I am thankful for reasonably good health and just barely enough economic security such that I can call myself a sportswriter without stretching the truth.
For the NYCFC supporter community.
For cornbread stuffing.
For David Lee’s scouting operation.
For the media outlets here in New York that believe covering MLS is important.
For Katie Nolan and Jennifer Lawrence, whose careers I dream of emulating.
For the new record from A Tribe Called Quest.
For Jack Harrison’s left foot.
For the freedom to yell at sports things on television.
For Rafael Noboa y Rivera, the blogfather.
For cranberry sauce that doesn’t come from a can.
For the radiating, Zen-like calm of Andrea Pirlo, Andoni Iraola, Maxime Chanot, Eirik Johansen, and Mr. Patrick Vieira.
For any and all culinary permutations of sweet potatoes.
For The Wire, and its dense ideological morass.
For what comes next.
For Roger Bennett, Graham Parker, and the rest of the expats who decided that covering soccer in New York ain’t so bad.
For a Tom Collins made with lime instead of lemon.
For the Charleston Battery, America’s greatest team.
For Joakim Noah.
For the double-whammy that is Empanadas Monumental and Yankee Bar & Grill on River Avenue in the Bronx.
For altruism being a real thing that exists.
For David Villa’s utter relentlessness.
For plot twists.
For Joe’s Pizza on Carmine and Bleecker.
For every Rogue One trailer.
For the laugh.
For South Bronx United.
For everyone who’s bought me a beer when I’ve been stone-cold broke.
For Leonard Cohen’s Songs from a Room.
For the U.S. Women’s National Team, the greatest international side in the world, period.
For Crystal Dunn, my fake cousin, the present and future of the aforementioned.
For our readers.
For everyone who has published a sentence on Hudson River Blue.
For rye sazeracs (Old Overholt will do the trick).
For the analytics movement.
For R.J. “The Beast of Old Bridge” Allen, who never stopped getting after it even while he was without a club.
For the M Train.
For the supporters section at Yankee Stadium.
For Taraji P. Henson.
For the Mad Hatter on 3rd Avenue.
For Michael Rapaport’s #HardBodyKarate NYCFC video voiceovers.
For the fact that I’m writing this while visiting family in a part of New Jersey that’s actually quite nice.
For properly insulated windows in wintertime.
For the eternal Dave Chappelle.
For knowing the difference between justice and revenge.
For stoppage-time winners.
For clean socks.
For peaceful resistance.
For believing in believing.
Enjoy today, folks.