It's the Monday before Thanksgiving 2009. As a sports fan, this calls to mind two important things: 

1. It's officially Feast Week.

I'm a girl with a big heart. There's plenty of love to go around for the NHL, NBA, NFL, and the MLB. But of all the sports I have passion for, nothing makes me go bananas the way I do for college basketball. NCAAB is probably 92.8% of why I went to college at all. As a senior in high school, every university I applied to  not only had a reputable academic curriculum, but more importantly, a powerhouse basketball program that had a shot of winning a National Championship. The bachelor's degree I earned was like a prize in a Cracker Jack box; terrific and all but not why I spent the money.

The Feast Week festivities begin with ESPN's coverage of the holiday tournaments on Wednesday, November 25. First up? UConn vs. LSU at 7PM. Arizona State will challenge Duke in the 9:00 headliner. As an alumna of the University of Connecticut, I can tell you right now that I will be absolutely mental before I've even finished my Grape Nuts that morning.  The schedule gets complicated. Overlapping my Huskies are the Celtics, who play Philly at 7:30, and the Bruins-- set to take on Minnesota at 8:00. RIght now I'm seriously worried that I won't actually make it to Thanksgiving dinner.

"Hey Dominic, how come Mary couldn't make it today?" an aunt will ask my brother. "Hm. Well," Dom will respond, "last night she tried to keep up with three emotionally charged sporting events on one TV and her head exploded."

Victis Honor.

2. The Patriots will be grappling with the 10-0 Saints on not-Sunday

I hate Monday Night Football. Except for the theme song--that's catchy stuff. Unfortunately for MNF, a brassy fanfare is not enough to win me over. Once that Monday opener vs. the Bills was behind me and the rest of the regular season got underway, the Sunday NFL routine was established.

'Tis a Holy day. We have our respective places of worship: the neighbor's house, the buddy's place in Andover with the great yard for dogs, or the local tavern with wings done just right and 15 plasma TV's fencing in the bar. We have our rituals: setting fantasy rosters, putting the chili in the slow-cooker, and pulling on the Wes Welker throwback jersey and lucky tube socks. We know the exact beer-to-sleep ratio that will ensure a minimal hangover come Monday morning. We offer up our souls for wins and damn those who deny us our glory. In a chaotic world, we find comfort in this routine.

And then Mike Tirico, Jon Gruden, and Ron Jaworski flush the whole thing down the toilet. The Sunday before a Monday night game feels like 24 hours spent looking for your car in the Logan Airport parking garages after a two week vacation. It's as though the day never existed at all before the season started. We try watching other teams to pass the time but it's a meaningless act that only makes us feel cheap and guilty afterwards. The Monday workday is even worse. It's an entire anxious waste as the only things accomplished on the office computer is obsessive checking of fantasy scores, injury updates, and the countdown to kickoff. By the time we get home we're already burnt out. We're drooling and dozing by halftime even with "Boomer" Berman barking in our ears. The rest of the week is garbage. Game over.

Of course, this week is also important for non-sports-related reasons. I'm thrilled to spend time with my family and friends, binge on various pies until I pass out, and take a few quiet moments to think of everything that I'm thankful for. But I'll get to that later in the week.

If I can keep my head intact.