Thanksgiving Football: A Brief History

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My Midwestern family had two Thanksgiving traditions. One involved placing a pot of boiled cranberries outside to chill. The second tradition revolved around watching football . . . or at least having the game on in the background while cards were played, the Almighty invoked, drumsticks munched, and arguments rekindled. As the 2013 holiday season arrives, let’s quickly examine how a day of feasting and gratitude hooked up with a robust game of inches.

Professional football on Thanksgiving started in the 1890s. From then into the first half of the 20^th Century, teams such as the Canton Bulldogs and Massillon Tigers clashed with their leather helmets, no facemasks and few rules.  And while various teams in various cities continued Thanksgiving play, it wasn’t until 1934 that T-Day football as currently recognized formed thanks to G.A. Richards.

Mr. Richards had recently purchased an NFL team, the Portsmouth (Ohio) Spartans. He moved them to Detroit and rechristened his team the Lions. But the baseball Tigers were the Motor City darlings. Wanting to start a buzz, Richards scheduled a Thanksgiving Day contest with the undefeated Chicago Bears. As it turned out, the Lions had an excellent 10 – 1 squad primed to meet the 11 – 0 Monsters of the Midway. Tickets sold out two weeks prior to the clash. The Lions lost 19 – 16 but a tradition was born. Except for six years from 1939 – 1944, the Lions have played on every Thanksgiving.

But it would take another 22 years for Detroit’s T-Day tussle to go national. In 1956, the first Thanksgiving Day game was televised as the Lions dropped a close one at the wire to the Green Bay Packers, 24 – 20. What we now assume normal was born: televised pro football on Turkey Day.

Our last contemporary puzzle piece took another decade to drop into place. In 1966, the Dallas Cowboys commenced their run as the second T-Day game. For the last 47 years, with only two exceptions, the Cowboys and Lions have played on Thanksgiving Day. Starting in 2006, the NFL added a night contest featuring two at-large teams. Now tryptophan-filled football junkies can have their fill in several ways.

But let’s close with the American tradition of do-it-yourself. On Thanksgiving, in backyards and parks all across the country, ad hoc Turkey Bowl games will be underway. Touch or tackle, these contests pit family and friends against one another for bragging rights or just a way to let off holiday steam. And while such games are legion, let me single out one such Turkey Bowl from my old hometown. Now in its 14^th year, the Indo-Jew Bowl takes place every Thanksgiving at a different park in Skokie, Illinois. Old high school classmates of Jewish descent line up for nine-man tackle against their sub-continent rivals. Last year saw the Jews roll to a 41 to 27 victory. But the Indos are hot for payback come November 28.

So whether you put your cranberries outside to cool or not; play, watch, or listen to football, have a most Happy Thanksgiving.

CSUN 10K Race Report from Back in the Day

This is an updated version of an old post from six years ago. A rare race report on something other than a full or half-marathon. Just 6.2 miles around a college campus. Plus I left out my encounter with The Incredible Annoying Man. Back then on Mondays or Tuesdays, Melissa Foley and I would meet at the Rose Bowl and run four miles. She wanted to break four and half hours at the Long Beach Marathon in the fall. I wanted to break four hours at the Chicago Marathon, also in October. (My result is chronicled here.) At the time, I was training for the inaugural Santa Barbara Wine Country Half-Marathon.  My friend Ernesto and I were signed up. I had a room booked and everything. Ah, but interesting events loomed in my immediate future.

Ran a 10K today at Cal State University Northridge. After injuring my calf running last Monday (locked up tight), I spent the week either in the pool or doing yoga to loosen up the muscle. And while it's still not 100 %, I felt strong enough to give 6.2 miles a go.

Except I didn't want to run.

I didn't want to get up, or drive to Northridge, or run once I got there. And a very annoying guy with a strange, over sized bill on his cap out of a Terry Gilliam film decided to mentor me. First he said I wasn't drinking enough water pre race. When I blew him off, he decided to critic my stretching. I told him I'd like to listen, but I needed to be somewhere else and wait for the race to start.

Racing feet, but not mine. Image: Utah Valley

Horn sounds and the race begins. Off I go anyway. I wanted to quit at the second mile. Then I wanted to walk for long periods. Then I wanted to quit at mile 5. Yes, it was sunny and hot and the course teemed with race-etiquette challenged "Kids Run L.A." But I've been there/done that before and bounded along like a young deer. Today was different. A most unusual attack of the "quits." 

Maybe 10Ks remind me too much of tempo workouts — hard, long mid-week runs at a faster-than-usual pace. They build endurance. And grumpiness.

Despite all that, I set a 10K pr of 52.56. That comes out to an 8:32 pace. (Note: My official gun time  places me at an 8:36 pace.)

Afterwards, I drove to Brookside Park near the Rose Bowl for World T'ai Chi Day. This is a yearly gathering of L.A. County T'ai Chi players and Chinese yoga practitioners. Marjorie was there. We hugged good-bye again. She drives to Texas this Friday. I hung out with old chums Loren, Ed, Iren, Dave and Dede from my T'ai Chi class. Then I bought an official tee-shirt and left.

Acres of writing, but it'll keep.

I don't want to do that either.

Turns out I was running with a torn calf-muscle. No Santa Barbara and no running at all until July. My training was thrown off for Chicago, but I really got into spin bikes and that stands me well to this day.  

Why Kindle Tasks Me

My jury duty essay, "Unreasonable Doubt," has sustained a name change to Jury Doody. I'm now in the process of prepping the MS document for transfer to a Web page and eventual upload to Kindle Direct. I'm using a Kindle book specifically for Mac users and it seems straightforward. But I'm the king of formatting workarounds like lots of hard returns that create forbidden extra paragraph symbols. Spacing, hyperlinks, and other formerly ignorable details must be executed within the  program. I'm glad I chose the shortest of my "books" to upload first. Now I understand the peevishness of Khan.

h/t: thatjohnkydd

And Gutierrez

h/t: Brendan Owens

Novel Update Plus Free Bonus Writing Tip!

i z quotes

Oh, hahahahaha! The second draft is finished. What a crawl through gravel that was. But there's a story there. I see it forming. Now I'll let the whole thing simmer and finally PUBLISH SOMETHING ON AMAZON! Yes, within two weeks, an electronic version of my jury duty essay, "Unreasonable Doubt," will be for sale to the general public on Amazon Kindle. (The specific public may also partake. I'm not an excluding guy when it comes to such matters.) Off to find cover art.

Free Bonus Writing Tip
As my spirits dragged toward the end of the second draft, I used a trick to transition me into writing.
I would spend five to ten minutes copying text from a story onto a page, then switch over to my latest chapter. This got me writing judgement free for the few minutes that I needed to warm up. My teaser texts were:

The Mammoth Book of Monsters edited by Stephen Jones

Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned by Wells Tower.

Incidentally, Tower is a kick-ass writer who can really sling a metaphor. Worth a look.

So Long, Jack Bierman

Jack Bierman 1942 - 2013

In 1989, I was out of college, broke, living in a microscopic apartment above a garage in Hollywood and in need of employment. Answering an ad led to an internship at LA Parent Magazine. Founder and editor Jack Bierman hired me after my internship ended. He was the first person to ever ask me where I saw myself in five years. I didn't know anyone thought that far into the future. I think I answered, "Not in prison." Nevertheless, I eventually became Calender Editor for sister publications in Orange County and San Diego. Working with an amazing group of editors, I learned to write quickly and to deadline while keeping up the quality. On the production side of the magazine, I ran into an interesting bright young woman who eventually became my wife. Moving on in 1991, I soon landed a staff job at Warner Bros. Animation and my life veered into a different realm.

Over the years, I'd run into Jack every now and then. He'd hold poker games for the old editorial and production crews and was even my neighbor for a time. Occasionally we'd meet for breakfast and talk running as both of us were former marathoners. So I was bummed today to learn Jack had recently passed away.

Aside from starting a magazine from scratch and turning it into a multi-million dollar business, Jack was a quirky guy who worked his own spiritual side of the street. A Jew from New York, his wife was a devout Catholic and Jack would occasionally attend Mass. He listened to tapes of Thomas Merton and would meditate in his office. Once he lent me a Merton cassette and I lost it. With some trepidation, I admitted the deed. Jack smiled. With a Zen attitude worthy of Merton, he told me not to worry.

Good thoughts and prayers go out to the family, particularly daughters Lisa and Clare. Lisa has set up a site for stories about her father on Tumblr. (Image: LA Times)

Chicago Marathon 2007

Six years ago, I ran my third marathon in Chicago. Or, at least, I attempted to. Here's my race report originally published on Oct. 8, 2007 under the heading Sweat Home Chicago.

Marathon number three continued my tradition of only running marathons with temperature extremes. At dawn it was an overcast, humid 75 degrees and climbing. My niece dropped me off near the lake-front start line around 7:00 AM. I checked my gear, loosened up with T'ai Chi, then stood in a tightly-packed brick of humanity waiting for the 8:00 gun. As the overcast dissolved into popcorn-shaped clouds, the sun rose above Lake Michigan. It felt like a furnace door opening.

Because of crowd size, it took me 20 minutes to cross the mat.

Interesting Stat:

The Chicago Marathon sold out all 45,000 spots back in April.

But only 35,867 passed the start line Sunday morning. That means 9,133 people figured out it was too stinking hot to run.

Lots of TNT runners from Illinois, Iowa, Kansas, New York City and even Louisiana.

The field was so packed it was tough to interval. Those who intervaled clashed with those who viewed the far right of the course as a passing lane. My goal was a 4 hour and 40 minute marathon. I aimed to interval four minutes running/ and one walking up to the half-marathon mark, then see how I felt.

Leaving Grant Park, the course turned onto LaSalle Street just past Mile 2 and headed north. No water at the first stop — they'd run out. There was a mob around the folding tables, shaking gallon water jugs to get the last drops. The surrounding street was littered with flattened Gatorade and Hinkley water cups from the preceding runners. (Wet, flat plastic cups are like ice. You had to watch your footing.) People were highly pissed — especially those without water belts. (I'd brought mine.) One runner had a bottle of Gatorade. He took a sip, passed it back to me. I took a sip and passed it on to another runner. This no-water business boded ill.

Running for several miles on LaSalle, you'd get an occasional breeze through the tall buildings. I'd take off my visor and savor the cool air. Then out into Lincoln Park where the water stations remained a problem. Runners were surging across the street to the first one they saw. Sometimes there was only Gatorade. Other times, volunteers couldn't keep up with demand and runners served themsevles. Whenever possible, I grabbed two cups, drinking one and dumping the other over my head. (In today's Chicago Tribune, the race director blamed runners for the water shortages, citing those who took two cups.)

Around mile eight, I saw an old white-haired runner drift off course and ask a spectator if he could sit in his lawn chair. (The guy helped him down.) By now, sirens whooped all over the city as ambulances rushed the first heat casualties to the hospital.

The heat was getting to me. For the moment, I slowed but kept the same interval. But as we turned west onto Adams, the shade disappeared. No tall buildings, no leafy tree-lined streets with brick apartments. I passed a medical tent and it was full: runners on cots and others holding ice bags to their heads. Past the half-way point, I started tossing out goals like a passenger on a sinking boat dumping freight. Dropping to a 3:1 run/walk, I slowed pace even more. After frying my brain in Honolulu two years ago, I listened to my body and if it said walk more, I did.

We doubled-back east on Jackson and finally found a little shade. Turning south on Halsted to mile 17, I was mostly walking. I'd pick a point and run to it, or run half a mile, or choose a runner going about my speed and tag along. I took another salt tablet, but skipped goo as it made me retch.

Somewhere around mile 18, the cops bull-horned that the race had been cancelled. No finishing times would be official. Please walk. There was a great deal of confusion. By now, the city had opened up fire hydrants and fire trucks stood at certain intersections hosing down the crowd. (Not to mention ordinary Chicago citizens with garden hoses doing the same.) Finally, in the Mexican neighborhood of Pilsen, around mile 19 it sunk into the vast majority of runners that the 2007 Chicago Marathon was toast — just like them. Some runners dropped out at the nearest medical tent where they'd be bussed back to the start line. Some ran on. A nasty rumor surfaced that we wouldn't get medals. This put me into a black mood.

Come what may, I was determined to finish. Because my legs hurt, I ran 1:1 off and on to around mile 22, then walked to mile 26. Along with many others, I ran the final .02 because there were cameras present. 24,933 runners crossed the finish line.

And they did give out medals.

I finished in 5 hours, 48 minutes and 23 seconds. Check the Comments of my previous post where Jeff Carroll has listed my unofficial splits.

One man died and over 300 were hospitalized for heat injuries.

The people lining the route were great. Many offered water or ice cubes, staying on to cheer in the heat long after the race was called.

As for the "other" race — the front end of the marathon where people actually had a chance to win — Kenyan Patrick Ivuti beat Moroccan Jaouad Gharib by .05 of a second. (2:11:11) The top woman's finisher, Ethiopian Berhane Adere edged Roumanian Adriana Pertea in the homstretch. Pertea thought she had the race knocked, and eased off, waving to the crowd as she neared the finish. Adere poured on the coal to catch and pass Pertea for the win. (2:33:49.)

Given my injuries since April, I couldn't think of a better race to cancel. But if I'd been a TNTer who'd fund-raised and trained for this moment, or a runner eager to pr, I'd be supremely miffed at Sunday's outcome. For over a week, I'd been tracking the temperature. I knew it would be hot and humid. Hence, the race organizers did also. I find it hard to believe they couldn't increase the amount of water stations, change the start time to earlier, or better prepare for the heat onslaught they knew was coming. The Honolulu Marathon faces these conditions every year. No one could pick up a phone?

In any case: mission accomplished. After 30 years, I finally finished the Chicago Marathon.

Thanks to Ryan, Raul, Jeff and K for the emails. I'm walking around fine after sleeping eleven hours last night.

As for now, I'm not looking at any marathons before next fall in Pasadena. But don't tell anyone I'm entering.

They'll kick me out to avoid extreme weather.

(All photos courtesy of the Chicago Tribune.)

Sam King's Halloween Art

Eight days more until the night of All Hallows Eve. In the spirit(s) of things, I'm sharing artist Samantha King's seasonal offering from her blog.

Samantha King

Another Novel Update

crowdflower,com

Work, travel, and other sound excuses have thrown off my schedule. But I'm back at the book this week. I've been attempting to weave the story and may be making things harder. For instance, each chapter is beginning with a flash forward that is filled in later. I might be better off writing everything front to back, then figuring out in subsequent drafts where to drop things in.

This was originally a novella meant to be quickly brushed up then uploaded for sale on Amazon. But the story developed its own wants and needs and will be novel-length whether I approve or not. Alas, the tale is set aboard a small boat afloat on a sea alive with monsters. In many ways, the story is  like a play where all the characters are on stage constantly. They only exit when I off someone.

Right now, I want to off them all and type "The End."

That said, onward.

'Boats' Tells How Animated Features are Made

A funny look at animation executives planning the next movie blockbuster.

justindec

Cartoon Brew via Josh Gerbrandt on Facebook

Goodreads Short Story Labeled 'Mature and Explicit'

Are you really? Then dare  to click the button below.

My short story "Death Honk," now up at Goodreads, carries the above warning. However Wattpad allows the same material with a PG13 rating. And the Journal of Microliterature just assumes you can handle it.

Note: I've included the word 'splatterpunk' in the metadata of this microfiction. (Less than a thousand words.)  The Oxford Dictionary defines splatterpunk as: "a literary genre characterized by the explicit description of horrific, violent, and often pornographic scenes." 

And while there are no pornographic scenes in "Death Honk," there is explicit description of certain actions one might find 'horrific' and, most certainly, 'violent.' I, in no way, disagree with the Goodreads warning. I merely point out how the same tale may be labeled, or not, on different sites.

Mostly, I've never had a story preceded by big red warning labels and it's kind of exciting. 

So long, Tom Clancy

NY Daily News

 Tom Clancy is gone, but leaves behind good writing advice. From back in the day, I recall reading Red Storm Rising and marveling at how fast Clancy could move action while relating highly technical details on military hardware. He was wise to see the potential mix of his books and video games. And he also had some tips for those interested in a writing career:

"You learn to write the same way you learn to play golf... You do it, and keep doing it until you get it right. A lot of people think something mystical happens to you, that maybe the muse kisses you on the ear. But writing isn’t divinely inspired – it’s hard work.”

Clancy thought of himself "as a storyteller, not a writer." He said,  “I think about the characters I’ve created and then I sit down and start typing and see what they will do."

Considering my recent angst, I appreciate the wisdom of a seasoned scribe who will be missed.