On Thanksgiving, I’m grateful for Luke Kuechly, ‘Amazing Grace,’ for treasured memories

Today, with turkey in the oven and good will in the air, some things for which I’m thankful:

▪ Davidson, college athletics done right.

▪ I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again – Luke Kuechly. (It would help if his name were Luke Jones, something I could spell without having to call somebody.)

▪ Our town, where you only have to walk around the corner to see some of the best high school football anywhere, your baseball’s played in a really cool park uptown, and right up the street the Hornets buzz. Right down the street the Panthers roar, and out on the boulevard hockey sticks clatter, and out a few miles the roars come from stock cars being rocketed around by fearless drivers. And then there’s the Charlotte 49ers and Johnson C. Smith and Queens, and there’s soccer and other stuff. Kinda neat place if you like sports.

▪ Jelly beans. Any color.

▪ Honest politicians. Both of them.

▪ “Amazing Grace.” It gives me chills every time, and if it’s being played on bagpipes pass me a Kleenex.

▪ Beth. The lovely Mrs. Green. If I told you all the reasons I’m thankful for her, I’d need to write a book. And Beth would tell me to hush and eat my turkey.

▪ Our loved ones. We’re blessed and we know it.

▪ Home. Our street. Our town. And friends, of course

▪ The feeling in the air when the PGA Tour lands for its annual visit at Quail Hollow.

▪ The Fantastic Shakers singing “Myrtle Beach Days.” Makes you want to shuffle those loafers, doesn’t it?

▪ “Blue Bloods,” my all-time favorite TV show, narrowly edging out “M.A.S.H.”

▪ The Head Shop. Why? It’s like your favorite bar or favorite diner. It’s a feeling, or a smile. I don’t know. It just is.

▪ Coffee and the morning newspaper. Can’t let a year go by without mentioning those little bits of heaven, Pinehurst and Linville. And my home track, Cedarwood Country Club, where I can’t beat anybody anymore, and don’t care as long as there’s something cool waiting inside, ready to cut the dust, and somebody telling a tall tale or two.

▪ Kemba Walker scored 60 points. Even the owner of the Hornets, guy named Jordan, had to be impressed.

▪ Small towns, in no hurry, wouldn’t know a traffic jam if they saw one.

▪ Beth’s dressing, reason enough by itself to have Thanksgiving.

▪ Christmas lights, Christmas songs and Christms Eve, when the world relents and gets it right for a little while.

▪ Don’t know how much longer I’ll keep this up. I’m a man of a certain age now, in case you hadn’t noticed, and I’m not fast dancing much anymore. Being what some friends jokingly refer to as a scribe is still fun, though. Always has been.

Hey, I got to play golf with Arnold Palmer twice and Dean Smith several times, had a couple of beers with Jack Nicklaus and had a brief but memorable audience with the charismatic Joe Namath. I shared smiles with Bones McKinney and Al McGuire and Jim Valvano, chatted at length with Bear Bryant and Joe DiMaggio, saw Michael Jordan fly, saw Tiger Woods do the impossible and spent time with the great Nancy Lopez. I passed a couple of hours with a man named Red Pickelsheimer, or something like that, who owned a 15-hole golf course, which not many people can claim. And wrote about it. ...Well, I could go on all day, but Beth’s rolling her eyes at me.

So, happy Thanksgiving. And pass the gravy, please.