So, just how intertwined are sports in the American experience?

Some say not as much as they used to be.

Others say way more than they ought to be.

And some say it’s just right. Goldie Locks.

I say crucially embedded and one need only look at Thanksgiving and sports to see my point.

It goes way beyond getting up early, hopefully with a fresh blanket of snow (or mud) on a local open space, and freezing, sliding and laughing up an appetite at the local Turkey Bowl game.

Burn off some calories before dinner was the alleged reason for such off the chart behavior.

But the spirit and game live on. Get clothes dirty and it was OK.

Of course, with the onslaught of million-inch, high def TV screens, there’s probably more loosening of the top button on the Levi’s and burrowing into a stack of couch pillows than there is “exercise”.

When I was growing up, we had a 24-inch black and white TV that got great reception only after we had properly and sufficiently wrapped my younger brother in tin foil and found the perfect reception pose for him while he stood behind the set.

And there was usually just one football game on that day, which almost always for some unknown reason involved the Detroit Lions and/or the Dallas Cowboys.

Heaven forbid the game was on during the planned time for turkey dinner. White and dark meat won that battle every time.

I always suspected my mom and gramma Inga conspired to learn the game time and planned dinner when it would be on.

This, together with the dreaded “let’s go around the table and say what we are thankful for” idea, doomed many a football viewing opportunity I’m sure.

But my brothers and I countered, as best we could, such devious plans by having contests of our own…at the dinner table.

Most popular of these “Turkey games” was the “pass the potatoes (at your own risk) obstacle course. The object of the game was to try and sneak a spoonful of mashed spuds onto your plate when the bowl of taters was heading to the person who asked for them.

The idea was to avoid getting a fork in the back of your hand by someone along the passing route.

“Gramma, we need some more band-aids here”.

Great fun, known in our household as “short-stopping”. It worked with turkey, green bean casserole and many other dishes.

And then there was the “pass the butter” relay, where participants would quickly pass the butter tray to the requesting party, hoping for enough forward momentum to cause the butter to slide up and onto the requesting party’s thumb.

Howls of laughter from kids. Scowls of disgust from Mom.

The idea was to create an atmosphere whereby we would cause dinner to wrap up quickly, freeing us to assume the couch position of our choice and get the human antenna in place.

And it worked fine until one of my Aunts came up with a chilling thought.

How about everyone pitch in and get the dishes done so we don’t have to do it when it’s time for pie?

Wait, did we hear pie?

Checkmate Aunt Ruth. Well played Mom. Pretty clever Gramma Inga.

It was just the Cowboys, or Lions, and it was going to be in black and white.

Pass the whipped cream….slowly.