It’s time for my annual letter, and this year Santa I don’t want much. Maybe its cliché to wish others ‘peace on earth and good will to men,’ but that’s my request. Work your magic and give us 24 hours of no violence, shootings, no hate, no war, and all peace, smiles, laughter and hugs all around the world.
Let’s start here in Kansas City, and then move to the Middle East, Afghanistan, Iraq and to groups that really hate each other — MU and KU fans. And if this sounds preposterous, you forget what happened on Christmas Eve, 1914, in the middle of World War I. Called a Christmas truce, German and British soldiers exchanged seasonal greetings and even sang “Silent Night” in two languages. The New York Times later described it this way: “Today … it is often seen as one of the few bright moments amid the slaughter of the Great War, in which 14 million people were killed.”
And even if that isn’t doable, then what about a Christmas Day reporting only good news. This paper, the networks, cable would ignore bad stories and report only uplifting, feel-good stories. We would celebrate our doctors, nurses and other health care workers who cure the sick, heal the hurting and change the world one patient at a time. Respect, courtesy and maturity would rule the roadways, our malls and restaurants.
Raiders and Chiefs fans would tailgate together and play those toss games that endlessly occupy drunk people. Our own Bernie and Sunshine would chase a ball of string and then lay adjacent on the stairs. The polar bear at the zoo, Nikita, would meet his new mate, Berlin, and magic would happen, but hopefully not during a kindergarten field trip. A litter would arrive and the zoo would see a spike in attendance not seen since the monkeys started tossing you-know-what.
The networks would cycle “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “Miracle on 34th Street,” without commercial interruption. Sons would call their moms on land lines. Marty Schottenheimer and Dick Vermeil would return to Arrowhead and rally the fan base with a weepy news conference. The team would draft Collin Klein, who would lead us to next year’s Super Bowl. Come spring, the team would have a fan appreciation day at Arrowhead where toddlers and teens could kick field goals and do preposterous end zone dances.
Will Myers would decide you can’t play baseball indoors and retire. James Shields would win the Cy Young. The player to be named later in that Royals trade would be a kid named Greinke. Notre Dame would crush Alabama and nuns would rush the field.
The conversion of U.S. 71 to Interstate 49 would extend north of 435 and those pesky stop lights would be dismantled and donated to a museum dedicated to illustrating horrible ideas. The metro would see incredible bi-state cooperation when Google relocates on property that straddles both Kansas and Missouri, which is plentiful south of 135th street. Dual tax breaks would follow.
The fiscal cliff would find a resolution when John Boehner finds gold coins buried in the cushions of his office couch. Members of Congress, in a moment of relative sanity, would play Twister and then build a human pyramid. Laughter would replace scowls. MSNBC and Fox News would do a joint newscast. Bill O’Reilly and Rachel Maddow would partner on “Dancing with the Stars.” Ratings would set new records.
Cable would cancel Honey Boo Boo and instead profile couples married for over 50 years who could tell their courtship stories and enduring everything life threw at them, like world wars and dust bowls. There would be accounts of birth mothers reuniting with their sons and daughters given up for adoption years earlier. The news would report a winning Powerball ticket clutched in the mouth of a dog at Wayside Waifs. We’d have a white Christmas.
And for one day the world’s mood would shift, and there would be, for real, peace on earth and goodwill to all. I will do my share. I know you will, too.
Matt Keenan, a 913 freelance columnist, writes every other week. His book, “Call Me Dad, Not Dude. The Sequel,” is available at thekansascitystore.com.