In East Brady, Pennsylvania, where I grew up, football was our town's whole life. You ate, slept, lived, and died football, whether it was playing a pick-up game in the backyard or watching the Steelers -- or whatever game we could find -- on television.
Any day was a good day for football, but Thanksgiving always was the best because it was a full day during the week that we could watch games on television, then go outside and pretend to be our favorite NFL stars. Sometimes I was Joe Namath. Sometimes I was Terry Bradshaw, handing off to Franco Harris and throwing to Lynn Swann and John Stallworth.
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