Giving Thanks to Football

In the year 1625, on a marshy plain in what is now New Jersey, a Puritan settler and a Lenape Indian sat on a log. Their bellies were full from a day feasting on fowl and a bountiful harvest of mashed potatoes. Their eyelids were heavy and they had run out of conversation. Together they pondered the great expanse of flat green swampland before them.

“We need to watch football,” said the Puritan, breaking the silence. Being English, of course, he was referring to the game we call soccer.

“Where we find people stupid enough to play soccer in muddy swamp?” replied the Native American. They immediately cast their gaze across the great river to the island called Manhattan.

Later that day two ragtag teams comprised of waiters, taxi cab drivers, and unemployed actors arrived to play soccer in the wet Meadowlands. The ankle deep water made it very difficult to kick the ball, so the players threw it instead, then angrily tackled each other in the mud over the infractions.

The Puritan and the Lenape watched this exciting new game from the comfort of their log drinking strong frothy spirits distilled from hops. Soon they were joined by others. The growing crowd cheered wildly. They painted their faces and took off their shirts despite the chilly November air and dubbed themselves the “log potatoes”.

“Many people come now,” observed the Lenape to the Puritan from his wooden box seat on the fifty yard line. “We need build big stadium, charge lots of money.”

“And maybe bring in scantily clad cheerleaders,” said the Puritan.

“And get Bon Jovi to play in summer,” nodded the Lenape in agreement.

But of course, this being New Jersey, the stadium was not built for another 350 years and the Thanksgiving Day classic eventually migrated to Detroit.

Still, as we yearn for our rightful place in football history, as we enjoy another weekend with our bruised, battered, and borrowed teams from New York, as we contemplate a new stadium rising up over the remains of Lenape Indians, English Puritans, and Jimmy Hoffa—let us be thankful.

Thankful that we live in New Jersey and not in Detroit.

|  Print This

Tools: Share | Ask a question