The Blumenshine Bowl

It has become a tradition that each Thanksgiving our family (my mom's side, hence, the Blumenshine Bowl) engages in a sporting event that has taken on epic proportions. Uncles, cousins (both guys and girls), and boyfriends/girlfriends of cousins all engage for a winner-takes-all game of two-hand touch football. This year, we set an all-time record by fielding two complete teams. That's right, 22 people divided into teams of 11 took the field, each individual anticipating making the play that would go down in Blumenshine family lore. I myself had a dream of heroically disrupting one of the great constants of this tradition. Really, there are three great constants in this game, two of which will last as long as the game does, but one which I hope one day may come to an end.

Constant #1: My cousin Bo, who played as a lineman for a year at North Park College, will underestimate his own strength and send someone sailing headlong to the ground.
Constant #2: Someone's feelings will get hurt and their Thanksgiving experience will be partially ruined (yet, for some reason, everyone comes out again the next year).
Constant #3: The team captained by my Uncle Ron will win.

You have probably already guessed that defeating my Uncle Ron's team will be my crowning glory for decades to come. I will tell and retell the story to my children and grandchildren of how the stalwart, resolute Uncle Ron was thrust from the mountain of glory by the golden arm of yours truly. Perhaps I overexaggerate slightly my desire to defeat the most competitive person I know, but there would be something quite rewarding of seeing him, just for once, make the half-mile walk back to the waiting pie and ice cream with his head hanging low.

There are several reasons why my Uncle Ron's team wins every year. I guess it all starts because of how competitive he is. He generally picks the teams to begin with, and his team always has a slight skill advantage. Two, he utilizes more fully his talent. He will involve the girls in offensive plays only after being chided for being a jerk, whereas the other team generally tries to get everyone involved on each possession. Three, he draws up plays, while the other team generally says, "Get open, and I'll hit ya."

This year, I had hope, because for once, the teams seemed completely even, or perhaps even tilted in our favor. Due to the number of players, though, I played the first few possessions as a blocker so that everyone could get involved. It would also give me the opportunity to sit back and observe what the other team was doing defensively.

Eventually, I played receiver, but it was hard to get receptions because we had so many people going out for passes. Finally, with our team down 3 TDs to 1 later on in the game, I took over at the QB spot, and on our first possession lead my team down to the goalline by spreading the ball around to four or five different receivers. When I ran it in for the TD to make it 3 to 2 (because the only way we can score is touchdowns, we just play 1 point at a time), I was starting to think that maybe we could take down Uncle Ron's team.

We truly seemed to have turned the tide when my Uncle Ron was chased deep into backfield by my cousin Bo and, to make sure constant #1 was upheld, Bo sent Uncle Ron sprawling into a somersault, apparently angering and flustering him for not getting the pass off in time, and for being hit so violently in a "touch" football game. On one of the next passes, my cousin Andrea picked it off and gave us good field position. I quickly went back to work, hitting one wide open receiver about 10 yards from the endzone. Then seeing my 6'3" cousin matched up against someone shorter than him, I thought I had the perfect opportunity to loft the ball into the endzone and let Bo go after it. I let the high-arcing pass go, and everything seemed right, but without referees, just about anything goes. The shorter defender pushed Bo as he jumped for the ball, so it soared past him and into the arms of an opposing player.

Apparently that play took the wind out of our sails, and Uncle Ron hit his favorite target deep for another touchdown and put them up 4-2 with daylight fading. On the next possession, we determined that if we were unable to score on this possession, that the game would be over, and we'd go back and enjoy our pie. But I knew that the pie would taste much better if we could at least pull into a tie with them. I wanted and needed to score a touchdown bad, but on a third-down play, I heard Bo yell my name as if he was wide open. I turned and let one fly, with Rex Grossman-like foolishness, only to see my cousin Alex playing safety and the ball heading directly for him. Still, I saw that Bo should be able to catch up to the deep pass and at least tip it away. However, the ball sailed just over Bo's hand and into Alex's hands, promptly ending the game, and thus securing at least for one more year, that my Uncle Ron's team would come away with the W.

Nevertheless, the apple pie was delicious, and I got to celebrate my favorite holiday with a better-than-average family turnout. And though I lost at football, ping pong, and three games of Settlers of Catan, my friends were up for a fourth game of Settlers, and I managed to end the day a winner. And in regard to the family football game, like Cubbies fans always say, "Maybe next year!"

A boy can always dream.