The 10 Types of People You Meet at Your Annual Thanksgiving Day Football Game

Image via Complex Original

Playing style: Ronnie Lott, only he has arthritic knees and a metal plate in his wrist.

Despite doctors orders to the contrary, the legend insists on patrolling the middle of the field with his head on a swivel. He knows he has a few more seasons left in the tank, and he's not ready to hang up the pediatric cleats just yet. What he lacks in strength in quickness, he makes up for in undiluted, veteran savvy. From flea flickers to fumblerooskis, this guy's seen it all and, no, he doesn't adhere to the NFL's new rules against leading with the head. Godspeed if you're running an in-route across the middle for a first down, because this bloodthirsty maniac will split you into two pieces.

Playing style: Stevie Johnson, but with more reliable hands in the fourth quarter.

Right now, young women are embracing CrossFit and paddleboard yoga with the unyielding enthusiasm that they typically reserve for Anna Kendrick movies and pumpkin spice latte. In other words, you're destined to be toasted on a go-route by chick who can max rep 25 box jumps in a minute. If your cousin Annie's pronounced traps are any indication of her ability to stretch the field, you might want to give her a 12-yard cushion this year.

Playing style: Bill Romanowski, if Romocop had a max bench of 95-pounds and an eHarmony account.

It's supposed to be a friendly game between family members, but this guy is hell-bent on reliving the special teams unit grandeur of his high school years. For this clown, two-hand touch is just an excuse to deliver forearm shivers and homicidal body checks. And he is not above barking savage, Ray Lewis-style trash talk at your terrified Auny Nancy, either. Remember to keep an eye on your blind side, because this lunatic is coming off of the edge like murderous, 165-pound Clay Matthews and he has your Thoracic vertebrae in the crosshairs.

Playing style: Heath Miller, but with a crippling fear of disappointing the family patriarch.

Your Thanksgiving get together will probably include one transient suitor that your sister met in a PSY 100 lecture on campus. This cat is in a tough position. He has to somehow maintain his innocuous existence, while, simultaneously, playing football against a bunch of weekend warriors that are faded on red wine. On a scale from Argentinian placekicker to cocaine-addled Lawrence Taylor, he has to settle in the middle as a swaggerless Dallas Clark.

Playing style: Ryan Fitzpatrick, if The Amish Rifle's football acumen were constructed entirely from playing Madden on Xbox and watching six hours of NFL Redzone every Sunday.

This coach is a reigning fantasy football champion, which gives him dominion to diagram route patterns in the huddle. Naturally. He wants to go with a spread offense played at a fast tempo. But after vomiting from exhaustion on the third play from scrimmage, he decides it's time to, "manage the game." With Bill Belichump’s offensive scheme of fake spikes and nonstop buttonhooks, your chances of winning are as bleak as Josh Freeman's career.

Playing style: Eli Manning, if the 2x Super Bowl champion had urinary incontinence and pervasive neck hair.

Every Turkey Bowl has the family hot shot who played backup quarterback for the '84 Franklin High School Wildcats. This guy is easy to spot because he's the only dude with a mortgage who still wears his regional champion commemorative ring. While he tosses a tight spiral, he's easily flustered in a collapsing pocket and prone to throwing late game interceptions. Keep your defensive scheme aggressive, and he'll gift you a win with a fourth quarter turnover.

Playing style: Tedy Bruschi, if the former Patriot linebacker listened to a fuckton of Avicii and worked out in a sleeveless compression fit T-shirt.

You can learn a lot about a person by the way they play an inconsequential game of backyard football. Chiefly, if they're locking up Aunt Pam in press coverage and quoting platitudes from Remember the Titans between plays, they deserve a punishing crack-back block to the knees. You'll be able to spot this clown early on because he'll be the only guy rocking a pair of brand new cleats and a padded arm sleeve to the game.

Playing style: The awkward combination of Drake's unnatural hand gestures and Toronto mayor Rob Ford's proclivity towards falling over. 

Invariably, your Turkey Bowl will have an ophthalmologist uncle who's as graceful as a penguin on rollerblades. On offense, he'll drop dump passes and clap his hands together in frustration like an asthmatic Mr. Rogers. It's actually painful to watch. And on defense, your eight-year-old cousin, Connor, will torch Chump Bailey over here for 12 catches and four touchdowns.

Playing style: Joe Flacco, if the Ravens quarterback was straight garbage and lived on a steady diet of frozen pizza and Grand Theft Auto 5.

The only thing worse than playing alongside a guy who strong-arms the quarterback position is playing alongside a total bum who strong-arms the quarterback position. This is that dude (probably a Red Bull-dependent, high school-age cousin) who thinks he's Drew Brees, even though his slant passes are about as accurate as a James Frey memoir. SMH. In times like these, all you can do is pray that homie turns an ankle during a frenzied scramble behind the fire pit.

Playing style: Danny Woodhead, if the Chargers running back wore Teva sandals and possessed no discernible athletic ability whatsoever.

Remember that movie Rudy? It's an underdog tale about a football player who—through strife, homelessness, and the loss of his fiancée to his own brother—records a single sack in the garbage minutes of a blowout. Well, that film (and other like it) encourage deep bench blowhards to inspire greatness by flailing about the gridiron with maximum effort. This guy won't do much to physically help the team score points, but his stirring, emotional speech late in the game will spark a fourth quarter comeback.