Adena Andrews.com

posted on espnW.com

Thanksgiving in the Andrews home consists of stuffing our faces at home in the afternoon, and then leaving an hour after kickoff of the first game to go visit family members. So after the first quarter of the first game, I’m no longer in control of my sports-viewing experience. When I step into someone else’s home, the hosts control what’s on the television, and it’s normally not football. That means my goose is cooked when it comes to watching pigskin.

It never occurs to me to ask to change the channel; instead I just check scores on my phone. Any attempt to put on football would cause a chain reaction of raised eyebrows and swiveling necks, and then a full-fledged attack of questions such as “Did she just try to change the channel on my television?” This would be followed by deathly stares for the remainder of the evening.

Because I value my life more than football, I take the path of least resistance and show thanks for having a family to share laugher and food with, without a peep about what’s on the TV.

The lights are out at American Airlines Center in Dallas on what would have been opening night of the 2011-12 NBA season. Instead of watching the Mavericks receive oversized championship rings, NBA fans — in Texas and around the world — are sitting at home with an oversized feeling of emptiness caused by the lockout.

Fans yearn for the sound of sneakers squeaking on the hardwood, for the superstitious antics of players at the free throw line and for giants seemingly defying gravity as they soar. Now, there is nothing but silence.

If the lockout doesn’t end, there will be no NBA playoffs. Players will find jobs overseas, and we’ll have to tune into the BBC to watch Deron Williams drive to the basket.

If the players and owners reach an agreement soon, the playoffs likely will feature uncompetitive games with poorly conditioned athletes. Who wants to watch a playoff series with guys who’ve been playing defense-free 135-120 charity games for six months?

For those who aren’t moved by NBA greatness, the economic impact of the lockout provides a different reason to be alarmed.

Thousands of blue-collar workers, such as hotel employees, parking lot attendants, sports bar servers, arena security guards, concession workers and even team mascots face losing their jobs because of the shortened season.

In Cleveland, bars like Harry Buffalo, which is still recovering from LeBron James leaving the Cavaliers, must contemplate cutting staff because NBA games aren’t being played.

“It’s rough,” Harry Buffalo’s operations manager, John Adams, recently told The Associated Press. “I’ve got three single moms on my wait staff and two single dads in the kitchen. I’ve got their 11 children to think about. It’s painful when it’s out of my control, when I have to put the business first and say I can’t have 15 servers on staff because we don’t have the business.”

On a larger scale, entire cities are also set to suffer. Oklahoma City, which acquired its first NBA team, the Thunder, three years ago, will lose an estimated $1.28 million indirect spending per canceled game, according to the city manager’s office. The city of Memphis is taking it a step further by exploring the option of suing the NBA over lost revenue. If the season is canceled, Memphis taxpayers could be on the hook for $18 million in payments on the bonds used to finance the team’s arena.

NBA players and owners may be the faces of this lockout, but millions of lost dollars and miserable fans tell another story of thousands of people affected by the lockout. We should all hope the NBA hits a clutch shot in negotiations and comes through with a win.

I live in Atlanta, which means I spend most of my time snarled in traffic. No chance for a speeding ticket. In fact, the most reckless thing I do in my car is sip a hot latte in stop-and-go traffic on Peachtree Street. So when espnW asked if I’d like to attend the Ford Octane Academy in Romeo, Mich.– where extreme sports fans go head to head against world-class drivers Ken Block, Brian Deegan, Tanner Foust and Vaughn Gittin Jr. — I jumped at the chance to drive at tremendous speeds with little regard for my life.

During my one-day academy experience, I learned about “drifting,” a technique in which the driver intentionally loses traction in the rear wheels of the car and spins out while maintaining control of the vehicle. The pros also introduced me to rally car racing, which is similar to arcade games in which you drive around a gravel track, dodging obstacles. And, lastly, I got schooled on how to go off-roading downhill, backward, in a pickup truck while using only the rear navigation camera. All of this helped me realize that racing takes serious athleticism, and a lot of attitude and nerve. Just ask Brian Deegan, who has 12 medals from the X Games.

I was feeling capable of annihilating every challenge the day presented. That is, until I got behind the wheel of a Ford Mustang with drifting champion Vaughn Gittin Jr. He instructed me to “floor it” to about 80 mph, let go of the wheel and watch the world go topsy-turvy as we did 360-degree spins on the track. I was tentative during my first attempt. I just kept remembering the injury waiver I signed and wondering who would tell my family I was in a speed-induced coma if things went wrong. However, after a couple of girlie blood-curdling screams, an adrenaline junkie was born.

The rest of the day I was the first person in my group to volunteer for every activity. I kicked butt in the rally car competition with the best time, and then with the most accurate off-roading skills. And I’m damn proud.

For one day, speed limits, road rules and, most important, brakes didn’t exist. Returning to Peachtree Street as a Ford Octane Academy graduate was tough. But I like to think that even as I sip my latte, suppressing my bumper-to-bumper road rage, I have a little more street cred.