Have you ever found yourself at a Thanksgiving function where for some incomprehensible, infathomable, inexplicable reason they don’t have the football game on the television? This happens to me almost every year, and never fails to piss me off. My in-laws have an enormous extended family and it seems every year Thanksgiving dinner is held at yet another cousin/aunt/ who-the-hell-knows’ house at some remote location in South Fucking Cackalackee.

Thanksgiving memories: “Eat faster! Holmgren’s coming!”

Regardless of which relation (who I may or may not have met years ago at the wedding and have long since forgotten) hosts Thanksgiving, two things remain consistent. First, a woefully disparate chairs-to-asses ratio. I’ll never know why someone would invite over 50 people when they have maybe a dozen chairs in the whole rinky-dink place. Is this how I am expected to spend my holiday? People are standing around eating like it’s a goddam refugee camp. Indigents at the Salvation Army have a more comfortable dining experience. Second, and far, far more egregious, is that nowhere in this grossly overcrowded shanty is a television tuned to the football game.

Apparently, Norman Rockwell started out his career painting
homo-erotic magazine covers . That pilgrim looks like Bruce Campbell.

Fortunately, I long ago overcame any reservations I may have entertained about making it perfectly clear I need to see the football game immediately. There’s no point in wasting time dropping subtle hints like, “Jesus Christ, have you hillbillies even heard of football?” These people are far too dense to pick up on nuanced cues like that. I usually just grab the remote and start clicking until I hear Jim Nantz breathlessly pimping Phil Simms’ bullshit ‘iron award’.

Occasionally, someone might squawk about my unilateral programming adjustment. What? Your kid wants to watch “A Yogi Bear & Friends Christmas”??? Fuck her. I’m sweating balls to make the playoffs in my money league, I got Kevin Jones’ raggedy ass going at 12:30, and I sure as hell intend to watch it.

Fuck. These. Guys.

However, all this self-absorbed bitching and moaning is a roundabout way of leading to what I am truly thankful for this year– the long-overdue addition of a third Thanksgiving game. Usually, the NFL, given a choice between A, B and C– “C” being a shit sandwich— will pick the latter. But adding a third Thanksgiving game is a stroke of sheer, unqualified genius. (Frankly, I am so overjoyed at the promise of the more football, that I am willing to overlook, albeit temporarily, the return to the NFL of the smarmy dickheadmanship that is Bryant Gumbel.)


“I realize many of you
may not get the NFL Network.
Sucks to be you.
Have fun watching ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’
or some other weak shit. Loser.”

For years, Thanksgiving football has provided an attractive alternative to actually carrying on a conversation with my in-laws. Now, with the addition of the prime-time game I am assured three additional hours in which I can avoid any human interaction whatsoever. And that, amigos, is something for be thankful for. Let’s play three.

Note: Another thing I am thankful for every year– easy jokes:

“My buddy Bob Sacamano once committed career suicide.”