By Seth Stringer

I like to think people are grouped into two camps at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

There are those who argue over the turkey legs and pile their plate high with that succulent dark meat. 

Then there are the white meat purists. 

Me? I fall into the latter camp. My mom didn’t buy the whole turkey when we were growing up. She already had enough on her plate, so dealing with the neck and giblets was swapped out for roasting a big ol’ turkey breast.

It’s a tradition I’ve segued into adulthood, one that I’m carrying out today as I cook for eight people.

But amid these two camps, it can be argued there’s another fan club at the table. One that everybody belongs to.

I’m talking about those who love gravy, of course. L-O-V-E … LOVE.

A good buttery roux, fresh turkey drippings, some kitchen bouquet and healthy dose of salt and fresh ground pepper … pour that liquid gold over the plate and just let the fixings soak it up and disappear under the brown, velvety thickness.

I’m talking mashed potatoes, dressing, casseroles, rolls, even the deviled eggs. Everything tastes better with gravy.

So where am I going with this tangent, which you’d think would be better resigned for the food page?

Well, I’d like to think sports is the gravy of life.

There are so many divisive things in the world — war, politics, money, socioeconomic status, religion, race relations … even trivial things like whether you’re a dog or cat person, a white or dark meat connoisseur.

Sports, I believe, offer up a common ground. Sports have a way of uniting people.

A busboy with nary a penny in the bank can sit with a captain of industry at a local watering hole and celebrate

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