O give thanks

Dear Lord, thank you for this blessed day, spent in the warm if occasionally offputting embrace of loved ones. Thank you for this bounty, these steaming fowl carcasses, these potatoes so lovingly run through Mom's food mill until they reach the consistency of edible velvet. Thank you for the smell of onions and celery that permeates this house. Thank you for this bottomless jug of gravy, which pools in the center of my plate and forms a small lake into which the other foodstuffs gradually slide, except the cranberries, which are in a small bowl off to the side.

Thank you for the cheap pink wine Dad always buys, which causes eyes to roll but somehow is always just right with this meal, especially after four glasses. Thank you for this tingly feeling.

Thank you, Lord, for pie, the most exalted of all food groups. This rich array of desserts—pumpkin, apple, cherry—is truly life-giving and life-affirming, especially when buried under a pile of whipped cream. Speaking of which, thank you for cream and for its cousin butter, without which this holiday would barely exist.

Thank you for Tubby Smith, Father, who although he is not at our table today is in our hearts. Thank you for his talented assistants, for his thick and creative playbook, for his extensive knowledge of special situations and his clock management skills. Thank you for the best recruiting class in 30 years, especially those two guys over 6'10". That is truly awesome.

Thank you for Derek Boogard and his mighty fists.

Thank you for the NFL team that calls our city home. It may not be the best NFL team, but it is ours and we love it, even though its coach repeatedly calls plays that guarantee a five-yard gain on third-and-seven. What is up with that, Lord? Anyway, thank you that we are not Memphis or Portland or San Antonio or some other major-market city without a team.

Thank you for the rich array of entertainments that allow us to retreat within ourselves and avoid uncomfortable degrees of human interaction. Thank you for iPods and for Firefox and for ESPN.com and for Netflix. Thank you for Rainbow Play Systems. Thank you for melatonin, which is perfectly legal. Thank you for keeping this a two-newspaper town. Thank you for YouTube. Thank you for Dennis Kucinich and Ron Paul.

Thank you that we didn't buy that house, which had abundant closet space but would have totally bankrupted us. Thank you for Statoil, which is up 13% this year while the S&P 500 is up only 4%. Thank you for our new bank, where all the tellers are over 40 and remember our names and always give our kids toys and suckers at the drive-through window.

Thank you for the hardest-working Missus in all the land. Thank you for the faith that these children will eventually turn out all right, and will not grow up to be sadists and axe murderers, especially the boy.

Most of all, Lord, and I mean this, thank you for hoops at St. John's. Thank you for continued access to the best gym in the whole city. Thank you for these fellows, many of whom were playing at age 30 and are still playing at age 40. Thank you for the durability of my anterior cruciate ligament. Thank you for this Saturday's game, which will do so much to alleviate the ill effects of all that gravy which, again, I really want to thank you for. Thank you that everyone is kind enough to let me know whether they will or will not be playing this weekend. Thank you that even with so many loved ones and all their suitcases and junk still here we will tip off at 8:00 a.m. on Saturday, as usual.

Amen.