TB FIN

Feel free to show up at Orchard Park at 10:00 a.m. on Thanksgiving but know this: There will be no Turkey Bowl game this year. Repeat: No Turkey Bowl this year. Or next year, for that matter. The beloved Turkey Bowl has ceased operations.

Yes, I’ll get into details. But you also need to understand, dear reader, that for the past two weeks I have been under the influence of Tramadol, an opioid used for moderate to severe pain. This entry is brought to you by Tramadol.

The days of rolling out of bed and heading down to Orchard to get clarity on what happened last night while continuing to party on Thanksgiving morning are long gone. So are the days of packing the kids in the car and driving down to New Jersey to keep this vaunted tradition alive.

Two weeks ago, I had my right knee replaced. They say the first two weeks after a knee replacement suck, and that’s precisely where I am right now, acting as the mayor of suckville. I know what you’re thinking: it will be worth it because I’ll feel so much better, and you know this because you’ve had a knee replacement, or you know someone who’s had one. And I appreciate those sentiments. But currently, the highlight of my day is going for a five-minute, crutch-assisted walk outside. I have an elaborate set of precise-but-painful exercises to do three times a day, and when I’m not doing those, I’m lying on the couch with my knee elevated and covered with a spaced-aged cuff that circulates hyper-chilled water over my leg. But my knee still has that new-knee smell.

How did I end up here and what does this have to do with the Turkey Bowl?

Last year, I took a break from the Turkey Bowl. I handed the reins to Doug MacDonald and explained that I wouldn’t be driving to New Jersey; I’d be spending the day in western Massachusetts instead. And that’s what I did. I got up early on Thanksgiving morning, ran a 5-mile Turkey Trot, and then came home and started cooking the meal. It was awesome. A few weeks earlier, I’d run a half marathon. I was working with a running coach. I was thinking about training for one last marathon. I was feeling good, I was feeling in shape.

And then after the holidays, I went to my Fantasy Football League’s Banquet, which was held at the local country club. (We so fancy ‘round here.)

As part of the festivities, we played golf. Simulated golf. In the golf simulator. And while playing, I dislocated and broke my patella. I 100% do not recommend. I wasn’t even swinging a club when it happened. I was just…walking. And if you’re wondering how much walking you do while playing simulated golf, it’s a lot less than you’d think. I 100% do not recommend that anyone do this while playing golf, simulated or otherwise.

Tramadol comes with a lot of warnings. Don’t drive while taking. Don’t combine with alcohol. It should have a warning about how if you’re going to do any long form writing projects while on Tramadol, you’re strongly advised to hire an editor.

After the injury, I went to see my friendly orthopedist, Jonathan. He said it was time for me to think about a knee replacement and arranged for me to see the knee replacement specialist. The specialist told me that no one, medically speaking, needs a knee replacement. Instead, he said, it’s all about my quality of life. But I couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t say that I didn’t need a knee replacement. And here I am.

Here are some things I have to give up now : Running. Not setting off the metal detector at the airport. Tramadol, at some point. And the Turkey Bowl.

It’s time. Alice from Alice’s Restaurant just passed away, after all. I’d rather end it while I can walk (limp) away.

Here are some not-at-all-made-up stats about the Turkey Bow that show its impact on our lives.  

• Number of years the TB existed: 40
• Total number of Most Dominant Force winners: 36
• Total Number of participates: 160
• Total number of family dinner impacted by the game: 486
• Total number of Taylor Ham sandwiches eaten by players during the game: 383
• Total number of ambulance visits to the field: 1
• Total number of views of a Youtube video after searching “how to put a shoulder joint back into place”: 3

 

Yes, I’m said that the Turkey Bowl is over. But I’m thankful for the amazing group of friends and families who’ve not only played year after year but who’ve juggled their own families’ commitments around the Turkey Bowl.

I’m thankful for the Orchard Park neighbors who’ve created their own tradition. I like to think that we inspired them.

I’m thankful for Gefken’s Flowers and their generous donation of land that made it possible for that small park to hold two football games at the same time while at the same time I wonder how many bidi clove cigarettes are buried under there.

I’m grateful for Texas Weiner and their outstanding, under-the-radar Taylor ham sandwiches.

I’m grateful for everyone who’s ever played or shown up for one of our games.

I’m thankful for anyone who’s talked about the Turkey Bowl at their Thanksgiving Dinner. The game will live on in the stories we share about it.

A number of years ago, Mr. Hogenauer stopped by the game. He asked each of us to introduce ourselves to him, because he’d forgotten many of our names. We obliged, of course, and as each of us introduced ourselves, Mr. Hogenauer’s eyes lit up with remembrance and wonder that we were still getting together every year to play.

Yes, that’s not going to happen anymore. But times change, and so do people. And it’s time for this tradition to change, too. Everyone is now free to go on their own missionary year for the Turkey Bowl and see what develops.

Speaking of developing, I like this time of year because all of these post-game photos from previous years pop up on Facebook. Like this one from yesteryear.

 

Because I’ve got a lot of time on my hands and because I’m on painkillers, I decided to see what AI could do in creating a post-game picture. I asked it to make a picture of 13 people posing for a picture after playing a touch football game. They are outside, many of them are wearing football jerseys and five are holding bottles of beer. Here’s what it came up with:

 

 

They look pretty happy, right? It’s not until you look more closely that the true horror of this picture reveals itself. The light pole thing next to the shirtless guy. The guy with the bottle finger. The bloody mouth on that one guy. How everyone looks so borg-like.

If you look more closely at the real picture, you’ll see that heart and souls and positivity of everyone in the picture. The Turkey Bowl never tried to be more than it was, a group of friends getting together to celebrate friends getting together. We have heart and soul that AI will ever have, even if this particular tradition is over.

The days of rolling out of bed and heading down to Orchard to get clarity on what happened last night while continuing to party on Thanksgiving morning are long gone. So are the days of packing the kids in the car and driving down to New Jersey to keep this vaunted tradition alive.

There’s no plaque. No monument to commemorate what we were all a part of. While it would be cool if we just put a rock there one day, I’m okay with there not being anything left behind, other than the people in the upper field game who will wonder for a few years what happened to us, and then if we’re lucky we’ll just be background to some of their football stories.

I’ll miss the walk down the path into Orchard. I aways hope that there’s someone there before me, because of that one year when there was a game on the lower field, too. I always feel like an interloper and I worry that someone has snaked our field.

I’ll miss that moment in the huddle when I realize that I’m another year older and the game has just started and the opponents are taking it very seriously. Oh, and no one has any idea what play to run. And it’s only our third play. Every year I would tell myself that I should spend some time coming up with some plays. That never happened.  

Finally,  I’ll say it loudly and clearly: the “kids” are the better team now.

Peace to everyone and be sure to share a Turkey Bowl story at your dinner table.