Off The Pitch: Thanksgiving Dinner

The following is a fictional account of the US MNT’s Thanksgiving dinner together.

Bob Bradley Stares out over the table. Freddy Adu pounds his knife and fork against the table.

Bradley: Alright, guys. Before we eat, let’s go around the table and say what we’re thankful for. Jozy, why don’t you start.

Altidore: Thanks, Coach Bob. First of all, I’m thankful for my mom and my dad and all my teammates and Villareal and my friend Giuseppe Rossi and puppies and the table and all this great looking food and the chairs —

Adu: I’m thankful for me! Respect The Adu! Gimme a got dang drumstrick!

Bradley: Now, hold on, Freddy, we’ll eat in a minute.

Adu: Respect the drumstick!

Bradley: Brian, what you are thankful for?

Ching: I’m thankful for my helmet and the stickers on my helmet and Kleenex for their ability to clean up my nose bleeds. (nose starts bleeding) oh, there it goes again!

Bradley: Ok, please don’t –

Ching sneezes, shooting blood over the mashed potatoes.

Bradley: Ok, that’s not good, but ok.

Donovan: I’m thankful for Bayern Munich and the fact that Luca Toni hasn’t been banging my wife…yet.

Bradley: Alright. Kenny, how bout you?

Cooper: BRRRRAAAAIIINNNNSSS!!!

Cooper chomps down on an unconscious hobo’s head.

Hejduk: I’mthankfulforespressoImeanno,I’mthankfulformyMLSCup,Imeanno,theespresso–yeah,alltheespresso.I’mgonnadrinksomemore….

Bradley: Ok, guys. Let’s go ahead and dig in before all this gets cold. Who wants the –

Michael Bradley grabs both drumsticks, attacks them with zeal.

M. Bradley: AAHHHHH! I FRIGGIN LOVE THE DRUMSTICKS!!!

Dance music thumps, Danny Szetela dances in, wearing his speedo, chased by Asian security guard.

Szetela: Yeah, bitches — Thanksgiving dance party!

Adu: No! Bullspit! Drumsticks is mine!

Everyone dances. Ching’s nose bleeds until he loses consciousness and passes out, smacking his head against the table.

(Ed. Note — I just got home from a night on the town and wrote this. I’m still pretty drunk. That should explain things. Or not. Whatever. Poop. What time is it? What’s the score here?)