The NFL lords over American culture like no other league. It not only owns a day of the week (Sunday) but also our singular holiday (Thanksgiving). Pro football is also the only sport that transcends our provincial pride. If your favorite basketball team stinks, you don't lust for the NBA Finals. Likewise, it's hard to dive into the World Series if your team tumbled in the playoffs.
Football is the only sport so singularly tethered to our national traditions. You can't think of Thanksgiving without football, or November football without Thanksgiving. Even fringe followers know we enjoy our feast with two football teams, the Dallas Cowboys and Detroit Lions, who have played every Thanksgiving for generations. And perhaps no man represents this cultural invasion more than John Madden. If you're old enough, you watched Madden as the fire-breathing coach of the Oakland Raiders. Younger fans remember Madden calling the NFL's greatest games on CBS with iconic sidekick (and former Giants kicker) Pat Summerall. They were television's showcase tandem for 30 years, with Madden making exhaustive use of his telestrator, grunting "boom" and "bam" with each block or sack.
Madden became so beloved we even cheered his phobias. Known for the abject horror he felt about flying, he got his own rockstar bus, the Madden Cruiser, which even had a sponsor (Outback Steakhouse), snaking through our nation to each city hosting his next big game. Every Thanksgiving you could count on Madden handing out meaty turkey legs to hulking NFL players who played particularly well.
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A millennial may only remember Madden as the face and voice of the video game bearing his name, the longest-running and most lucrative sports game in human history. It's so celebrated we make an event out of announcing the athlete who graces the cover of each edition. (This year it was Steelers electric wide receiver Antonio Brown.) We've even attached supernatural qualities, like the "Madden Curse" -- noting many athletes' health or production plunges the year his visage makes the cover.
Madden is no longer a coach or calling NFL games. He gave a tearful eulogy at Summerall's funeral. He's an old man now. But back in the '80s and into the '90s, while at the apex of his fame, he used to live in the Dakota, the legendary building on West 72nd Street and Central Park West, a location he shared with many famous folks, including Judy Garland, Lauren Bacall, Yoko Ono and and John Lennon, who was murdered by the front gate.
Madden used to stroll down the cobblestone sidewalks of Central Park West and squat on a park bench, enjoying the sun and festive feel of Central Park. This being Gotham, stars can take long walks in anonymity. But the old coach was never self-absorbed or jaded by his fame. My father once saw Madden lounging on a bench one summer day and approached the loquacious coach with the sense that Madden would blow him off. Not at all. Madden chatted my old man up about old-school football, about Frank Gifford and Andy Robustelli and Yelberton Abraham Tittle. Madden was not only the world's ambassador to the NFL, he was a voracious student of the sport, a walking football encyclopedia who doubled as a time portal to my dad's childhood. The old coach once traveled cross-country to listen to another coach, Vince Lombardi, give an hourlong sermon on a single play -- the Green Bay Sweep.
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Thanksgiving, a day ordained by our most beloved president, Abraham Lincoln, is our day of gratitude. It's a nondenominational group hug for all Americans. Even if you aren't religious, you can be thankful for one thing for one day. Even if you are a vegetarian, you can still feast on some stuffing. Even if you're a loner, you love your family. Even if you aren't a drooling NFL devotee, you're going to watch some football.
Even if you aren't John Madden, you can raise a glass to gratitude, to family, to football. Happy Thanksgiving.
Follow Jason on Twitter at @JasonKeidel.
