Sports able to act as magnet

Thanksgiving is awesome.
While Christmas stands atop this list as the favorite holiday for many, I’ve always been partial to the late-November holiday. I think that’s because it brings together some of my favorite things:
Family.
Food. (Specifically the menu of turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy and stuffing. I could eat it for weeks.)
Football.
And when I think about Thanksgiving, I can’t help but think about the Turkey Bowl.
The name is far from original, but it’s the one I came up with when, probably about 10 years ago, I decided to organize a post-Thanksgiving family event.
It involved inviting all of my uncles and cousins to play a game of backyard football to be followed by a pizza dinner on the Saturday after Thanksgiving.
We were extremely lucky that first year, as temperatures for the inaugural game were in the 60s. It was perfect.
I only clearly remember one play from the day:
Dropping back to pass as the quarterback, I scrambled to my left as my cousin Jimmy pressured me, and in a classic move on a busted play my cousin Patrick broke deep. As I neared the edge of my dad’s garden — the out-of-bounds line, clearly — I launched a high, arching pass. A few seconds later it dropped into Patrick’s arms for a touchdown.
The Turkey Bowl only continued for a few years, as it became harder to gather everyone as we scattered for school and work. But it was sure fun while it lasted.
And it calls to mind one of the things I love about sports: It brings friends and family, who might otherwise disagree about politics, money, or just life in general, together.
My dad’s family — he’s the oldest of nine siblings — gathers for nearly every holiday, not to mention birthdays, graduations, baptisms, first communions and any other important life event. Inevitably, sports will come up.
As a group, we’re always playing sports, talking about sports or watching sports. (The Lions and Cowboys are sure to be on Thursday, and the ever-expanding Christmas slate of NBA games will dominate the TV next month).
My favorite part of that has always been playing the games.
I remember my high school graduation party being by far the most fun among my group of friends, mostly because it involved playing games nonstop. It’s the volleyball that stands out the most.
Who won or lost? I have no idea. But I remember my friend Joe Schilens — a wrestler and football player who was our class valedictorian at St. Edward and went on to become a cheerleader for the University of Cincinnati — quickly coming to the realization that my dad likes to cheat. (He’s always trying to either make up his own rules or announce a score that he knows to be off by a point or two.)
Suffice it to say that Joe, for the rest of the day, was examining Dad’s every move closer than a replay official studying every angle. My dad couldn’t get away with anything.
In addition to volleyball and football, we’ve played baseball, cornhole and spud (if you don’t know the game, you’re missing out). And probably the most frequent competitions are games of H-O-R-S-E.
There’s virtually always a basketball hoop available, and at some point, a group will gather. Sometimes it’s only four or five competitors, sometimes 10 or 12. But there’s almost always a game.
In order to win, you best be able to make a handful of shots, because some of the players have their signatures.
For my Uncle Jeff, it’s the over-the-backboard hoop or anything with the "opposite hand."
For my Uncle Chris, it’s the baseline 15-footer.
For my cousin Michael, with whom I share a birthday, 14 years apart, it’s anything launched from a ridiculous distance. (Actually, you don’t have to be able to make those, because he only hits about one out of 30.)
I like to torture my cousins with bank shots from the wings.
Each hoop has its own characteristics too.
The driveway at my Uncle Jeff’s house is sloped, so a 10-foot shot from near the garage is far different from one near the sidewalk.
The hoop at my Aunt Kate’s house has the most forgiving rim in basketball history.
And the backboard at my parents’ house on the hoop that my dad built for me when I was a kid, is made out of plywood. (This hoop also had some built-in defense in the form of some of the branches of a giant maple tree that once stood at the corner of the driveway.)
Thinking about these games over the years provides a snapshot of life. From being the little kid who can’t quite compete, to the adolescent finally able to go toe-to-toe with his uncles, to the "old man" trying to keep up with the youngsters while watching some of my cousins’ children start the process themselves.
It’s not really about who won or lost, though I’d like to think I’ve won my share of games over the years. It’s about the time spent together — playing, laughing, enjoying each other’s company.
So on Thanksgiving, let sports be the magnet that draws you closer when other aspects of life might divide you. If the weather is temperate enough, go out and shoot some hoops, toss a football around or play catch.
You’ll be thankful you did.