Charles Dickens was the Taylor Swift of his day. He lived at the Parker House in Boston for five
months starting in November 1867. His readings of “A Christmas Carol” were the hottest ticket
in town. They played a major role in making Christmas a big deal in Massachusetts. The holiday
was banned in the Bay State during the 17th century and not celebrated as an official event there until 1856. We thank him for his inspiration.

A cold, wind-swept, snowy Christmas Eve has visited Denver.

The Patriots rest aboard Kraft Force One, aloft over the Plains pondering a lost season punctuated even deeper by another listless defeat, this one to Colorado’s equine-themed NFL franchise. After a typically turbulent ascent from Denver International Airport, the Patriots’ 767 won’t stop until it lands at T.F. Green Airport.

God willing.

2023 has been more arduous than any other year for Ebenezer Belichick and his Patriots. On Christmas Eve, joy has been replaced by relief. Only two more games to go before the end of a
season that has become an NFL nuclear winter.

The Patriots are obliged to perform on this most solemn and anticipatory day of the calendar. Even worse, they and their fans wait until every other NFL team finishes. Slotted, almost as punishment, to play at 8:15 p.m. Eastern time on Christmas Eve, or 6:15 p.m. in the Mountain Time Zone.

YouTube TV features a holiday quad-box with this NFL version of “The Nightmare Before Christmas,” “It’s a Wonderful Life,” “A Christmas Story,” and “Die Hard.”

Those who have chosen football – either as players, coaches, media types, or team employees –
as their profession knew there would be days like this. Laboring on holidays while the rest of the Western world – save for first responders, military types, and other essential workers – are with those whom they cherished most.

All await our annual celebration of consumerism, the satisfaction of tempered avarice, a gratification in giving to loved ones, and the birth of Jesus Christ.

While Christians worldwide gather with their families, attend their preferred house of worship, or engage in the same traditions as their ancestors, the Patriots are offered as a Saturnalia sacrifice to the fans in Denver. And to a team trying to reach the playoffs despite the presence of Russell Wilson and Sean Payton.

Belichick finds some sanctuary aboard his boss’ jet. The warmth and comfort come at just the right time. All the monosyllabic answers, grunts, groans, smirk, and snark cannot silence the siren of sleep …

Jolted by a dream in which he was forced to draft a quarterback with the second overall pick, Belichick looks out his window. He sees a strange airborne phenomenon. Not Santa. Rather, an
ageless ghost-like figure appears. He bears a quarterstaff to aid in navigation. His oversized nightshirt has one word: “Pliability.” A Montreal Expos knit cap keeps him warm at 35,000 feet.

“What is this foolishness?” Belichick says to no one in particular since the plane is suddenly empty.

He quickly turns away, but the figure is suddenly seated to his right.

“Hey, coach. It’s me, Tom. The GOAT of Christmas Pass,” he says.

“I don’t need this,” Belichick grumbles.

“You have no choice, coach,” says the GOAT. “Let’s (expletive) gooooo!”

Christmas 1962. Little Billy Belichick comes downstairs on a chilly Maryland morning. His dad, Stephen, is already drafting scouting reports for next season while nursing a cup of coffee.

“Merry Christmas, son. Your present is under the tree.” Billy rushes to find a wrapped tin of
game film. “It’s the breakdown of Army’s new offense. Get to work, son,” Steven Belichick says.

“Yes sir!” Billy answers with a smile.

Niagara Falls.

“You know where this is headed?” the GOAT asks. “Yes, but I don’t want to go there,” Belichick
mumbles in reply.

Christmas 1986. The New York Giants have earned a first-round playoff bye with a 14-2 record. But there’s work to be done. The Giants are expected to play the Joe Montana and the 49ers in the divisional round of the playoffs. That means there is no such thing as a “bye” week.

Belichick’s old boss, Bill “Fezziwig” Parcells, tells Bill he can enjoy this holiday away from work with the family. Belichick has none of it. “It’s Montana,” he dutifully says. “No days off.”

Christmas 2004: Merry Christmas. From New Jersey. A game against the Jets awaits tomorrow.
Belichick is back at Giants Stadium. It’s his manger. The defending Super Bowl champion Patriots are coming off a loss and need this one to guarantee a first-round bye. Another working, restless Christmas results in a 23-7 victory, a first-round bye, and a Super Bowl XXXIX victory.

“All worth it, Tom,” the coach says, smugly.

Christmas 2018: The zenith. The final Christmas between the GOAT and coach in which they are
at peace with each other. Or at least on the same page. The Patriots are on route to a ninth Super Bowl and sixth ring in 18 seasons. New England clinches its 10th straight AFC East title two days earlier with a win over the Bills. That victory soothed New England’s collective soul after disastrous losses at Miami and Pittsburgh. Panic has abated. There is “on earth peace, good will toward men.”

“What is the point of all this?” Belichick asks, realizing so much had been lost since that
moment.

“I just work here. Be sure to rent from Hertz,” the GOAT says.

He warns Belichick that a couple of ghosts will be also visiting him on Christmas Eve.

Then, without even a Tweet from Adam Schefter, the GOAT is gone.

Belichick has no worry about any spirit who merely mirrors what is occurring in real time.

But a Ghost of Christmas future?

That is the one that all men truly fear.

Even this one.

Especially this year.

Bill Speros (@RealOBF & @BillSperos) can be reached at bsperos1@gmail.com