Thirty-three years ago, our 1st Annual Turkey Bowl was played on
Thanksgiving Day. There were fifteen ten-years-olds, full of
vim-and-vigor, and we all wanted to mimic our favorite players
(Bradshaw, Jergensson, Kilmer, Harris, Ham, Balitnokoff, Branch)...

During most of those thirty-three years, we kept The Game alive --
rain or shine, sleet or frost, heat or cold -- because weather just
wasn't an excuse.

On our Fifth anniversary, The Game grew from fifteen teenagers out to
prove our manhood to forty-five teenagers and adults. Fathers that
were usually unwilling to join in the celebration previously suddenly
found Youth Lost and rejoiced for five hours in the early morning dew.

During Anniversaries 6-17, The Game turn into The Games as teams were
formed from neighborhoods, extended families (cross-culturalism was
alive) that brought down their Holiday Warriors, and distances
traveled often added extra spice for the veterans. We saw
game-induced-injuries -- broken arms, shoulders, legs, teeth --
increase because our bodies became larger, the hits more intense, and
the athletic prowess needed to be a hero more extreme. To combat this
tidal wave of Pain, arms and legs, hips and elbows became padded,
fingers were taped, and mouth-pieces were demanded of all
participants.

On the 18th Anniversary, our original group broke away and because
Caveman Football¹ didn't offer the same edge from previous years. We
found the need to go to work on Monday more important than performing
a bone-breaking, concussion-inducing goal-line stand.

The enjoyment from that single game -- that had been gone for so many
years -- returned and renewed the Faithful with Purpose.

For the next four years we played and remembered past glories. There
was a calmness about The Game again that often provided the
metaphysical reasoning we needed to continue playing. Many of the boys
were newlyweds (or still enjoying the extended intoxication of other
young couples) during these years. We kept new recruiting to a minimum
and saw three of our largest potato-munching, beer-swilling couch
generals retire to the sidelines.

Then the 22nd Anniversary hit. Boys that were once inseparable found
getting three hours of free time difficult; often impossible. This
anniversary also brought about physical changes. The runs weren't as
fast and often ended out of bounds with no tackles. The great catches
over the middle in a group of players weren't happening. The blocking
-- non-existent. (Well; it was always non-existent with all those
Swans available, now it was just more obvious during this Game.) The
two regular QB's weren't throwing the sharp spiral of their youths --
many of the passes often looked closer to a Billy-Kilmer-Knuckleball.
Recruiting took on a new angle; younger brothers were invited to this
Game and with the new infusion of blood came heavier hits and harder
falls. Bruised bodies and five concussions were the winners that day.
And the injured didn't heal like they once had.

The 24th Anniversary, saw the last of the boys married, most had
children, and (even worse) most were showing off their newfound trait
of The Responsible Adult. Our cheering section had grown, too, and now
doubled as the first aid station. This was convenient because one of
the two quarterbacks experienced some cracked ribs and a concussion;
one of the two concussions that day. Said injury occurred from not
throwing the ball away in time and getting tackled on top of said ball
while carrying a half-ton Silverback Ape on his back.

The 25th Anniversary rushed in like Lawrence Taylor on crack;
wild-eyed and careless. Calls were made just hours prior to Game time.
Some of the boys made excuses. Wives denied access to husbands that
weren't able to make excuses. But Hunters are able to bring down prey
through a multitude of tricks and The Game saw many of the boys
show... With families in tow. People stood around talking and joking,
eating and drinking. The boys showed a reluctance to play but The Game
drew them in.

The 27th Anniversary, saw The Game morph into The Picnic. Families
(some returning to the neighborhood for the first time in several
years) showed up with coffee, donuts, pastries, teas, tables, and
larger children. Men no longer stayed in the game but found sitting
and watching more enjoyable. Some didn't even want to join in The Game
but came out to socialize. The Game faded quickly as we all realized
that Pain often followed The Game and that Advil and Tylenol didn't
keep Pain at bay. Pain just wasn't as much fun to experience now as
mature adults as it was during our teenage angst.

The 28th Anniversary, saw not one boy in shorts or torn sweats. The
cleats had been moth balled. No football was pumped into a steel
bullet. The Picnic was another reason to show off Trout, brag about
careers, or just sit and listen. Someone -- thoughtfully -- brought a
soccer ball and forty-two sprog swarmed across the field. A funny
thought hit the fifteen boys at that point; The Game did what it had
always done -- change to fit the needs.

[¹] The lowest common denominator football becomes. Games are played
for one reason; to hurt an opposing player for an imagined insult or
wrong. A special ranking² was acknowledged for the player with the
highest body count.
[²] The Jack Tatum³ Comparison.
[³] Former Oakland Raider safety, The Assassin.

The Ranger