Thanksgiving is a time for reflection, for cranberry sauces, and for loving the ones who surround you.
I'm coming home, flying back later today, so forgive this quickly written Sunday Reads.
I was born and raised in the Bay Area. Born in San Francisco, in the Children's Hospital, and then raised mostly in San Rafael and San Mateo. I was teethed on the Warriors, on the 49ers, and on the Giants. Sitting out in the back yard with my dad, down in San Mateo in our little bungalow before the rent got jacked with the incoming tech-movement. Sitting in the backyard playing croquet and listening to the Giants on the radio. Running inside if anything cool happened because the radio was about 25 seconds ahead of the TV feed. The soothing croon of Kuiper and Krukow filtered through a small portable radio hanging from a wooden fence.
Watching the Warriors of my youth, laughing at their incompetence. Rooting for Joe Smith and Adonal Foyle. Rooting for something, anything, to happen.
And look where we are now. 14-0, with a chance to make history. Some things change, some things stay the same. Family moves and shifts, with people coming in and out of your life. But your core -- where you grew up, who you love -- those things are immovable.
Anyways, this is a quick love note to the Bay. A brief nod to my childhood.
I'm coming home, and I'll be at the Lakers game on Tuesday, where the Warriors will have a chance to make history (assuming they don't blow this Nuggets game).
Happy Thanksgiving y'all.