The Big Suey: The Property-Off

Welcome to Big Suey, the version that sounds a lot like our other show except for this flashy imaging; I’ve even been tempted to swipe fries off a stranger’s plate. Load up the Useless Sound and the boldest takes because Nick Wright is coming in despite a ban I apparently lifted, and he’s arriving to stare down his so‑called nemesis, Pablo Torre.

I did ban Nick for complaining we didn’t treat him reverently enough last time, so sure, this could be awkward; also, Dan’s in my chair groove, which is a violation in our property‑off.

Congrats to the Greg Cote Show on 300 episodes, though celebrating by calling your most famous 300‑pound friend is the kind of comedy that makes me want a refund.

We were honoring the number 300 in every possible way, and yes, that included booking our most notable 300‑pound guest; we love you, Dan.

Our boldest‑take hotline has slipped, so callers, pick it up; meanwhile, I’ve got a James Bond adjacent caper about a Fabergé egg and a very patient police detail.

I just watched Casino Royale for the first time and I’m midway through Quantum of Solace, so I’m in on the Bond discourse.

A thief in New Zealand swallowed a diamond‑studded Octopussy egg, got nabbed, and officers literally waited six days for gravity and biology to deliver the evidence; imagine stewing in that inevitability.

It was eighteen‑karat gold with green enamel, white diamonds, blue sapphires, and a tiny gold octopus inside; when recovered, the chain and price tag were still attached.

Swallowing isn’t the problem; the exit is, because that thing’s got edges and ridges you’ll feel at the finish line.

At first the photo made it look huge, then you see the thumb and it’s closer to a large grape; still not a fun ride.

It’s less milking and more flagpole mechanics with a chain that can twist sideways, which is a nightmare visualization.

That cop’s weekly docket was the true stink of schedule, and you can picture the tug until it catches on the, well, centerpiece.

Six days of knowing the truth will, uh, surface is a special kind of purgatory, while the officer sits assured the proof will eventually arrive; honestly, the store video would’ve been easier.

I can’t believe the label came out intact; that’s Hall of Fame lamination.

Think Titanic artifact cleanup, only with a much worse backstory.

It felt like climbing the gym rope more than a pull, and now I wonder if this provenance actually bumps the price.

Some rich weirdo would pay extra for the story, guaranteed.

Imagine the cocktail‑party brag while your spouse wears it; and Zaslow, loser of our next bet buys the egg.

It’s not even that pricey, Dan—put your money where your bit is.

On to Philip Rivers: the Colts signed him to the practice squad, the AFC is a mess, and it sounds like he could actually start in a week or two—are we really doing this?

Practice squad is a runway to starting, not a ceremonial seat; you don’t bring Rivers back to hold a clipboard.

Quarterbacks are dropping and even great teams are limping, but do people honestly believe a five‑years‑retired Rivers can guide a playoff run?

Indy’s first‑rounder belongs to the Jets, so they’re incentivized to wring wins out of this season; with slim options and Rivers’ comfort in Shane Steichen’s world, it’s a what‑the‑heck move that tracks.

Put this on the pole: did you know Philip Rivers started games back when Bill Clinton was president?

JJ Redick says players chase social media validation, and you see it with younger folks glued to phones in meetings; Ameen, what’s really happening?

It’s external versus internal locus of control—too many base self‑worth on mentions from randoms and bots instead of their own process, and that wrecks consistency.

Incentives rule everything, and now brand, gambling, and private equity pull focus from, you know, winning—the Clippers extending leadership amid losses, coaches bailing before bowls, and tanking all point to money overshadowing the scoreboard.

Tanking’s been around forever to land stars who bring future wins, Ty Lue’s extension makes sense because he’s elite, and money has always driven decisions; what’s new is players refreshing their phones mid‑meeting and during games.

I get that, but the nakedness is new—private capital in college sports shows winning and revenue can diverge more than fans realize, and no one’s regulating the conflict.

Donald Sterling made money while losing, proof that profit and winning have never been perfectly aligned.

We finally wrangled the Useless Sound Montage, two and a half minutes of coach‑speak gold capped by Tyler Baron has a knee.

That McVay audio sounded like a sci‑fi torture rack, and if I hear defend every blade of grass again I’m throwing a flag; also, it’s schedule, not schedule, and yes, I’m issuing a delayed penalty for that bit.

As a bit guy, I can admit that one belonged in the junk drawer.

Max Kellerman is back with Rich Paul on a pod called Game Over after two silent years, which is a bold re‑entry.

Rich Paul said the Lakers aren’t contenders even though they’re near the top of the West and fresh off the cup, which feels like a very deliberate message.

OKC looks legit and Rich usually speaks for LeBron, so saying it out loud matters; Jeremy, what else you got?