Yeah, I think it's a privilege to play football on Thanksgiving

In the words of Mac Jones: “Yeah, I think it’s a privilege to play football on Thanksgiving at whatever age. Whether you’re a young guy or high school, college, NFL.” These words, spoken in the rhythm of sport, carry a truth that transcends the field: that certain moments in life are not owed to us, but granted, and to partake in them is not merely participation, but an honor. For to play upon the day of Thanksgiving, a day hallowed by family, gratitude, and tradition, is to join oneself to a living heritage, one that binds past to present, youth to age, and player to nation.

The ancients knew well the weight of privilege. To stand in the arena, to run in the games of Olympia, or to fight in the contests of honor was not for all, but for those chosen by skill and discipline. These men and women did not take their place lightly, for they knew they carried the spirit of their people in their bodies, and their victories and struggles were woven into the fabric of their homeland’s story. So too with the football played on Thanksgiving—it is not merely a game, but a ritual of belonging, a stage upon which sacrifice, teamwork, and glory are displayed for all to see.

Consider the tale of the very first Thanksgiving football game in 1876 between Yale and Princeton. What began as a contest of strength and spirit soon became a tradition, intertwining the feast of gratitude with the test of endurance. From that day forth, towns, schools, and families across the land took up the custom, gathering on fields both great and humble to mark the day not only with meals but with contests. In this way, the sport became part of the national celebration, teaching that gratitude is not only feasting, but striving, not only receiving, but giving one’s all.

Jones’ words also remind us that the privilege does not fade with age or rank. The child playing in the backyard, the teenager striving on the high school gridiron, the young man battling in college, and the professional under the stadium lights—all share in the same current of tradition. The stage may differ, the audience may grow, but the essence is the same: to play with heart, to honor those watching, and to know that the moment itself is a gift. The youngest and the oldest are alike bound by this sacred joy.

But in these words lies also a lesson of humility. To call it a privilege is to acknowledge that not all are granted the opportunity. Many long to play but cannot—whether by circumstance, injury, or fate. Thus, the player who takes the field on Thanksgiving bears not only his own dreams, but those of countless others. The game becomes more than competition—it becomes a celebration of possibility, a reminder of the blessings of health, strength, and community.

The lesson is clear: treat every opportunity in life as a privilege, not a guarantee. Whether in sport, in work, or in the bonds of family, recognize the honor of being present, of being entrusted with the moment. Do not waste it with pride or apathy, but embrace it with gratitude and passion. For each chance to serve, to strive, to play, is a fleeting gift, and once gone, it may never return.

Practical action flows from this wisdom: if you play, play with your whole heart. If you watch, honor the effort of those who stand before you. If you gather with family, cherish both the feast and the game, for together they weave joy and memory into the tapestry of tradition. And above all, remember that gratitude is not passive—it demands action, reverence, and commitment.

Thus, Mac Jones’ words resound as more than casual speech—they are a hymn to tradition, discipline, and humility. To play football on Thanksgiving is to step into a river of history, where every age and every generation is joined. And when we see life itself as such a privilege, every moment becomes a field upon which to give our best, and every day a victory worth cherishing.