Week 12: Jake Delhomme and the Goblet of Whoop-Ass

This past Thursday, I spent Thanksgiving the way I have for the last six odd years, making dinner with Reenah. This was to be our first Thanksgiving in her new house.

"Let me take that," she said shortly after I arrived. I had draped my jacket across her sofa. It's actually a very nice jacket, calfskin. It's part of my fall look: "Prosperous Yet Sensual." She took my jacket, walked five steps, and threw it onto another sofa.

We had divided up the dishes. Reenah was in charge of the traditional Indo-Korean roast chicken, the stuffing, cranberry sauce, butternut squash, and mashed potatoes. "And you," she told me over the phone, "are in charge of the beverages, the dessert, the greens, and the backup gravy." Reenah, I said, how 'bout we make some gravy and then we make some babies? At first I thought I had lost the connection, but after a few moments, she started speaking again.

The bird turned out succulent and perfect, my roast asparagus spears with asiago shavings was a hit, and the backup gravy proved wholly unnecessary, as this year, Reenah had used copious amounts of chicken broth to give her gravy a rich, briny flavor.

I carved the chicken, prepared our plates, and then sat down with her to give our thanks. I've been going first ever since the notorious 2003 debacle. Reenah went first that year. "I'm thankful for my apartment, and my job, the vacation I'm going to take with my mother this year, and that this food turned out so well. Your turn." "I'm thankful that we have such good friends in our lives in such proximity, and that all the people we love
and care about are in good health." I picked up my knife and fork.

Reenah: "Wait, that's what you're giving thanks for?"
Me, knife and fork poised in midair over his food: "Yeah. That's it."
Reenah: "I thought you were just going to say something funny. I get to go again."
Me: "You don't get to go again! Once you say it and pass, you're locked in. There's no do over."

This year, I gave my thanks, Reenah matched, and we started eating.

How's work?, I asked. "Oh fine. I was working pretty late yesterday on this patent case I have next month. I actually made one of the junior associates miss his flight home." "That must have made you only slightly less popular than handing out one Dum Dum per person on Halloween." "And next week is crazy. I have a deposition on Monday, a mediation on Wednesday, and two more depositions Thursday and Friday, all in different cities. The partners wanted me to take a deposition on Tuesday too, but luckily that one had to be rescheduled. How's work for you?" "Good. One of the secretaries told me I remind her of her gynecologist."

"Are you cold?" called out Reenah. She had gone upstairs to check the thermostat. I was watching in silent fascination as my mashed potatoes were beginning to unmash themselves back into a potato. I poked at a frozen mass the size and consistency of a hockey puck with my fork. "I'm fine," I answered. "All right. Let me know if you get cold," she said, coming down
the stairs dressed in a comforter.

"Seeing anybody?" I asked. "Nope," she said, checking her blackberry for the sixth time that evening. "You?" "Nope," I said, interrupting the iPod playlist she'd created for the evening to find something I liked instead.

Cake and tea in hand, we settled down onto her sofa to watch the movie. (My first holiday selection, "The Killing Fields," was vetoed in favor of my second, "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.") "Do you think we'll be doing his five years from now?" she asked me.

"Yes," I said. "Only with more cats."

On to the game. . .

Random NFL thoughts:

Peyton's new commercial: rarely does one see so much effort behind so little personality.

Did anyone realize that the Cleveland Browns are playing this season? I'm serious, they are. Quick, name a single memorable play of theirs this season. Name a non-Reuben Droughns starter. Uh huh. Uh huh. I'll come back.

Did you hear Joe Horn rip into Paul Tagliabue for not meetings with the Saints after Hurricane Katrina? Funny, it's been ages since I heard the NFL hype machine spin every Saints victory into a "feel-good story for America." You want a marketing tip, watch figure skating. I was looking for football highlights on ESPN2 and found figure skating. Yeah, that's it. Anyway, one of their television sponsors? Ore-Ida french fries. I don't know who convinced Ore-Ida that advertising during a skating competition would hit their target audience, but they deserve a raise.

Like the pilgrims of yore, on the last blustery weekend of November, the NFC South leaders, America's Team, your CAROLINA PANTHERS, headed north to Buffalo, home to the number four take from the "great" QB draft of '03 and the self-proclaimed "best running back in the league." Buffalo, New York--official motto: "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride." Wheezing spittle and wing sauce, sixty thousand plus fans in attendance leaned forward in their Rascals to cheer their team on. Against these odds, how could the underdog Panthers possibly prevail?

The first quarter passed without a score, a stalemate between two outstanding defenses. But early in the second, with the brilliant John Fox calling the plays from the sidelines like a non-anti-Semitic Bobby Fischer of x's and o's, the Panthers took a 3-0 lead. Sure, many rookie coaches would have been tempted at this point to go for flashy, high-risk touchdowns. But revealing yet another layer of his genius, Coach Fox knew what he had to do: protect the lead, grind out the clock.

Whatcha cookin, mama? Tough to say, because the Carolina D is all up in Willis McGahee's kitchen! 21 carries for a puny 53 yards! Tied after three quarters, the Bills led by three in the final three minutes. The end, it seemed, was certain. With WR Steve Smith facing double coverage and WR Keary Colbert still in the witness protection program, there was just no one to--wait, is that Garth Brooks? No, it's his sure-handed alter ego, third-string TE Michael Gaines! Delhomme to Gaines for a TD! Panthers win! Panthers win!

Reader mail feature:

Brian B. from Buffalo wrote,
"Excuse you? 'Capital City of Failure'?? Buffalo is known, fyi, as The Queen City. I can't wait to head butt you."

Don't worry, Brian. I hear Joey Harrington will be on the market this spring. And you know what they say. 'There's always room for Kurt Warner. . .'

Next week: the Tar Heel Terror Squad takes on Michael Vick and the Falcons. You know you're surrounded by too many yes-men when you leave the house with the cornrows Vick or McNabb sport and think it looks good.

Until next time.

Rrowrrr!