OK, first things first, as if it even bears mentioning: I'm not Santa.
(Although I do have a white beard and a midsection that folds out into a roomy queen-size bed. Oh, and one time a New Orleans Saints defensive back watched me walk past in the locker room and said, "Hey, man, where's your reindeer?").
Anyway ... I'm not the Connection. I do, however, occasionally get his mail. And there have been some interesting requests lately.
"Dear Santa: OK, I get it. I won't unretire this time. Geez. Next time just send me a lump of coal, why don't ya? (Signed) Brett Favre."
"Dear Santa: Listen, stop givin' me stuff, OK? I'm in enough trouble already. (Signed) Terrelle Pryor."
"Dear Santa: This year for Christmas I'd like a power forward, a center, a point guard and a shooting guard. Oh, and if you could give LeBron an embarrassing skin rash, that would be good, too. (Signed) Dan Gilbert."
"Dear Santa: Thanks for the 'W' the other night. I don't want to sound greedy, but could I get 10 or 15 more just like it? Oh, and if you can fit Colin Chaulk down the chimney, that would be great. (Signed) Al Sims."
"Dear Santa: All we want are some fans. That's all. Nothing else. It's depressing here. All scary and echo-y, too. So, some fans would be nice. Five. Even five fans would be nice. (Signed) The Little Caesars Pizza Bowl."
"Dear Santa: Could you move the Little Caesars Bowl down here, please? Dudes are whack if they think I'm goin' to Detroit on the day after Christmas. (Signed) Virtually Every Student At Florida International."
"Dear Santa: You know that guy who kind of looks like you who keeps calling his blog 'the Blob'? Could you tell him to shut up? Please? (Signed) the Blobophiles."
OK, I will. Merry Christmas, if you're so inclined, and I'll see you in three or four days.
And to put you in the mood, this.