Best of DLS: Zaslow Travels to South Bend

We’re back with fresh stuff this week, not pre‑taped.

It’s the twenty‑ninth as we record, and we crowdsourced your favorite episodes; today you get two hours: Zazlow’s South Bend saga and the first time someone blurted out “typhoon,” which became a forever drop.

At the holiday party we learned Zazlow eats typhoon like a kid.

Fried rice and orange chicken only, which isn’t even typhoon.

Whatever chaos hits the Dolphins, we’ll still throw a party; we’re locking down a section in Kendall for a Halloween‑ish watch along with a big costume prize.

I’d do it for free, but my knee surgery timing might mess with me; I’ll try to make it.

Someone heard Tony at FIU mutter he could’ve built “the house” if they had just let him; explain that hot‑mic.

I tried to walk on at FIU and they had me doing drops with no ball, allegedly due to practice rules; receivers used tennis balls, but quarterbacks got air reps, which is how you end up dreaming about the house you never got to build.

OLIs before my top five: Mac Jones keeps sneaking wins; Trey McBride gets fed by Brissett in ways Kyler didn’t; the Jags implode with flags and can’t be trusted; the Chiefs found their rhythm again with Rice.

On the Jags, every bright play died by penalty; they act unserious and it shows.

Fourth‑and‑one has flipped; teams are bombing deep because defenses sell out for the sneak.

Flores might have hacked the push by creating a low wall at the line; it’s creative until play‑action punishes you.

Keep an eye on Dallas; Dak healthy means steady wins even if that defense leaks.

When Prescott’s right, they live near twelve wins; that’s their baseline.

My earlier Giants intrigue almost aged well, then Denver hung thirty‑plus in the fourth; a back‑breaking pick and a missed extra point flipped the script.

I’m still banging the drum for the Colts; they march efficiently, score on anyone, use a real bell‑cow, and spread chunk plays all over.

They’re the machine that chews up yards and time; different from Kansas City, but just as ruthless.

Number one is Miami, and I went full letters‑bit: snapping at the coach, the QB, the GM, even the owner with increasingly gross wordplay; point is, it feels rotten and I’m ready to fumigate.

Fine distinctions matter, even when the metaphors are filthy.

One more quick thing: FIU hosts Kennesaw State at Pitbull Field; I might even be on the field.

I’m obsessed with precision football; the Rams operate like a military school where routes hit the same spot every time, Stafford survives the madness and carves you up, and Flores is out here reverse‑engineering the unstoppable play while Miami’s Ferrari sputters when one part snaps.

Tua’s supposed to be all about accuracy and he is, especially in the red zone, but McDaniel can’t get that McVay‑level crispness right now.

Switching gears, Shohei Ohtani just authored the wildest playoff game I’ve ever heard of: three homers, one out of the park, and ten strikeouts at triple‑digits; that’s superhero stuff.

Only a dozen hitters have ever hit three in a postseason game, and a small handful of pitchers have fanned ten with two hits or fewer and no runs; he did both on the same night.

Don’t minimize it by saying more pitchers should hit; the Angels somehow had Trout and Ohtani and still face‑planted, which should be a baseball crime scene.

Babe Ruth remains uniquely talented in one weird way: he literally sang on vaudeville in the off‑season; let’s see Ohtani try mind‑reading bits between series.

Yes, Ruth did the stage act—songs, jokes, even fake mind‑reading—during those barnstorming tours.

I’ve failed you by not getting to Zazlow’s travel story sooner; let’s go.

I connected through O’Hare to South Bend, saw a crazy two‑hour‑plus “flight” time, shrugged, boarded, walked downstairs, and found…a bus with assigned seats; the driver got on the PA and announced we’re headed to South Bend while waiting for “tower clearance,” which is how I learned the back half of my “first‑class” trip was a highway ride.

Put it on the pole: can your second leg in first class be a bus?

I texted Amber, told her you wouldn’t believe it, and then I wrote, I just want to go home.