​Christmas is kind of like the Olympics. Both have hurdled off from their intended roots and become coerced happenings, co-opted and commercialized. They are Mega-Things full of colorful lights and shiny jewelry leaving a lot of trash in their wakes. In some of the darker corners corruption has set in. Copies have been made, overindulgences, but it gets convoluted when you compare Sochi to Bethlehem. It’s easy to be confused by all the advertisements. I think the IOC now actually runs both events.

But, I’m still a fan. And in between the cracks I’ve seen greatness. Underneath the layers of bubble wrap there are still Kerri Strug one-legged vaults and unbridled giving moments of joy to be had. Between commercials there can still be wonder. Above the noise and bustle meaningful instants can pop up during the Nordic Combined or Tree Trimming.

As if I can bury my head in the sand but still see the star light, I imagine the good bishop Saint Nicholas stretching out to pass the golden baton to a waiting child who anchors and wins the 4 x 100 then wraps it up in comic book paper to lay under the tree for the three wise men. The stands are filled with Salvation Army bell ringers and Costas does the fireside interview with the proud parents. Then, we all have cocoa.