This one’s personal. If you want something jaded and cynical from me today, you can find that elsewhere in this section, where I’m writing about the Knicks — who, even in good times tend to draw out the skeptic and the critic from your soul. It’s OK. I won’t take it personally.
And sure, it’s Christmas Eve Sunday morning. It is a day designed for good cheer and good tidings and good will toward men. There have been a lot of years when I took that as a challenge, a dare to shake off all the wonderful holiday spirit and remind you that the Mets still aren’t deep enough, or recount all of the football follies our local teams have perpetrated. The juxtaposition always delighted me. Still does, if I’m being honest.
Just not this time.
Just not this year.
Because 2023 has been a good year for me. If you’ve read this column for any length of time, you know that 2022 wasn’t quite so nice. I had some health issues. That culminated in having to have my left leg amputated below the knee. I was happy enough to be able to share that story this year, and so many of you were kind enough to reach out to me after that piece ran in The Post on June 4.
I remember last New Year’s Eve, just after the ball dropped, and I was with my wife and some friends. I made a pledge to them that I would cherish every second of 2023 given the way 2022 had gone — and, let’s be honest, 2020 and 2021 weren’t exactly banner years for any of us, either.
“I’ll drink to that,” the lovely Leigh Vaccaro said, and since she was with me through all of the darker moments of those three years, I’m happy to report that she has shared all of the good stuff in 2023. Since my birthday is Jan. 1, I enjoy the rare quirk of knowing how old I was during every day of every calendar year my whole life. So if it feels like I’m channeling the Chairman …
“When I was 56 …
“It was a very good year …”
… well, I am. It was. It starts with Leigh, who knows better than anyone — better, probably, than even I do — how meaningful it is to me now to do simple things: to walk into press boxes (or just to walk, period), to play nine holes of golf, to cash a winning ticket at Saratoga, to step on a treadmill again.
I can’t imagine what this Christmas season would feel like, and be like, without the friends who helped sustain me through all of the challenging days that came before. There came one very dark moment when I was sequestered in a 19-day in-patient rehab. I was having a bad day. My occupational therapist, Jackie Corcoran, sensed that. And like all of the amazing folks who helped me get through rehab — therapists, nurses, doctors — she knew precisely the life raft to throw.
“All I know,” she said, “is that every time I come get you for a session, I have to kick a different friend of yours out of your room. You know how lucky you are?”
I did. I do.
(It was a good year for Jackie, too. She got married. Even if it was to an Eagles fan.)
My colleagues here at The Post? Often readers ask: Do you guys all get along? There are a lot of old stories about teammates at various New York papers who could barely stand the sight of each other. I have a secret: There isn’t one of them that I’m not proud to share a page with, or a press box with, or a beer with, not one who’s handshake when I walk into a stadium or an arena isn’t the best moment of a day.
Lastly … look, you and I have an interesting relationship. I deal in opinions every day. Sometimes it turns out I’m wrong. Sometimes I become a pinned tweet on “Freezing Cold Takes.” Always, you interact. Always, you let me know how you feel. Sometimes, you’ll recognize the mug, and there’ll be a discussion in person.
Always, it reminds me of something:
It really is a wonderful job.
And it really is a wonderful life. Buon Natale.
Vac’s Whacks
I’ve given this years of consideration and am now ready to render a verdict. “Die Hard”: not a Christmas movie. It’s a movie that takes place at Christmas. There’s a difference.
Forever Met Cleon Jones and his wife, Angela, hosted a holiday party this week for close to 200 children in Africatown, Ala., a town he’s invested so much of his heart in the past few years in an effort to revitalize his hometown. “We saw lots of smiles,” said Cleon, now 81. “There’s nothing better than making kids happy, especially around this time of the year.”
A couple of smart young entrepreneurs, Michael Gold and Mike Schroeder, have created a game to help teach kids the nuances of football: Future Fans. It uses a storybook, easy questions and characters to spark interest in learning the rules of the game. It’s not a video game, so parents have to play it in person. Check it out.
Man, it would be fun to see what it would look and feel like late Christmas afternoon if it’s Giants 10, Eagles 6 heading into the fourth.
Whack Back at Vac
Rick Bause: Considering the sorry state of New York sports — nearly a dozen years without a single championship — N.Y. now stands for Next Year … or Not Yet. It’s a crying shame.
Vac: Friggin’ Los Angeles …
Jim Gondolfo: Friggin’ L.A.! Me, I’m going to love watching Senga beat him in the National League Championship Series!
Vac: A window of positivity! Attaboy, Jim!
@drschnip: Every day as a Jets fan brings me closer and closer to Patty Hearst and a true understanding of Stockholm Syndrome.
@MikeVacc: Thanks for slamming that window shut, Doc.
Mark Dantonio: Saints’ D had Tommy D. for lunch, you could say chicken cutlet to chicken … well, you know? Put another way, with the Eagles looming, fair to say this momentary love affair has likely ended faster than that one with Fawn Liebowitz?
Vac: I must’ve been nice this year, if Santa is delivering me “Animal House” references.
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