The Cleveland Indians' pitching staff and the glove work of the Tribe's third baseman Kenny Kaltner ended Joe DiMaggio's 56 game-hitting streak in 1941. A vicious disease which eventually bore his name ended Lou Gehrig's streak of 2,130 consecutive games played in 1939. Arizona Diamondback aces Randy Johnson and Curt Schilling teamed up to end New York's streak of three consecutive world champions in 2001. Nevertheless, this year's World Series defeat was not the only Yankee streak to be shattered this year. A 31-year-old New York streak was broken last week on Thanksgiving. Can you guess what it was and how it was broken? (Talk about your tough baseball trivia challenges!)

No clue, huh? Want to phone a friend? Poll the audience? OK. Before you start pulling your hair out over an obviously trick question, I'll offer you the answer: the streak was Gregg Greenberg's 31-year attendance at his family Thanksgiving meal in Potomac, MD. How was it broken? By saying, "I do" last summer.

After 31 years of driving south to partake in the Greenberg family Thanksgiving meal, this New York Yankee made the drive northward to break bread in Boston with my new in-laws. Marriage has altered my long standing holiday schedule to include a home and home series with my wife's family in Boston. After spending my first Thanksgiving with my new in-laws as a standing member of the family, I have come to the conclusion that Dorothy was right, "There is no place like home." At least for Thanksgiving.

I'm not saying that I did not enjoy my Thanksgiving holiday in Boston. I absolutely did. My relatives were wonderful, and the food was prepared exceptionally and traditionally as well (No curve balls like New England turkey chowder, or Boston baked beans instead of sweet potatoes). Furthermore, since Thanksgiving is a secular holiday, religious pressure was off, even in Puritanical New England.

My yearning for home-field advantage on Thanksgiving stems from my need for absolute comfort on a holiday whose rituals include gluttonous portions of food and a football double header. Despite the fact that I am now an official member of Jennifer's family, I have trouble letting my hair down at her family functions, let alone unbuttoning my top button and loosening my belt. How can I perform my annual post-pumpkin pie Fosbery Flop onto the couch under such scrutiny? How can I hoard both turkey legs as I have been doing for the past three decades? Why can't I wear my favorite flannel shirt to the table? It's just too much pressure!

Perhaps I am speaking strictly from the male point of view, but Thanksgiving is not the time for a man to try out new television viewing positions and be forced to let familial conversation interfere with his digestion. As most men will attest, mothers are far more forgiving than mother-in-law when it comes to slothfulness. My mother has watched her two boys grow from little Thanksgiving sloths to large, employed, married Thanksgiving sloths. She knows the game by now. "I'm out here on the couch Ma. Let me know if you need any help clearing the table." Or the classic, "OK, mom, I'll help you after this next play."

My mother-in-law has only seen the result of that evolution, and probably still thinks she can change me into a fine, upstanding member of the Thanksgiving community. Little does she know, she might have broken my streak, but like the Yankees, she can't break the tradition.