My family is your average, all American family, except uber athletic and hyper-competitive. If you can imagine, our annual family football game on Thanksgiving gets rather intense. When I was eight, I got a concussion from one of my uncles. To my family’s advantage this year, the festivities are being held at our house.
We all divvy up into teams. My large and in charge uncles split up evenly, and my dad is quarterback for both teams. My little cousins are also participants in this cruel game.
I end up on my Uncle John’s team, along with my 7-year-old cousin, Joey, my little sister Sarah, my other Uncle Matt, and my Aunt Maura (who’s family nickname is “Powder Puff”, because she’s a huge wimp). On the other team is my cousin Paul (who plays Division 1 football at Lehigh), my uncle Mark, cousin Ryan (15), cousin Tommy (4), my brother the golf champion, and my uncle Tom.
Let the games begin.
My team is on offense first. We decide on a bread-and-butter play, with my sister and I as wide receivers. Relatively simple plan. We sprint to the endzone, Dad lobs it to Sarah, she catches it, we score the first touchdown.
Next play. We’re on defense. I, being naturally speedy, cover my cousin Ryan, who is also naturally speedy. Somehow my Uncle John, an avid weightlifter, ends up covering little Tommy.
I’m pretty sure my Dad is going rely on his usual bread and butter plan. I anticipate and cover Ryan all the way to the end zone. Dad attempts a gentle toss to lil Tommy, who really just wants to touch the football. Just as his little hands grasp for the ball, Uncle John deflects it into the ground, while also deflecting Tommy into the ground. The poor kid somersaults twice in mid air, and lands square on his little tush. Uncle John scream, “YEAH LIL BITCH!”
Dear. God. Things have gotten out of hand rather quickly. Tommy bursts into tears. His mom, my Aunt Jen, rushes over from the sideline that is my front porch. Uncle John snaps out of his competitive fervor. He helps Tommy up and says sorry.
The game is still not over.
My team has possession. We form a quick offensive plan. Everyone sprints to the endzone. I get to the endzone quickly and try to get open. I turn around. All I see is my uncle Matt, bulldozing down the other team. He’s just running through my pile of little cousins, taking them out left and right. He gets to my cousin Paul, who’s covering the endzone. Oh no. They run blindly into one another…both end up flat on their backs, clutching their foreheads. My Aunts and Mom all laugh hysterically form the front porch.
And that, my friends, is just another Thanksgiving with my family.
Elizabeth Roberts is a contributor for the Rutgers Review.