Staring down at the mound of potatoes, dressing, and vegetables on my plate, I contemplated what I could skip before getting back in line for more deep-fried heaven.
As though he’d read my mind, Callahan said, “Enjoy what you have, Danny-boy, ’cause when those boys get to her station, there won’t even be slivers of bird left.” He nodded in the direction of the food tables where Fitz, Bax, and Finn were all standing in front of Mrs.Fitzgerald.
“You mean you don’t even get leftovers?” I asked Tarvi. “She doesn’t set a little back for Fitz and his roommates—maybe enough to share with select teammates who know how to block?” I added, waggling my brows.
Putting his hand up to his ear, Tarvi said, “You hear that? Nothing but silverware scraping plates. Don’t expect leftovers from this bunch of hyenas.” Gesturing toward my plate with his knife, he added, “Better eat up before one of us gets bold and steals a slice off your plate since she gave you extra.”
Catching the other three guys at our table eyeing my plate, I heeded Tarvi’s warning and went to work on what I had in front of me. Even with trying to slow down and savor the excellent meal the alums and the moms had cooked for us, the mountain of green beans, broccoli, dressing, sweet potato pie, mashed potatoes, and turkey disappeared almost in a blink. The only thing I’d skipped was the cranberry sauce, because seriously, whose idea was it to ruin a perfectly good fruit by sticking it into a gelatinous sauce?
As a unit we rose from the table to stack our plates in a rolling cart set up near the doors behind the bleachers. Then we stepped in line for dessert. Once again we were offered generously sized plates to hold the assortment of pies that had replaced the main course on the long serving tables. I asked for a slice each of pumpkin, pecan, and apple pie and said, “yes, please!” to the massive dollops of whipped cream one of the alums dropped onto each slice.
When most of the team were reseated with their desserts, Coach Ellis stood and cleared his throat.
The man was kind of incredible. Over the course of the season, I’d probably heard him raise his voice fewer than ten times total. He didn’t have to. His authority carried in the gravity of his convictions, which came through loud and clear when he spoke in a normal conversational tone. The second he stood from his chair, ripples of silence like rings in a still pond floated through the assembled players and staff. When he cleared his throat, the last of those ripples hit the back of the room, and all was silent and still.
“We met our goal of winning the season. But that was only the first half. Now it’s time to leave the locker room on fire for the second half where every down counts. If we want to reach the pinnacle of our game”—he stared down each table of players on one side of the room—“which we do”—he stared down each table of players on the other side of the room—“not one man among us can take even one down off.” Pausing, he let that sink in.
“Today, for the most part, we are away from our families.” Looking over to where the moms of some of the players stood at the serving tables, he said, “With exceptions for which we are forever thankful.” The ghost of a smile flitted over his lips as he caught the eye of his wife who stood beside Mrs.Fitzgerald. “But we’ve built one hell of a family here, and on Saturday, we need to play for it. We need to play for each and every member of this winning Wildcat family. But today I’m thankful for the opportunity to coach men the caliber of those in this room. I’m thankful for an administration and alumni association that puts their full support behind this team every day. And I’m thankful for the staff of coaches who help each of us look good on Saturdays. Go! ’Cats! Go!”
A resounding chorus of “Go! ’Cats! Go!” echoed him. Then everyone in the room stood up and yelled again. “Go! ’Cats! Go!” And one last time. “Go! ’Cats! Go!”
As we all resumed our seats, I looked over at Coach Ellis, catching one of his rare smiles as he listened to something Coach Ainsworth was saying. The camaraderie in the room reminded me of my brothers in arms. Though I’d never been deployed to a hot spot during my enlistment, the possibility was never far from my mind nor the minds of the other people in my unit, which kept us tight-knit. The feeling I had as I ate this holiday meal with my teammates closely matched my Air Force experience.
Growing up with the captain, I’d never had much sense of family. I’d found a little of it in the service. I was finding more of it on this team. But what I yearned for was what I saw whenever I had the privilege of spending time at the Hamiltons’. Though Thanksgiving Day with the Wildcats had exceeded expectations, I still missed the good-natured teasing Mr.Hamilton subjected his girls to, the way they gave it back to him, Mr.Hamilton’s parents siding with their granddaughters, and Mrs.Hamilton’s indulgent pleasure in all their antics. The cutthroat card games and board games that followed the meal were as much of a highlight as the food, which far surpassed anything I’d ever had in an Air Force mess hall, even when I sat with the captain at the officers’ table. Of course, after enjoying Mrs.Fitzgerald’s deep-fried turkey, I had to amend the best meal category—not that I’d ever admit to it in front of my girl.
Thinking of Taryn had me discreetly pulling my phone from my pocket and shooting off a quick text. Catching Dally eyeing what was left of my apple pie, I pulled my plate closer and finished it off.
A few minutes later, a mass of Wildcats strolled back to the facility to kick back in our comfy chairs to watch the pros many of us aspired to be as they battled each other for the country’s holiday entertainment.
By the time we’d sat down to watch the games, the late-morning contest had already concluded, and the afternoon showdown between my beloved Broncos and the Cowboys was already in the second quarter. Having moved up on the depth chart, I now had a chair in the coveted second row. As I settled down in my seat, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Knowing my love for the Broncos, I couldn’t believe T would text me during the game. But I wasn’t about to ignore her until a commercial break either.
Taryn: Happy Thanksgiving! Glad you enjoyed a good spread.
Me: You do know the game is on, right?
Taryn: Yeah. I can’t decide who I want to lose more.
Me: That’s evil, Sweet Pea.
Taryn: DANNY!
A red swearing emoji bookended her text at my use of her family’s nickname for her, and I grinned.
Me: Who’s winning your game?
Taryn: Tina. She cheats.
I sent a laughing emoji followed by:
Me: You’re still on for driving back tomorrow?
Taryn: Will probably get there around eleven. Don’t wait up. You need your game-starter sleep.
Me: Promise you’ll text me as soon as you get to your place.
An eye-roll emoji popped up on my screen.
Taryn: Promise.
