I’ve taken up yoga.
Sorry, I’ve learned that the correct phrasing is to say that
I’ve begun practicing yoga. I started
practicing because of a lengthy bout
with hip/back/butt pain that basically had me limping for most of the spring.
One of the great things about living in the Northampton area, aka “Happy
Valley,” is that there are many options when it comes to advancing one’s
personal health goals. No need to be a slave to Big Medicine! We’ve got acupuncture,
acupressure, reiki, yoga, chiropractic, therapeutic massage…you get the
picture. This great thing is also one of the worst things, because if you
happen to mention to someone—anyone—that you’re experiencing an ache or pain,
they’re going to tell you about their guy or woman who’s the “absolute best” at
whatever voodoo they’re into. When you have too many choices, sometimes you
have no choices.
Anyway, I ended up going with yoga and chiropractic, mainly
because they were next to each other in one of the many cool old mill buildings
we have around here and they were relatively inexpensive. The chiropractor,
Roger, was nice enough, and he complimented me for having two legs that are the
same length, but whenever I’d go in for an adjustment, he’d poke and prod and point
out the areas where I was tight. Which was pretty much everywhere.
At yoga, Kellie, the instructor, doesn’t focus on my
limitations. She flatly refuses to recognize them. She’ll tell me to move my
legs here and my arms there and I’ll chuckle and say, “you’ve got to be
kidding,” but she never is. And then she’ll walk over and twist me into the
proper position if necessary.
Roger’s adjustments didn’t help my back. Kellie’s yoga did.
So I’ve kept on going. However, it’s important to note that the
pre-Thanksgiving yoga class was canceled, so I’m going into the game at a bit
of a disadvantage.
If yoga stops working, I may have to turn to the TB12
Method. It’s probably a totally physiologically sound plan and besides, Tom
could use the money.
But here’s a thing about yoga: you can’t win at yoga. Kellie
chastised me for trying to be better than the other beginners in the Beginners Class
I started with. (I’ve since graduated to a more advanced class, thank you very
much.) This could be a mind trick, like the one hand clapping riddle, and the
fact that she told me I can’t win yoga has me alternating between saying, “What’s
the point, then,” and, “Oh, yeah? I’ll show you!” Or it could be true.
What does this have to do with the Turkey Bowl, you’ve
probably asked more than once by now? Well, I’ve been thinking about this a
lot, especially during Shavasana (look it up), and I think the same philosophy
can be applied to the Turkey Bowl. You can’t win the Turkey Bowl. None of us
can.
This part is directed specifically at the kids who pulled
off the improbable last year and beat the adults: you shouldn’t put so much
emphasis on winning. It’s not about winning. It’s about the camaraderie and being
thankful. So it would be okay if you took it easy on us old folks on Thursday.
You have to start looking at the bigger picture.
The bigger picture for me is that I ran into Bill Small at
Dave Faherty’s lovely and amazing memorial service and he told me that he’s
almost back to walking without a limp after the unfortunate Achilles incident
last year. The bigger picture for me is that the thought of running around playing
football for a couple of hours on Thanksgiving morning terrifies me. So I have
an announcement to make:
I am retiring from the Turkey Bowl.
I’m 50 years old, and I’ve cheated Father Time long enough: November
25, 2032, will be my last game.
That means I’ve only got 15 Turkey Bowls left.
Oh, and this is the 35th Turkey Bowl. In honor of
that, here are 35 (36, really) random ways the Turkey Bowl has made my life better
(and they all go beyond this transitory notion of “winning”). The Turkey Bowl
has:
1.
Given me another gluttonous meal on Thanksgiving
2.
Accelerated my curmudgeonly-ness by making me
hate whippersnappers who can run and throw and catch all day
3.
Made me wonder, who takes the picture every year
and is therefore not in it?
4.
Allowed me to teach my kids the South Mountain School
song as we travel past my elementary school every Thanksgiving
5.
And embarrass them annually by singing it
6.
Allowed me to never host a Thanksgiving dinner,
or cook a Thanksgiving meal
7.
Given me the pleasure of verifying once a year
that I am, in fact, getting slower
8.
Convinced me that Doug MacDonald has the worst
hands
9.
Made me appreciate the Orchard Park neighbors for
tolerating our annual invasion
10.
Reminded me that, yes, the Wolf and Pig are
still a good call
11.
Made me kick myself for listening to that crazy
lady who demanded we stop trimming the trees. How many years ago was that?
12.
Made me appreciate the longest-running tradition
in my life
13.
Let me go over the new Tappan Zee Bridge
14.
Made me ppreciate Texas Weiner Taylor Ham Egg
and Cheese sandwiches.
15.
Made me appreciate the entire MacDonald clan.
16.
Taught me that anything can happen (Owen
contributed this one)
17.
Taught me that Bill Small should never play in
the Turkey Bowl
18.
Shown me that Michael Nulty talks a good game.
Emphasis on the talk.
19.
Proven John Nulty has the softest hands.
20.
Proven that Turkey Bowl huddles are wildly inefficient
21.
Frustrated me because we should have filmed every
one of these games
22.
Taught me to appreciate Lars’ understated
steadiness
23.
Made me appreciate that Doug is a master
motivator
24.
Who’s not afraid to do the dirty work on the
line
25.
Proven that Thanksgiving is the best day of the
year
26.
And that Maplewood and the surrounding area was
a pretty great place to grow up
27.
Shown that Jameson’s pairs well with Taylor Ham
28.
Reminded me that Lulu Kesin might be the most
underrated veteran player out there.
29.
That having Ian MacDonald on your team is the
best.
30.
That Mississippis are better than alligators
31.
That the center should never be eligible.
32.
That Lars has a very athletic family. Something
about skipping a generation, I guess.
33.
That playing against my children makes for great
dinner conversation later.
34.
That a set of orange cones was probably the best
investment I’ve ever made.
35.
That Sam Shelffo is a stealthy pass rusher.
36.
That YouTube is NOT a suitable substitute for a
doctor when it comes to treating shoulder injuries.
Let me conclude with a brief
story. Many people in my family love black olives, and they have long been a staple
of the Shelffo Thanksgiving table; the table would not be fully set without a
serving dish of black olives. One year, after a Thanksgiving Eve party at the Zoo
Pub, I went home feeling a bit peckish. To satisfy my hunger, I ate two entire
cans of black olives, which meant we had none for dinner. My mom was unhappy,
to say the least. And I had to fight through the crowds at the A&P on
Thanksgiving, post-Turkey Bowl, wicked sore and tired, to get replacement
olives or be drummed out of the family.
My mom passed away in August. She’s
been on my mind as I worked on this newsletter. She lived in Maplewood for 20
years, after living in South Orange for 20 years, and the fact that she still
lived in Maplewood made me feel like less of an interloper during our annual
invasion of Orchard Park. Every year when I’d see her after the Turkey Bowl,
she’d say the same thing to me: “Well, I didn’t hear any sirens, so I guess the
game must have gone okay.”
May the game go okay on Thursday.
10:30, Orchard Park. See ya there!
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