From what I've heard of Thanksgiving at Steve Fatone's, had a midget inadvertantly shown up at the table he would've been devoured as readily as an herb-stuffed mushroom. And that would leave the checkout at Publix sorely understaffed.

That was Orlando. I still haven't heard about Thanksgiving results in Montgomery. Or in Omaha.

I did speak to Joe Nebraska yesterday morning, and over the yelling of the crowd I asked him to guess where I was.

"The parade?"

That's the great thing about being from New York: despite all the small town parades all across the country, when someone says "the parade" you know that can mean only one parade. I told him to guess again.

"The game?"

And that's the great thing about having gone to Xavier High School: there may be hundreds of football games scheduled for Thanksgiving day, but say "the game" to one of us it can mean only one game.

Since I'm still obsessing over Thanksgiving memories, I've asked Andre to join the blog. Hopefully he will share the tale of his being at the 1983 game, dressed in a bearsuit, mixing it up with the Fordham Ram (who walked the sidelines at yesterday's game, leading Mojo to ask us: "what's that goat doing there?")

In any event, it may be some time before we hear from Andre -- his brother is getting married this weekend, and I'm sure it'll take some time for the bif fella to recover.