Thanksgiving

Well, many of you are already dispersed for the holiday (at least here in the U.S.), so this post may address that age-old question, if a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound? But I wanted to circle back anyway after a long, fairly hectic day that began with me posting over at ESPN and then doing one of my bi-monthly live chats for that giant in broadcast sports.

At least one poster, ever-faithful Ptenisnet, seemed a little disgruntled by my ESPN post, suggesting that I may be pulling some punches, or otherwise trying to cultivate two separate voices at my respective blogs. I answered Petnisnet in the comments in the post below this one (time stamp: 8 PM), and I'll repeat the short version: I write about whatever moves me, in the same voice (unless I'm striving for some effect) and with the same sensibility. I'm basically a writing machine; it is my preferred form of "thinking", and all of us think in a natural, individualistic way, not an affected one. It's an important thing to keep in mind, especially when you get into one of those political or philosophical discussions in which  you find yourself thinking, or worse, saying: I can't believe you believe that!

I hope you all take my ESPN post (today, it was Reasons to be Thankful) for what it is: a typical TW post that happened to turn up elsewhere and made you click the mouse one or two extra times. I think this relationship with ESPN is a good thing all around, and surely you all know by now that my heart is with the Tribe; this is a second home for me (to borrow an observation originally made about theater). And the biggest thrill I get is when some 1 AM comment, or petition for advice, or interaction between comment posters, leaves me feeling that it's a second home for many of you, too. Community rules, community rocks - especially when it's a community crackling with independent thinking and mutual respect.

I am so thankful for this condition, on the eve of my favorite holiday. The only thing that bugs me about it is the sometimes borderline obscenity of the eating portion of Thanksgiving, but that's just a sign of plenty and one of its most frequent fruits, decadence. It's good to remember that there was a time when the typical, American-household Thanksgiving meal of today would have seemed a miracle of abundance. In fact, I remember one childhood Thanksgiving when the main course was boiled potatoes, I presume because times were a little tough.

Funny, how I cherish the memory, and the purpose it serves for me. I didn't learn what little I know about thankfulness through plenty, I was taught it by want, and about that I have zero complaints.

Still, I love the simplicity of the basic Thanksgiving dinner - turkey, spuds, something green that nobody eats, and, of course, cranberry sauce (full disclosure: I insist on the canned, jellied variety - preferably Ocean Spray; I wouldn't touch the cranberries sauteed with roasted cashews with a touch of pinot noir and an "interesting" glaze with a 10-foot pole, or even that 5-2 one, Roman Polanski).

I don't want to be coy here - I do enjoy good food, especially game prepared with fresh, wild ingredients, like Morrel mushrooms or succulent Fiddlehead ferns. But somehow, I feel Thanksgiving ought to be celebrated with a meal that is a tribute to the fundamentals, for they're the only things that count in the long-term, in anything, including tennis (see, I got it in there!).  Given our off-the-charts good fortune in this and many other nations, striking a balance between humility and prosperity seems a worthy goal, and that's precisely what the typical Thanksgiving dinner does.

My own family, regrettably, has a history of celebrating the holiday with the culinary equivalent of Shock and Awe.

It's touching in a way, this frantic making up for some old want that not only no longer exists, but also never required redressing, and which has only served a good and noble purpose that, for lack of a better term, I'd call the recognition of munificence. But we have the habit of running from things, if for no other reason than it keeps us running toward things, the ostensible purpose of which is to stop running from things, which is a scary thought partly because of our desire to run toward. . . and so on. And on.

By contrast, my wife Lisa's family - with whom we are to spend this Thanksgiving - is much more restrained, so we will be spending a quiet Thanksgiving on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, dining out (eating in a public place is a pretty good gluttony suppressor, I've found). I took Cowboy Luke to get a holiday haircut today, and ended  up sitting side-by-side with him in the barber shop. I was simultaneously proud of how well he handled it and a little sad about what a little man he's become, and so quickly. To all of you who warned me about how fast childhood goes, I experienced the truth of your observation today.

There are other great things about Thanksgiving: no presents, for one, football games, for another. I also like the brevity; you're in and out in a day, but it's always a four-day weekend. To me, it doesn't get any better than Thanksgiving.

TennisWorld will continue to chuff along over the next four days, with some great posts that are already in the hopper. This includes ruminations on the current line-up of tennis journalists by Steggy, and a Hott Hott post the Hillbilly Princess put together after an elaborate canvassing of major TW contributors. Also, Mikey Seabra has some follow-up thoughts on the recent ATP Championships, which will probably run next week. I'll have thoughts on the Davis Cup final, and we're going to have a lot of fun with some ideas we've thrown around over the past few months, including the launch of a Tribe web-page that will facilitate communication between y'all.

Steggy told me a few days ago that her plan for Thanksgiving was to lock herself up in a room with a baked spiral ham and a fork. I don't think she knows it, but while she was looking after her pal Bill (he of fake Birkenstock fame) after his recent bout of oral surgery, he slinked into the kitchen while Steggy was napping on the couch and scarfed up a lot of that ham. If you ask me, it takes Wilanders for a guy all shot-up with Novocaine, coming off hard surgery on two teeth, to go after a ham with a nice, crunchy, glazed crust. It will take more than Wilanders to face the wrath of Steggy. I  have a feeling Bill will be adopting the submissive posture displayed by the beta-males in a pack of coyotes at around 11 AM tomorrow. And I think a crowd of hungry men will show up at her door, unannounced. Knowing Steggs, she'll be ready. . .

Okay, time to wrap it up. Have a great Thanksgiving, and keep our friends who don't celebrate the holiday (Temes, Lucy, Marie J, Mici, et al)  in your thoughts. I am very thankful for - and to - you all.