Thanksgiving Smackdown

After a nice heavy Thanksgiving dinner, some families like to doze on the couch.  Or take a relaxing walk.

Not my family.

For the past couple of years, my oldest nephew has organized a family flag football challenge.

  Thankfully, he has the gift of mercy and doesn't make us all line up for team selection like in middle school.  I would be the last man standing for sure.  My athletic prowess is sorely under-appreciated.

You might notice in the picture below that we were short a yellow flag.  So I was selected to wear a yellow bag which totally made me an easy target - completely unfair.

At first, it's all fun and games.

People slapping high fives and encouraging one another.

Letting the little ones sneak by you.

Then it starts to get a little more physical.

And it's every man for himself.

My dad is very serious about putting pressure on the QB.  And Wayne is very afraid.

No more "letting" the kids win.

My little brother catches a pass and makes a break for the end zone.

Right about now, he's thinking this was much easier when he was 16!

He scores a touchdown then promptly falls and fakes an injury to buy a few minutes of rest.

The game continues - notice Ryan in the peach shirt with the ball - but Alan feels his work on the field is done and heads for the showers.

At least, I think that's what he's doing.  Why else would he be running full steam ahead in the wrong direction?

A ball is fumbled and I quickly lay down on it.  No one's going to strip the ball from me!  I thought it was quick thinking and smart playing on my part.  Until my nephew informs me, with utter disgust in his voice I might add, that I should've scooped the ball up and ran with it.  I just can't make him happy...

My whole goal for this year's game was to take out Austin, my oldest nephew.  Two years ago, in our first ever family game, I missed two stinkin' passes and Austin says, "Does Aunt Lana have to play?".  So I took the little punk to the mat.  Was it illegal?  Yes.  Do I care?  No.

Wayne watches in utter disbelief as Reagan wonders who got turkey grease on the ball and made it so slippery.

Game over when the old man - I mean, the MVP goes down.  But he was happy to go home with a dirty uni - a sure sign of some hard playing.

I've decided that next year, we should forget the football and just have a drill team competition.  I feel pretty confident that I could dominate at dancing on the field.  

On second thought, I don't think I can high kick it like I used to.  

That's it - I'm voting for an after dinner nap!