I wish I could have seen my face in the mirror, or someone would have taken a photo of my face in grade school when kids would say Christmas is their favorite time of the year or favorite holiday.

This statement made me wince, scowl, eyes bug, fists clench, eyebrows raise, and every other facial feature or body movement suggesting disgust, distaste, or hatred.

Not towards the ones saying it, but to the fat man in the red suite who was taking shine and glory away from my heroes, my holiday giving realistic figures such as Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Shawn Kemp, Gary Payton, Shaquille O’Neal, Penny Hardaway, Hakeem Olajuwon, Clyde Drexler, Charles Barkley, Patrick Ewing, Reggie Miller, Karl Malone, and John Stockton.

Michael Jordan will always be first, but after him, there is no order, just my favorite players of my childhood.

The same feelings occurred in high school and college with the ho ho ho dummy when it came to Allen Iverson, Kobe Bryant, Kevin Garnett, Vince Carter, Tim Duncan, Tracy McGrady, LeBron James, Jason Kidd, Chris Weber, and Steve Nash. Probably in this order, maybe switch a few down the list but Iverson, Bryant, and Garnett are locked in as one, two, and three because they were the guys, I always said I was while taking shots at the playground or in practice.

Now, it’s Anthony Edwards, Damian Lillard, Nikola Jokic, Kevin Durant, Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, Luka Doncic, Paul George, Jayson Tatum, Jimmy Butler, Donovan Mitchell, and Brandon Ingram (correct order).

I could understand when a young kid said their birthday because, hey, we all have a little narcissism or enjoy ourselves being celebrated.

But after 10, there are no excuses, postseason basketball whether NBA, WNBA, or NCAA is the greatest time of the year. What’s awesome is it happens more than once. Hahahaha, Rudolph, go eat a carrot and get out of my face with your one day a year stuff.

Basketball brings everything you need to survive, everything you want, and everything you need.

After cheering so hard and jumping up and down (which is fitness), you need food and beverage, which are vital for survival.

Who doesn’t want excitement? Who doesn’t want to see amazing athletic ability and skills no one around you in your personal life possesses? Who doesn’t want to see the underdog surpass ridicule and being overlooked? Who doesn’t want to see the best team dominate their opponents to secure superiority? Who doesn’t want to see sportsmanship? Who doesn’t want to see human reaction whether it’s a last second shot loss or victory?

And need?

We need to be stimulated. We need to celebrate. We need to feel our team triumph or the team playing our most hated team (let’s go anyone playing Cleveland or Milwaukee) beat them for retribution of them making further than our team.

Simple human context, if you ask me.

What does Santa do?

He doesn’t bring you gifts.

He doesn’t eat or appreciate the cookies you made for him.

He doesn’t decorate the house or the yard.

Your mother, father, grandparents, siblings, the rest of the family, friends, and you, do that. Not an imposter who doesn’t have an elf workshop, a sleigh, or a fictional home in a fictional location such as the North Pole. Can’t even believe I capitalized NP like it’s a real proper noun, or the delusional name, Santa Claus.

So instead of celebrating the made-up magical time of the year – let me straighten this out before we end, Happy Birthday to Jesus on December 25 of every year, this is about the capitalism and fairy tales surrounding your birthday and the amazingness of the sport you created, not you personally – sit down with your family and friends in March (NCAA), April (NBA), June (NBA), September (WNBA), and October (WNBA) and truly enjoy the best time of the year.

Multiple times a year.

The basketball postseason.

And yes, I celebrate Christmas with my family and friends…while a basketball game is on.