Inspired by the Turkey Bowl Muse, the Commissioner delivers this year's newsletter in verse.
O Thanksgiving Day! Your sun rises today
With a purpose for one year forgotten and lost.
He beckons the warriors come out and play
And bades us confront our previous night's boast.
O'er riding the 'Wood, he rushes to warm our field of play.
Your daughter Orchard silently awaits, and gives no stray hints
Of preference. She merely offers her grass and leaves
To cushion Big Joe's dawn windsprints
And her cozy private corners for someone's dry heaves.
Thanksgiving, for most your welcomed hours race happily towards a
meal.
But your faithful sons yet awaken slowly, fearing Night-Before's
wrath.
They can think not of fond family and guests, for they only feel
Their eyeballs, their heads, their stomachs; the bile's vile
path.
But Brian is first to arrive; his detoxification barely set in
when he drives
His trusty Chariot unsteadily onto the battleground
Her bed filled with beer cans and lime.
In between sips, Brian demarcates in and out-of-bounds.
He is soon joined by Doug the Stout, buying smokes now one at a
time.
Across the 'Wood, the sun has roused the warrior clan.
They danced in the neon-moonlight of the pub
Until they emptied the matriarch's chip dish and cleaned the hors
d'oeuvres pan
Until the floor became sticky, the keg floated in the tub.
Now they jockey to ditch Craig, if only they can.
Slowly but unsteadily, the players march in.
Some stretch quietly, others warm up.
Lubow looks cheerful. Kesin looks grim.
Many more speak loudly and fill up their cups.
Gathered informally but with a sense of purpose,
They come together like freaks from a circus.
The Commissioner arrives, his breath and stink preceding
His body. He has labored all year to bring the game together.
He says he might play; but he'll let others take the beating.
He stays on the sideline, chatting, unlike the others, not
worrying about whether
His body will stiffen while his family is eating.
The previous year's MVP arrives, noticeably slower but more
content. The Unsung Hero also arrives,
recalling glories from the past, about how he set up a score
or made a great play. His twisted dream of glory still survives.
O Thanksgiving! Stuffed bird awaits at the end of your day
But now stuffed bladder of pig rules the men
Who bumble blindly in the mud and get in each other's way.
Yet, years later, they'll say, remember when?
Remember when we got all drunked-up and promised to play football
early the next day?
Whose idea was that?
A Thanksgiving Haiku
muscles scream
and my turkey plate
mocks my nausea
11:00 AM, Orchard Park. Teams to be determined, based on participation. Five completions make a first down. Center is not eligible to catch a pass. Have fun, and play safe.
Sincerely,
The Commissioner
