect you to have an answer to these rhetorical — yet painful questions. My New Year's resolution is to not care as much about stupid shit. And if I break that resolution — I don't care as much. See — I'm off to a great start!

Good thing that therapist of mine is still accepting jermajesties* cuz I have plenty of those lying around. 185,000 to be exact. That's the profit I've turned wagering on NFL propositions this season. My road to a million jermajesties (sounds like a bad Max Allan Collins novel) has taken a few slight detours. Let's get it back on track this wild-card weekend:

On any given Sunday (or Monday, or Thursday), your NFL Run & Shootaround crew will be gathered around multiple televisions, making inappropriate jokes and generally regressing to the mean. Catch up on all the NFL action right here.

Notes on the Horror of Rooting for Evil (a New York Giants Fan Tale)

They're always strange, those last few weeks of every NFL season when you see what it's like to be somebody else. I know how to speak the language of Giants fans (written on our particular Rosetta Stone are words like "Mike Cherry") but it's harder to make out foreign cadences. And anyway, trying to get inside the mind of a fan-of-another is like attempting to visualize your life with a different set of children. Why even go down that road? But sometimes it becomes briefly necessary to make exactly these projections, which is why I was reduced yesterday to becoming invested in the Detroit Lions for a short but serious while. The results weren't pretty. Every family has its own set of issues, and it's usually better if you stay quiet about your own and don't get too nosy with anyone else.

For Eli Manning, the year 2012 has gone pretty much like so many Giants games — and even seasons — have through the years. You've got your wild inconsistency, with its mind-changing highs (remember all the Hall of Fame talk in February?) and derptastic lows (last weekend in Atlanta). You've got your blowout games followed directly by hapless stinkers. You've got pranks, performances, and awkward photos; you've got pick-sixes and hung heads and submissive shoulder shrugs. But through it all, one thing will always be a constant: He'll always be good old Eli, and all he'll ever want to do is Play Good Football.

If you're reading this, the end of the world did not take place and the Mayans will forever be seen as crap-filled liars. Let's hope that's the case.

As far as my personal interest goes, the end of the football world (at least the season) has been perplexingly delayed by my beloved Dallas Cowboys. I guess they just want to disappoint me closer to the holidays. This team is the equivalent of unwrapping a bolo tie on Christmas Day.

I actually thought of a way the Cowboys could prolong the inevitable agony for their fans before even stepping on the field this Sunday. I know bullying is frowned on in today's society, but I wouldn't mind seeing uber-rich Cowboys owner Jerry Jones make a public statement before the Saints game. And it should go something like this: "Let it be known that if we are to lose this week against the Saints, we will actively and aggressively pursue Sean Payton in the offseason. And don't think we won't." And then when New Orleans backs off and lets us win — we steal Payton away in mid-January anyway.

There you have it. Easy Peasy … George and Weezie.

Here's my jermajesty* update: -19,500 last week and +180,000 overall. My apologies for last Sunday's Ray Rice over 19.5 carries prop. I thought I read somewhere that the Ravens hired a new offensive coordinator. He must not have started yet.

This week, we up the ante in our quest for one million jermajesties.

Here's week 16:

Cousin Sal and Bill Simmons talk about the NFL action of Week 15, guess the lines for Week 16, and review the Homeland and Survivor finales.

And so ends this dismal installment of Thursday Night Football 2012. Remember when Thursdays used to be must-see TV? At best — this season — NFL Network presented us with “Must C-minus TV.” I fondly recall the legendary names associated with Thursday night television: Cosby, Seinfeld, J. Fox. Just like that, those icons have given way to the likes of Cassel, Hartline, and Heyward-Bey. If nothing else, we shouldn’t be featuring Clay Harbor this close to the anniversary of Pearl Harbor. Too depressing.

Back to what’s important — gambling on men who protect their genitals with plastic! Was anyone else bold enough to urge you to bet that Mark Sanchez would end his coveted interception streak last week? Probably not. I can’t brag too much as, overall, my prop bet predictions took a small dip — bringing my season-long tally to a positive and still impressive 199,500 jermajesties overall.*

(*Obligatory weekly explanation: A "jermajesty" represents the fake name given for a dollar amount in this blog. It’s also the unfortunate name of one of Jermaine Jackson's sons.)

Here’s Week 15:

Before Thursday night’s game, teams that were 8+-point underdogs at home were 21-1 against the spread. 21-1! Leave it to the dismal Raiders to screw up that trend.

But still, that’s a bizarre progression — one that will undoubtedly trip up even the most astute degenerate gambler. That’s why I like that I stay clear of the lines themselves and play the prop bets, where there are no pitfalls to speak of whatsoever. Yeah, right.

We took a little hit last week, shaving 7,500 off our bundle, which took the grand total to 210,000 jermajesties* overall. Our quest for a million jermajesties in the hopes to buy some really cool fake Christmas gifts begins … right now.

Here’s Week 14:

Quick question: Is it safe to hide jermajesties* in the crisper or will they eventually go bad? I have a serious problem trying to hide the many bundles I’ve accumulated from the wife and kids. Thanks to my Week 12 prop bet conquest, I’ve now amassed 217,500 jermajesties on the year.

Let’s recap my glorious Week 12:

• Lions first half over the Texans. (Easy.)
• Redskins over 22 points. (Easier.)
• Seahawks under 21 points. (That one pushed, so not as easy.)

Basically, if the Dolphins’ defense were on the field for punt returns, I would’ve swept the board.

Here’s lucky Week 13:

Quick poll: Did anyone else turn a 70,000 -jermajesties profit on NFL propositions last week, taking his or her season-long total to 182,0500 jermajesties in the plus overall? Probably not, since jermajesties* don’t really exist, except in Jermaine Jackson’s household. Actually, I did come across some good news, as the soon-to-be-defunct Hostess Brands Inc. has agreed to let me purchase their remaining stock using jermajesties. Looks like everyone’s getting a gross of Twinkies and Suzy Q’s from me for Christmas.

Where was I? Oh yeah — Twinkies. This is a tough week to pick props. Mainly because as of Tuesday night, there were absolutely none to be found.

Because everyone on the Grantland staff (including and especially myself) is too lazy to work on Friday, we’ll have to make do on three propositions that I’m pretty sure will be on the board, followed by a bunch I’m positive you will not be able to wager on.

Here’s Week 12:

Only I could win four out of five of my major prop bets, go 3-and-0 with my best bets against the spread, and not have a dime to show for it. Yes — I too loaded up on a three-team teaser with the 49ers over the Rams. Neither team won, so as a result, I became the only loser. They say a tie is like kissing your sister, but I’d like to see another example of a peck on a sibling’s cheek that results in a lost car payment. And that includes the oddly amorous connection between Angelina Jolie and James Haven last decade.

For those keeping track — in make-believe degenerate gambling land, I netted +47,000 jermajesties*, which takes it to +112,050 jermajesties overall this year.

Here’s Week 11:

No matter what your affiliations are, or how you were affected by this week’s big news, you must admit we’ve experienced a major moment in the storied history of this country. That’s right: an African American man once again put himself in a position to make a decision that can change millions of lives for the better. Yes, fellow countrymen — Jermaine Jackson has decided to change his name.

This week, the brother of pop legend Michael Jackson filed a petition at an L.A. courthouse asking to change his last name to “Jacksun.” In case you still can’t figure out the difference, Jermaine just wants to scrap the “o” in Jackson and make it a “u.”

I’m sure the letter O is thrilled to be done with this lunatic. (Calls have been put out to O’s publicist — still no response.)

But this is especially fun news for me because (a) I love when celebrities (albeit D-listers) lose their minds, and (b) Jermaine is solely responsible for this blog’s long-running monetary unit.*

Back in 2000 (presumably when he was more lucid), Jermaine thought it would be wise to name his son Jermajesty. So the poor bastard is stuck with that first name, but his old man feels it’s necessary to have a minor surgical procedure done to his last name that doesn’t even change it phonetically?

He claims the switch is for artistic reasons, but Jermaine, I have a feeling you’re going to find out the “u” will not help so long as the “you” is behind the celebrity.

OK, back to winning jermajesties. After hearing about political propositions all week, I think people have forgotten about the propositions that count, those being the ones I cover in the NFL.

Last week, I went in the tank 31,000 jermajesties, bringing my yearly total to +65,050 jermajesties overall. On to Week 10 …

This week, Jimmy Kimmel Live moved its entire production to Brooklyn, USA. Jimmy and I were born in Brooklyn, and it was supposed to be a homecoming of sorts. Little did we know (actually, we knew, we saw the forecast a week before — we’re stupid) a huge storm would interfere with this homecoming by ravaging the East Coast. Luckily, our venue, the Brooklyn Academy of Music, was not affected and we were able to film four of our five planned shows in front of the most enthusiastic crowds we’ve ever hosted.

Bad news is — as a result of Hurricane Sandy, many of the great eateries in Brooklyn have been closed indefinitely, which means we’ve been stuck eating two-and-a-half-ish star hotel food for most of the week. If there’s a worse Sandy-related story, I’ve not yet heard it.

I'm kidding, of course. There’s devastation just minutes away from our studio. The effects of this storm have been horrendous, and it’s heartbreaking to see what these people are going through.

But I have a plan: We should capitalize on my incredibly dynamite-as-of-late NFL prop picks — then take the Chris Christie–size profits and donate them to a relief fund tasked with cleaning up the mess left behind by Sandy.

Speaking of those profits — last week, I netted 29,000 jermajesties,* bringing my yearly total to 96,050 jermajesties overall. Let’s keep it going in Week 9.

“[Steve] Spurrier visited [Marcus] Lattimore on Sunday and said the junior had a good attitude about his condition,” USA Today reports.

"In life, sometimes you've got to move on with whatever hand you're dealt," Spurrier said at a press conference.

“The entire college football world will be praying for Marcus Lattimore,” Yahoo! said.

“We prayed for him as a team," Georgia coach Mark Richt said.

As soon as Lattimore’s right knee was dislocated Saturday — as soon as the TV announcers said, "Avert your eyes if you’re squeamish" — everyone started talking about fate. The hand of footballic fate that smote Willis McGahee and Robert Edwards and Adrian Peterson and Boobie Miles had smitten one of the most likable and talented running backs in the sport.