DENVER, CO — The serenity of a quiet suburban neighborhood was shattered this week by an annual gathering of the Tedesco crime family, residents announced at a press conference today.

“I couldn’t see what the heck was happening behind the fence of Paul’s backyard, and I really didn’t want to,” said neighbor Keith Baker. “Judging from all the barking and snarling I heard from their tiny dogs, Paul’s family spent the entire week gambling on dog fights.”

Neighbor Sarah Richards said the sounds of laughing Tedesco children still haunt her.

“They were calling each other scary names like ‘Dummy Pants’ and ‘Pickle Brains,’” Richards said with a shudder. She then covered her ears. “Make the voices stop. Make the voices stop.”

At one point, neighbors called 911 when they saw towering flames erupt in the backyard. The source of the inferno turned out to be Paul’s gargantuan gas grill, nicknamed “Hellfire.”

“This will be a week I’ll always treasure,” Paul told reporters when they timidly knocked on his door. He then looked inside the house and yelled: “Gigi! Get Makenna out of the dog cage!”

DENVER — In a hallowed tradition eagerly awaited by sports fans across the globe, Tedesco guys are gearing up for Turkey Bowl XXVIIVX on Thanksgiving Day.

“The Tedesco Turkey Bowls are the grittiest games of touch football known to mankind,” said wide receiver Mike Tedesco as he smoked a cigarette in preparation for the big day.

“These games play out on the tundra of cold, God-forsaken places like Spokane, Washington, or Lawrence, Kansas,” Mike said wistfully. “Serbian prisoners have nightmares about about these places. But that’s where the Tedescos gather to do battle.”

The annual Turkey Bowl requires a rigorous training regimen.

“I’ve been carbo-loading for the past year getting ready for Turkey Bowl,” said defensive lineman Paul Tedesco. “That’s why I bought this huge keg of Sam Adams and drank religiously from it every day.”

This year, the Dallas Cowboys and Seattle Seahawks play on Thanksgiving Day. But true sports fans know that the Turkey Bowl is the game to watch.

“Every year it’s the same drill,” Dad said. “Joe tries in in vain to get open. Paul stands there with his hands in his pockets to keep his fingers warm. I throw to somebody, and then we chase the guy who intercepts the ball.”

Perhaps the bravest warriors on the gridiron are the few spectators who gather for this venerable annual tradition — Tedesco women.

“Christ, you wouldn’t believe how freakin’ cold and boring it is,” said Cousin Anna, wincing at the thought of having to watch her Dad, brother and cousins attempt to play football. “I think I’m going to bring a flask this year to at least try and make this entertaining.”

DENVER — Family members of Cooper Tedesco, 2, announced today they were concerned with his refusal to enjoy the main food groups of any good Italian: spaghetti, spaghetti, and spaghetti.

“I really don’t get it,” Cooper’s father, Mike, told reporters at a press conference. “By my calculations, Cooper’s only eaten half his body weight in spaghetti for the week. He’s way behind schedule.”

For several generations, all Tedesco children have been placed on a strict regimen of spaghetti, whether they liked it or not. An archived home movie of Dad as a child in the 1950s shows his aunt asking him if he wanted another serving of spaghetti at a dinner gathering. The young Tedesco shook his head no, and the aunt promptly dumped a ladle full of spaghetti on his plate.

“With spaghetti, all Tedesco kids like it at first,” Dad said. “But after the first few hundred servings, that first phase of enjoyment gives way to denial, then anger. It looks like Cooper is in that stage now.

“Slowly, after a thousand servings or so, we all learn to accept spaghetti,” Dad added. “Then, finally, we enter the final phase of forgiveness.

“Anyone for seconds?”