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I've never been one for professional (or even amateur) sporting events. But every Thanksgiving, the Detroit Lions are my favorite team ever.
My dad had season tickets ever since the Silverdome opened in 1975. In 1977, he brought me along as his game-day pal while mom made turkey and fixings at home. From that game until he gave up his season tickets in 1998, I only missed two Thanksgiving Day games. Even after I moved to Chicago, I'd come back to Pontiac for Thanksgiving to go to the game with my dad. It was the one day a year that was just for us.
I always looked forward to it for weeks. He'd tell me every summer when he got his tickets who the Turkey Day opponent would be, but it never really mattered. Denver, Chicago, Pittsburgh, whomever. I remember a few details of the games -- the time someone sacked Walter Payton and split his pants clean off (he had to leave the field wrapped in a towel), the time the Lions beat the Steelers 45-3, and all the times we'd leave halfway through the 4th quarter to beat traffic only to miss some dramatic play that changed the score by the time we got to the car. But mostly the specifics are lost in a blur of blue and silver, of stadium nachos and fight songs, of the dusters and the wave. What I really remember is sitting next to my dad.
Happy Thanksgiving, Dad! Go Lions!
Replies: 2 Confessions
Thanks for the blog, AmyC, and for being not one whit less fabulous than the fella who introduced us. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.
elavil @ 11/28/2002 11:39 AM CST
Hell, I'm the one that oughta be thankful. If it weren't for you, Jim and I would still be living in sin! (fortunately we've found a bunch of new ways to sin.)
amyc @ 11/28/2002 08:43 PM CST