“Turn off the game,” my wife said. “It’s time for dinner.”
“But football is the main part of Thanksgiving,” I said. “Always has been.”
“What?” she asked.
Her question revealed a shocking gap in her historical knowledge. She really didn’t know about the centuries-long association between football and Thanksgiving. I explained it to her, but it occurred to me she might not be the only person whose history classes in school left out this important detail.
Well known to football fans, the tale of the first Thanksgiving might come as a surprise to some. Therefore, as a public service, I’ll repeat the facts here.
Pre-Game
In the fall of 1621, the pilgrims who’d traveled on the Mayflower and landed in the area that would become Plymouth, Massachusetts, longed for some vigorous physical activity. They invited the neighboring Wampanoag Tribe over for a sporting contest. Challenge accepted.
The pilgrims and tribesmen marked off a rectangular field between two cranberry bogs and declared the edge of the bogs as goals. A pilgrim woman noted the similarity of the field to her gridiron skillet, so she called the field a “skillet.” For some reason, the term “gridiron” stuck instead.
The players used an inflated pig’s bladder as their ball and called it the “pigskin.” Both sides chose one of their men to serve as a referee and they gave each man a black-and-white striped shirt to wear. The tribesman and the pilgrim referees didn’t know each other’s language, so they used arm signals to communicate.
The pilgrims considered the team-name of Wampanoag too hard to pronounce, so they called their opponents “Redskins.” The tribesmen preferred a different name, the “Chiefs.” In turn, the Wampanoag side suggested the team-names of “Raiders” or “Land Steelers” for the pilgrims. Instead, the pilgrims opted for the name “Patriots.”
First Half
Each team called plays audibly from the line of scrimmage, a safe practice since they didn’t know each other’s tongue. In time, some of the defenders picked up words for often-used plays, so before the snap the Chiefs circled for a pow-wow well behind the line to inform players of the play. The Patriots called that practice a “huddle” and began doing it themselves.
It became clear that the sixty-yard-long field didn’t provide enough challenge. By mutual agreement, they extended the field twenty yards into each cranberry bog. Soon those areas got trampled into crimson mud and they called each of those areas the “red zone.”
At one point, the Patriots failed to score a touchdown and, in anger, a player kicked the ball on fourth down. It soared over a crossbar between two upright posts of a partly built barn. The referees consulted and agreed the remarkable feat merited some kind of credit, so awarded the Patriots three points for a goal scored in the field. A “field goal.”
Halftime
They kept time with an hourglass and when it ran out, they declared a “half-time” resting period. Women from both sides stood in the field and sang for the crowd’s entertainment—the first half-time show. After that, the players returned to the skillet, er, gridiron and timekeepers turned the hourglass over.
Second Half
Spectators for both sides found their team responded to yelling from the sidelines. Women on each side worked to synchronize this shouting, and became the first cheerleaders.
With one quarter to go, and behind in points, the Patriots tried lining up the quarterback well behind the center. That way he could survey the field and pick out a favorable receiver as they scattered. They called this the “Fowling Piece Formation,” later changed to the “shotgun.”
With the score against them and the hourglass sand almost out, the Patriots tried a desperate play. Their quarterback attempted a long-distance forward pass toward the far-off end zone. Just after throwing the ball, he knelt and bowed his head, praying to God and Jesus and Mary that one of his receivers would catch the pigskin. This, the first of all “Hail Mary” plays, failed.
Post-Game
Despite losing 14-10, the Patriots declared it a well-fought contest and congratulated the winning Chiefs, meeting at midfield to shake hands. Both teams felt ravenous, so all the non-players whipped up a large feast to feed them, thankful for the day’s entertainment.
Thus, football started, not as mere accompaniment to Thanksgiving dinner, but the whole reason for it.
Sorry for repeating that often-told story but, remarkable as it seems, not everyone has heard it. Hoping you enjoyed a happy, football-filled Thanksgiving, I’m—
Poseidon’s Scribe
Since humorous writing is so tough to get right, why don’t we forget the whole thing? For one, if we can manage to tell a funny story, readers like it. An amusing tale lifts them from the gloomy tedium of their dreary lives, the poor things. Think of it as a public service, kind of a ‘clown-author saves the world’ idea.