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Thanksgiving is already the busiest, most patience-testing travel week of the year. Airports are bursting, freeways are clogged, and somewhere out there a poor TSA agent is explaining — again — that gravy counts as a liquid. Chaos everywhere.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to Thanksgiving chaos in Detroit when the Lions are involved.
My family had Lions season tickets for decades through 1980. That’s not loyalty — that’s a generational endurance sport. We lived through the hope, the heartbreak, the cold seats, the close calls. I even went to the last game at Tiger Stadium in ’74. And I was there for the very first game at the Pontiac Silverdome when it briefly had no roof — all two of those games. With the roof the acoustics felt like you were cheering inside a gigantic Tupperware container.
And then came Thanksgiving 1980.
The day that ended it all.
The Lions were playing the Bears. Detroit was up with seconds left. The kind of lead that seems safe until you remember which team you’re cheering for.
Chicago ties the game with no time remaining.
So here comes the coin flip.
Chicago wins it.
You can feel 80,000 Detroit fans clench in unison.
We kick off.
And the Bears return it for a touchdown.
Game over. And with it, the last thread holding my family’s emotional stability together.
The uncles were deep in their Thanksgiving “celebrations” — before the game, during the game, after the game — and they were fuming. Creative profanity. Loud declarations about the franchise’s future. People stomping through the Silverdome like they were marching on Rome.
We all pile into my uncle’s Winnebago — eleven of us, still vibrating from the chaos — and we take off out of Pontiac like the cops were behind us.
My other uncle and his brother (also my cousin) had parked somewhere else. They didn’t make it home that night. Rumor was they passed out in an X-rated theater. Might be true, might not. But let’s just say they were in the right mindset for questionable decisions.
We finally make it back to my aunt and uncle’s house. Everyone’s still angry. My grandparents are there. My mom. My sister. The whole crew. We walk in — tired, hungry, defeated.
My uncle’s wife turns to him and asks:
“Where’s Jimmy?”
My uncle shrugs.
“I don’t know… back with everyone else.”
A beat of silence.
Then every adult turns to the kids — because we always knew where everyone actually was.
And we say it:
“He got left at the Silverdome.”
Forty miles away.
No cell phones.
No GPS.
Just a stadium parking lot and a kid who absolutely did not have the tools to navigate any of this.
He eventually made it home. But that was it. That moment cemented the family’s decision:
“Never again. We’re done with Thanksgiving games.”
And they meant it.
Haven’t been back since.
These days I watch from home — warm, comfortable, no Winnebago, no risk of losing a relative in Pontiac. And credit where it’s due: the Lions are fun again. These last couple of Thanksgiving games? Surprisingly good. Maybe the universe is finally letting Detroit breathe a little.
So wherever you’re watching today — at home, at a relative’s place, or hiding in a quiet corner away from family noise — enjoy it. Eat well. Hug your people.
And if your family does the “what are you thankful for” ritual, go with it.
Small blessings matter.
They’re the glue that gets us through football disasters, holiday chaos, and every unexpected twist life throws at us.
Go Lions. Peace and prosperity to all of you. Enjoy the day.