Any mention of Thanksgiving — which I am about to mention — must first include a caveat that no one ever has or ever will write a Thanksgiving column like Furman Bisher, the late and great sports editor of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. He owns that category like Ray Charles Robinson, of Albany, Georgia, owns “Georgia on my Mind.” I am thankful for the times I spent with Furman and his wife, Lynda, in their home overlooking the marshes of St. Simons Island as we watched the sun set, enjoyed a crackling fire, an adult beverage and listened to stories of everybody from Ty Cobb and Shoeless Joe Jackson to Jack Nicklaus and Bobby Cox. He knew them all. A few of his successors have attempted to replicate Bisher’s Thanksgiving column, but they have all turned out poor imitations. This one likely will be no better but it’s the thought that counts. Some of you will see this after Thanksgiving Day, but that is OK. I haven’t checked the rule book but I think it is permissible to be thankful all day, every day. I am thankful I live in a country where we can dispute election results but don’t have to worry about tanks in the street. I pray that never changes. I am thankful for an automobile that tells me how to get to where I am going, honks at me if I leave my keys in the car and warns me when my tires need air. All the stuff I used to have to do myself.