Turkey Bowl 2000
I see only a smattering of shit on the Web site. When a guy named JOEL compliments us, and no one gives HIM shit, we've got a problem.
If you have a Turkey Bowl and no one shows up, does it count as a Turkey Bowl?
I field numerous questions about whether or not there will be a Turkey Bowl this year, and these persistent, nagging questions stay with me and cause doubt in my mind. And then when I respond to the questioner with an affirmative, "of course there'll be a game this year!" I'm faced with more questions about who will show up. Who will be there to play, to actually make it a Turkey Bowl instead of just a group of out-of shape guys having a beer in a public park?
My doubts fester and grow until I'm almost ready to admit out loud what I've long feared: this year's Turkey Bowl will be the one where it finally happens: no one shows up and the streak comes to an end. What would happen if we had no Turkey Bowl? Would the earth spin off of its axis, causing chaos and destruction and despair throughout the land? Probably not, but perhaps we'll find out on Thursday at 11:00 am when the scheduled kickoff is canceled for lack of interest.
I know how it happens. I know how past participants can rationalize their non-attendance, because it almost happened to me this year. It goes a little like this:
The calendar turns to November, and you find yourself saying to yourself, Didn't we just play the Turkey Bowl? If we didn't, why does my body tell me what I just played football, that I need to rest and recup? And once you start listening to the lies your body tells, it's a slippery slope.
Thought number 1) If I'm going to play, I'll need to be comfortable. What amenities I can bring to the game this year? How about a table for pastries and bagels, and maybe one of those neat folding canvas chairs to sit in; they're pretty comfy.
Thought number 2) And oh, it'll be chilly, so I'll need to bring a thermos of fresh-brewed coffee.
Thought number 3) And don't even get me started on what I'm going to wear; I haven't even begun to plan my outfit.
Thought number 4) I'm worried about what effect having a few beers on Wednesday afternoon will have on me Thursday morning.
Thought number 5) You see, truth be told, I loved going to the Turkey Bowl last year hangover-free.
Thought number 6) And one more thing: that traditional 11 am kickoff time? That's usually when Sam and I take our morning nap.
Thought number 7) And I do have some raking to finish up and a couple of storm windows to put in.
Thought number 8) But, I mean, priorities change, right? So it's okay if I don't play in the Turkey Bowl this year, right? Everyone said that once I became a father, everything would change. This is just one of those things. It doesn't necessarily mean that I've changed. It's circumstances that have changed, not me.
Thought number 9) I don't have to go. They probably don't even play the Turkey Bowl any more.
But then, a funny thing happened to me on the way to retirement. I picked up a football, and I threw it. The spiral was far from perfect, and it took more effort than I thought it would to fling the ball the length of my back yard, but the ball got there. And I caught the return throw. And on my next throw, I faded back a bit, rolled right, and threw a fairly tight spiral and again, hit my target. And as I rolled and then planted and then threw, I feltOenothing. No pain, no fear, no cynicism or skepticism or worry. I felt-pure. And that's when I understood why I keep going to Orchard Park, rain or shine, on Thanksgiving morning: to chase that all-too-fleeting feeling of perfection, that moment when all negativity drops away and your body is in sync with the universe, and all of the buried spirits of the good times shared around Gefken's pool infuse your soul and elevate your performance to the stuff of legend. Hark! Is that Dixie's bark I hear over there in the corner?
On my way back from the airport yesterday, I asked my Egyptian-math-professor-turned-cab-driver if he's looking forward to Thanksgiving. He told me that he's Muslim and doesn't celebrate the same religious holidays as most Americans. I thought better of trying to educate him on the differences between a religious holiday and a national holiday, so I sat there quietly and listened to him explain that as far as he's concerned, the whole idea of holidays is misguided (my word, not his) in that people view holidays as a period of obligation where they have to spend time with their families, something they might not necessarily want to do.
"As far as I'm concerned, if you like me and I like you, and we spend some time together and have some fun, that day's a true holiday. And every day should be a holiday like that."
I liked that sentiment, and it resonated a lot with the Turkey Bowl for me. It doesn't matter who wins or loses, or how many people show up, ultimately, for as Doug said last year, all we really need is someone to tackle and someone to be tackled. And those roles can switch.
So, I'll be there. Won't you come join me, my friend?
Sincerely,
The Commisioner
