WHAT OUR COLUMNIST IS THANKFUL FOR TODAY

Thanksgiving column on loan from legend, hopefully for good use.

It’s that time of year again when two traditions intersect: turkey with 27 side starches (“Do you have margarine instead of butter? I’m watching my cholesterol.”) and Georgia fans suddenly reconnecting with their higher power during the pre-meal prayer: “Please Lord, let us beat Georgia Tech and then finally win the SEC again. It’s been so long. I’ll never ask for anything ever again, although I would be appreciative if you also saw to it that a pigeon pooped on Tom Brady’s head. Gooooo Lord! Sic ’em. Woof, woof, woof ...”

A few years ago, I resumed the tradition by the late Furman Bisher of writing an annual Thanksgiving column. It’s always difficult when attempting to replicate the actions of a legend, for as another former great, Lewis Grizzard, once wrote of The Bish, “The words from other writers march drone-like. Furman’s dance.”

I miss conversations with Furman, which often started something like, “So I’m sitting there with Ty Cobb and the jerk says ...” It made it seem like he was from another planet, which he kind of was.

The Thanksgiving day column will always be his. I’m just borrowing it like a shirt. And wearing it inside out. And so ...

I’m thankful I’m not an executive at Liberty Media because otherwise when I found out that the Braves burned $15 million to $17 million on signing bonuses for international players they’ll never see, and the franchise suffered the greatest public humiliation in its history, and the player development system was damaged, and Terry McGuirk assured us he could control the damage, and ... oh wait, look at my bank account and three houses and seven cars. Never mind.”

I’m thankful the Karma Train

still runs, because today Rick Pitino, Hugh Freeze, Tom Jurich, Jay Jacobs and Jeff Long are under it and Bruce Pearl is among several others running down the track.

Chapel Hill apparently doesn’t have a train station.

I’m thankful John Coppolella has been given this opportunity to process the past several months, re-evaluate his life and understand life isn’t a winat-all-costs competition for Baseball America prospect rankings, with no regard to crushed morals, warped ethics or burned relationships. Hopefully, he’ll come out of this better on the other side.

I’m thankful I went through life-changing events because I came out better for it on the other side.

I still hate Bobby Petrino.

(How am I doing, Furman?)

I’m thankful I’m not an Atlanta sports venue just out of construction puberty because I would be in danger of being abandoned or imploded, and when people ask me if the Falcons should wear a patch on their jerseys to remember the Georgia Dome, I respond yes, and it should depict a pile of rubble with the words: “$214 million in public money. #RIP.”

I’m thankful I’m not celebrating Thanksgiving as a congressman in Alabama because then I would have to explain to my wife or my daughters, “Really, Roy Moore is a good guy, not a mutant swamp rat. And besides, little darlings, Roll Tide.”

I’m thankful I’m not a politician. Life is so much better with a conscience.

I’m thankful I won’t have to wear summer clothing in the afterlife.

I’m thankful for holiday mornings when it’s cold outside and warm inside and I can slide across the wood floors in my socks without doing a faceplant.

(This is where Furman would’ve written something along the lines of, “I’m thankful for sitting on the front porch of the ol’ farmhouse as the bright orange edges of the sun begin a morning glow on the horizon, as if to wink at me, and the gentle sounds of a crowing

rooster echo in the background.” That just wouldn’t be me. I sleep through sunsets and the only rooster I ever liked was Foghorn Leghorn.)

I’m thankful the select group of Baseball Hall of Fame voters formerly known as the “Veteran’s Committee” is taking another look at Dale Murphy’s candidacy. Because, duh.

I’m thankful Joe Morgan sent an email to Hall of Fame voters that read in part, “We hope the day never comes when known steroid users are voted into the Hall of Fame. They cheated. Steroid users don’t belong here.” Because I agree. Also, I pretended to flap my arm like he did when I played baseball, but it didn’t work for me.

I’m thankful that wasn’t the last Super Bowl I’ll ever watch.

I’m thankful the Cubs and Astros have won the past two World Series because it means there’s hope for a celebration for every fan of every miserable franchise in every city.

Sit down, Browns. I need the material.

I’m thankful for the freedom I have and for living in this country, no matter how screwed up it is, because there’s no other place I would rather live. Or protest.

I’m thankful the Hawks are miserable because I actually think Travis Schlenk knows what he’s doing, and it’ll make the growth of the franchise that much more fun to watch.

I’m thankful Schlenk doesn’t scout in Venezuela or the Dominican Republic.

I’m thankful that as I write this, I have a roof over my head, a job that pays the mortgage, a turkey that I slam-dunked into the brine bucket and taste buds that scream at me, “Vegan? Seriously? Get off my lawn!”

I’m thankful for my wife, Jeanne, who’s as brilliant as she is beautiful, except for her choice in men and her insistence that the Great Pumpkin is coming every year; for my children Josh and Sierra and for the people they have become and chasing their dreams; for my son-in-law, Jake, the rarity of a football coach who agrees with everything I say, at least to my face, and I’m good with that, and for all of my family and friends because without them I ain’t nothing but an empty Dorito-eater.

I’m thankful for the interaction with readers that social media allows me to have. And when I’m not thankful for that, I’m thankful for the mute button on Twitter.

But seriously: I’m thankful for all of you, young and old, for your passion as sports fans and readers. You are a part of my extended family. Some I would sit next to at the table. Some would be the crazy uncle in the corner with a TV tray. But you’re still in the house.

Thanks for keeping me going for another year. Happy Thanksgiving.

AJC FILE Originator of this traditional Thanksgiving column, the late Furman Bisher, relaxes in one of his favorite spots, under the big oak tree near the clubhouse at Augusta National Golf Club, as the 2000 Masters tees off.