Urp!

I have now eaten the equivalent of Cleveland.

Thanksgiving in my family covers the width and breadth of every eating preference known to man. We have carnivores, omnivores, vegans, pescatarians, vegetarians, and humanivores (three dogs who prefer licking human flesh). It thus becomes necessary to make one of every dish in the Joy of Cooking. Getting a taste of everything at our gatherings requires more laps around the table than the Indianapolis 500.

At the end of the meal we all dive into a pool filled with gravy. OK, so it’s a family tradition.

So, needless to say, in my family there is time to reflect. Both on which of the twelve stuffings we preferred and who in our world are we thankful for.

To that end, I will leave out the obvious: Family, friends, and loved ones, and reflect on the people in this area who appear in rags like this one and who make the job of us lowly sports hacks easier than it should be.

Just look around at the coaches we have here in the Bay Area and think about the unfortunate souls in Ann Arbor, Tuscaloosa, Boston, and Baton Rouge where you have to deal with the likes of Jim Harbaugh, Nick Saban, Bill Belichick, Brian Kelly and Kim Mulkey (you get a twofer at LSU). I assure you, you’d rather deal with old Uncle Max who once again did a nose dive in the mashed potatoes this year after reciting word-for-word Churchill’s speech on the beaches of Dunkirk.

Just think about what we have here in our parts.

It starts with Kyle Shanahan. I must admit that my history of conversation with the 49ers head man consisted of “Say hello to your dad for me.” That said, he seems like a perfectly affable fellow who looks you in the eye while answering a question and doesn’t think of the media as something that exterminators should simply eliminate. Don’t know him, but I like him.

They broke the mold with Steve Kerr. If Steve were a salesman, I’d buy whatever he was selling – he’s just that sincere. I’ve known Steve Kerr since he came to Arizona as a skinny kid who could shoot the lights out.  Then he played in the NBA and won five championships with two different teams. Largely because he was still a skinny kid who could shoot the lights out. And, oh by the way, all he’s got left is one thumb, because he added four championship rings as the coach of your Golden State Warriors.

I’m thankful for Steve Kerr, because he’s still the skinny kid who can still shoot the three, but mostly because he’s also the same guy I knew as an 18 year old in Tucson.

We’ve got Bob Melvin as the boss in the dugout of the Giants now, too. If baseball gave a “Good Guy” award, Bob Melvin would be able to retire the trophy. He, too, is the same guy he was when he was a backup catcher with the Giants after playing college ball at Cal and at Menlo-Atherton High School before that.

I’m thankful for Mark Kotsay, too. Here is a guy who was asked to go to war with a pop gun and was as cordial at the end of what must have seemed like the Bataan Death March as he was when his Oakland A’s opened the season in front of a smattering of fans intent on urging a tone-deaf owner to stay.

And how about our college coaches in this area? To the number they are people who you want to hang out with. They care about their student athletes. They deserve a better fate because with few exceptions, they are fighting athletic departments who still believe what worked in 1958 will still mean success today.

Thanks to Justin Wilcox at Cal; Troy Taylor at Stanford; and Brent Brennan at San Jose State for fighting the good fight and keeping a good perspective. Again, guys you want to have a beer with, guys even us grizzled reporters secretly root for.

Then there’s hoops. Randy Bennett has actually put together so many good seasons at St. Mary’s that even the biggest cynic has to say, “this guy can coach.” He, too, is the same guy I’ve known since he walked onto the court in Moraga 22 years ago.

Santa Clara’s Herb Sendek is the winner of the Randy Bennett lookalike contest. He is quiet, unassuming, and graduated from Carnegie Mellon. I always like any basketball coach who’s grade-point average was higher than his points per game. He’s all business and very quiet. It works for him.

Stanford coach Jerod Haase is the best guy nobody knows. It seems like his team is always on the cusp, but never quite gets there. He told me just the other day how much he likes the guys on his team. I like him just for that. He cares.

Cal’s got a new head basketball coach, Mark Madsen. Again, he’s a guy I’ve known since his freshman year at Stanford. Good guy doesn’t adequately describe him. This story will: The night before he was leaving for his two year Mormon mission he slept on the porch with the family dog. The only time I ever slept on the porch was when my mother wouldn’t let me in the house.

And finally, Tara VanDerveer. Three words describe her for me: She’s the best. On the court, off the court, the person far exceeds everything she’s done as a basketball coach. Which, oh by the way, is everything.

And I can’t let the holiday go without talking about turkeys.

John Fischer, Rob Manfred, Charissa Thompson, and Ja Morant, may you wallow in the leftover candied yams.

I got to go now. I just ran out of Tums.

Barry Tompkins is a 40-year network television sportscaster and a San Francisco native.  Email him at barrytompkins1@gmail.com.