It's that time of year again. You know -- when loved ones travel near and far to gather together and give thanks for a bountiful harvest.

No, we're not talking about Monica Lewinsky meeting her lawyers.

We're talking about Thanksgiving, that wonderful holiday that requires cooking enough food to feed a small third world country, stuffing one's face with incredible amounts of that food, schmoozing with relatives (some of whom one even likes), and contending with hours and hours and hours of football.

This year, while searching for the perfect turkey to grace our Thanksgiving tables, Crescent Blues pondered the origins of this hallowed feast. After hours of research and help from our favorite mail lists, we found…

Contrary to popular belief, Americans were not the first to celebrate a day of thanks for a bountiful harvest. Giving thanks for producing enough food to make it through the winter has been going on for millennia. We're willing to bet that somewhere in the misty past, cavemen gathered around the fire in autumn and congratulated each other on managing to kill enough mammoths to get by.

Yet Crescent Blues did notice something very interesting as we researched slightly more modern harvest festivals. Every single one included parades and sports.

For example, the ancient Romans celebrated Cerelia, honoring Ceres, the goddess of corn, every October. The Romans offered the first fruits of the harvest and pigs to Ceres, then everyone partied down with music, parades games and sporting events, capping the festivities with a big feast. Sound familiar?

Consider: Julie Caesar and his wife sit in the grandstands watching the First Sardinian Royal Elite Marching Band go by, followed by a chariot carrying this year's hot new group, The Pharaoh Girls, lip-syncing their hit, "Put Your Love on the Rug (Or I'll Make An Asp of Myself)."

After a while Julie's spousal unit starts making noises about going home. She needs to check on the feast. Don't forget Marc Antony and that nice Brutus are coming over. And why in Hades did you invite Lucullus? Zeus only knows how much he'll eat.

Julie drags his eyes away from a squad of fur-clad barbarian cheerleaders and nonchalantly mentions that he and the boys will be heading out for the big game right after dinner.

"What game?" the spousal unit asks suspiciously.

"You know, hon, the Gladiator Bowl. Remember, I told you all about it at the last orgy. This year the Lions and the Pirates are battling it out." Julie's eyes brighten. "My money is on the Lions -- they're gonna sink those Pirates!"

"Lions, schmions," the spousal unit grouses as she drags Julie back to their villa. "It's just another excuse for you men to get out of helping with the dishes."

Ah, the good old days. Things haven't changed much have they?

Here in the U.S., we know all about Pilgrims and Indians and their first Thanksgiving feast. The school system drums this holiday and its particulars into our heads from kindergarten on. Who can forget making dorky Pilgrim hats and Indian headdresses out of construction paper, then having to wear your creation around school all day? Generations are still undergoing therapy.

If you ask Joe Normal on the street about Thanksgiving, the first thing he'll likely mention is turkey. No one really knows if turkey was served at that first Thanksgiving celebration, although in a letter to England, one Pilgrim described how Governor Bradford "sent four men fowling." The small hunting party returned with ducks, geese and turkeys.

While turkey may or may not have been on the table back in 1621, it's certainly the bird of choice today. After an acrimonious debate among the Crescent Blues staff over which was best -- white or dark meat -- we decided to query the experts.

Once again Crescent Blues ran an informal poll among our favorite mail lists, asking the age-old question -- which do you prefer? White or dark?

Trudy D. promptly replied, "Definitely the dark meat, there's much more moisture. I can't eat the dry stuff."

Surprisingly, she and Crescent Blues staff members who shared her preference proved to be in the minority by a few votes.

Donna Andrews, the white meat aficionado on our staff, spoke for the majority "I prefer the light meat with plenty of gravy. Could eat it for days without getting tired of it. Never could understand the point of all those recipes they publish every year just after Thanksgiving: '50 ways to use up unwanted leftover turkey.' Unwanted by whom? Send it my way."

Five percent of the voters declared their preference for something other than turkey. "Yeck! Give me ham or give me death!" Michelle C. passionately declared. "My dad has to cook a ham or I won't eat the meat."

A last portion of the lists declined on all counts. "I prefer neither. I am a vegetarian and don't eat anything with a face," we were politely but firmly told by Edgar P.

Victoria S. said, "I dread Thanksgiving every year because of having to endure a) a turkey dinner with family and b) people's peculiar questions about what kinds of things vegetarians really eat. The one vegetarian Thanksgiving I attended was nearly as bad -- they cooked a tofu "turkey" which was just about the most disgusting thing I ever had to choke down."

On reflection, the Crescent Blues staff wholeheartedly agreed. Tofu turkey? Not only does that sound completely inedible, but it quite possibly may be a federal offense in the U.S. One can but hope, at any rate.

We also asked the lists, "Do you watch football?" The lists answered with a resounding NO. Out of 300 replies, only 12 respondents were brave enough to admit that they watched the games.

Crescent Blues movie critic Jennifer Matarese said bluntly, "Only at gunpoint."

"Only if it's unavoidable," Marge P. hedged. Unavoidable? Avoiding football at Thanksgiving is like avoiding the draft. It can be done, but the exile you face is often far worse than the time spent facing up to the inevitable.

Some women (and men) have found their own way to cope with the "pigskin fever" that infects many on this day.

"If someone else turns on the TV, I'll watch whatever game is on and probably have a good time watching. But if I'm in charge of the TV (read: If everyone else goes to sleep and leaves the remote within my reach), I'll probably find a good movie. And on Thanksgiving, the best movies to find are old ones with Sinatra or Gene Kelly," Mark W. wrote.

When asked about watching the game, another woman who identified herself as Ladyhawke wrote, "Not if I can help it -- although I can fall asleep in front of the football game very well, thank you!"

Football widow, Rosemary H. mourned, "The game is usually turned on at some point, and various people fall asleep in front of the television for varying amounts of time."

Reviewing these answers and others like them, we at Crescent Blues feel we have inadvertently stumbled across the reason why so much food is cooked and consumed on T-day.

Somewhere, somewhen, discerning women cleaning up after the feast noticed that the men who ate the most were sprawled comatose at the back of the cave. Instead of urging the womenfolk to come out and watch the guys on the tundra toss rocks at each other, they peacefully slept the afternoon away.

Not having to watch Urk play left tackle for the Mastodon Bullies meant that Ooga could actually sit back, gossip with her girlfriends, indulge in a little light wall reading or even take a nap herself. Naturally such vital knowledge was cherished and passed on.

Through the years, celebration after celebration, women spread the word. They told their friends and taught their daughters. "Listen well," they whispered. "Here is the way to enjoy the remainder of your thanksgiving day."

Thus the word was spoken and found to be good -- especially after someone invented remote controls for televisions.

So, as another Thanksgiving approaches, Crescent Blues sends out its best wishes to our readers. We hope each of you get lots of the treat of your choice with plenty of gravy for all. But most of all we wish you a safe and joyous holiday filled with the delight of gathering with close friends and family.

Let the feasting begin!

Teri Dohmen