Thanksgiving: It’s All About Football and Farts, Bro
By Brett Dworski
The following essay was originally written and performed for BUGHOUSE! in Chicago on November 4, 2019. The topic of debate was Thanksgiving: It’s All about Gratitude, Kem-oh sah-bee or It’s All About Football and Farts, Bro. Brett Dworski went up against Joe Janes. Dworksi was determined the winner by our judge.
My family’s not big on Thanksgiving. Despite it being a secular holiday, my mother often says it’s “Just not something us Jews get into.” So instead of feasting on turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce and collard greens everything else people eat on Thanksgiving, my family usually reserves a table somewhere—usually Buca Di Beppo—for the six of us: me, Mom, Dad, Jordan, Uncle Neal, and my Aunt Barbara. But isn’t being around family members who you loathe part of the giving thanks? I’m not sure. But that’s how Thanksgiving has always been, and that’s how it’ll continue to be. It’s just… eh. I’m fine with it.
But Thanksgiving morning—oof. That’s the best. Since I was in third grade, every Thanksgiving morning, my childhood friends and I play seven-on-seven football. It’s the best. We freeze our nuts off at Willow Stream Park and all pretend we’re the next Tom Brady. You know, the Jewish one. Some of us don’t give a shit about the game and smoke doobies on the sideline, while others get overly competitive and call plays like the Annexation of Puerto Rico. We come home with chapped lips, bruised elbows, muddy clothes, and churning stomachs. Turkey Bowl is the most fun I have every November. Not because of the game itself, though, but because I get to see friends who’ve moved to San Francisco, San Diego, New York, Seattle, and even Beijing. Our annual game is my real Thanksgiving celebration—and I’m thankful for it.
And the football action doesn’t stop after he game. After mom yells at me to strip naked in the garage so I don’t get schmutz all over her floor, I park my (now clothed) ass on the couch to watch the NFL with my dad until, and then after dinner. Growing up, Dad and I always loved watching football together on Sundays, but now that I (thankfully) don’t live at home anymore, Thanksgiving games make the occasion even better. We’ve even been lucky to catch some Thanksgiving Bears games over the years, and even though they usually suck ass, Dad and I love it. It’s special father–son time—and I’m thankful for it.
But am I really only supposed to be thankful for Turkey Bowl, watching games with Dad and all the other goodies in my life one day a year? Hell no. I’m thankful every single day for the great things I have. Including:
• That my loved ones are alive and healthy
• That I have a 401k
• In-unit laundry
• Poo-Pourri
• The dollar section at Target.
• Almond milk
• Advil Sinus Relief
• Clean underwear
• Spoons
• Birth control
• Elevators
• Direct deposit
• Jeni’s goat cheese & cherry ice cream
• That the lump on my testicle I found during college was merely an inflammation of my epididymis
• Craft beer
• Dishwashers
• Mel Brooks and Robert De Niro
• Pickled vegetables
• Spell-check
• And wool socks
I’m all about having a holiday where we eat like pigs and watch football and kibbitz with family and friends. But devoting a day to being thankful is bullshit if you ask me. If that’s the case, Thanksgiving should be three hundred-sixty-five days a year. We need to be thankful for these things every day, all the time, no matter if it’s a holiday or a shitty Monday morning.
So, screw The Day of Thanks. We have all the time in the world to be thankful. Thanksgiving is all about football and farts, bro.