Most boys wake up on Christmas morning hoping to find the new action figure or Xbox under… Most boys wake up on Christmas morning hoping to find the new action figure or Xbox under the tree. For me, Christmas came any day, as in the thrill of opening a pack of sports cards, hoping to find what I desired.

Usually, these were basketball cards, and in most cases my aim was to find the main Michael Jordan cards enclosed in the pack. These were usually the most expensive cards in the set, and the thrill for me was like I had hit jackpot if I came across his card.

As it turned out, despite spending as much as $5 on a pack, I fared much better than my first legal trip to the Atlantic City casinos this summer.

The first Christmas that had relevance to sports for me was in 1994 when I was 9 years old. I watched my first ever NBA game – the Bulls defeated the visiting Knicks – but while Jordan was still retired, that did not deter him from being my favorite player.

In fact, I received a Jordan replica jersey from my grandmother and also got a couple boxes of basketball cards. I was so enthralled by my new possessions that I didn’t notice Joe Montana was still playing (he retired the next week).

But as self-centered as I was at that age, I wanted more. I wanted M.J. to return to the hardwood and I would get that Christmas wish three months later.

Over the years, it would be an annual tradition for me to spend my Christmas vacations fixed to the television watching sports. It used to be Jordan and his Bulls playing on the holiday, and I would also watch the NCAA bowl games and NFL playoff-position games around that time.

This lasted until I actually spent the holiday break freezing while watching the Philadelphia Eagles play in person when I was living in Philadelphia in 2000. Along with my dad (thanks for the tickets), I saw the Eagles defeat Cincinnati to earn a playoff berth, and I got Donovan McNabb’s autograph following the game.

After we worked the phone lines to secure tickets to the Eagles vs. Tampa Bay playoff game, we spent all of New Year’s Eve at Veteran’s Stadium – first at the tailgate and then at the game. I got the double pleasure of seeing the Eagles pick up a postseason victory despite frigid temperatures.

The following year, Christmas came a bit late but was worthwhile again, when the Eagles eked out a victory over the New York Giants in the last minute to clinch the division, in what was the best NFL game I have attended so far (thanks again, Dad).

While it was nice to spend the holiday season with the family and friends, Christmas would not mean as much to me without sports, as each sports game I went to would be a holiday present over the course of the year. Remember, I was still young and normal, so I had to pay for a ticket like everyone else, but Christmas would still come to me in July.

To me, seeing Allen Iverson drop 40 points, baseball matchups from the Cubs and Cardinals to the Tigers and Pirates or getting Albert Pujols’ autograph while seeing him hit a homer in the same game was even better than Santa sliding down the chimney.

Nowadays, though, these instances are just normal days in my life at work and at play.

In fact I no longer left the jolly old man cookies because I stopped believing in Santa Claus once the NBA went on lockout. Okay, it was when I went off to summer camp for the first time, but you get the idea. Santa can’t get the Eagles a Super Bowl trophy, the Pirates any pitching prowess or the Penguins a new arena yet.

It’s no wonder I’ve already disputed Santa because the fans here in Pittsburgh had their belief in Santa come and go. A year ago, Steelers fans believed Santa was reincarnated as a gutsy guy wearing No. 36. Now, they are writing letters to Santa wishing for the reestablishment of their offense. Sometimes Santa gives and sometimes he doesn’t.

Jerome Bettis and Michael Jordan are staying retired and I no longer collect sports cards. I’ve thrown most of the “common player” cards out or given them away.

But when I show my forthcoming generation cards and ticket stubs over the years, they’ll hopefully realize that gifts come more often than Christmas.

But who knows if they’ll believe in Santa.