In 2011, this publication called for the end of SantaCon, the annual flash mob featuring inebriated yahoos dressed in Christmas-themed attire inviting passers-by to "suck" their respective "nuts," etc. "This annual drunken shitshow," we argued, "has steadily devolved from cleverly subversive to barely tolerable to 'time to lock yourself in your apartment for the day.' " And that was the last anybody ever heard of SantaCon again.

Correction: Despite Gothamist's vast and incalculable influence over life in New York City, SantaCon has continued to impose itself upon large swaths of NYC every December. At the same time, the backlash against the event has only intensified, to the point where elected officials are using it as an opportunity to grandstand, and the Parks Department preemptively warned organizers not to use a Bushwick park as a staging area. Now SantaCon organizers say they're going to avoid the neighborhood altogether. Now maybe we're starting to feel a little sorry for SantaCon.

This virulent opposition to what amounts to a rowdy bar crawl has become so reactionary that it's making us a little uneasy. As New Yorkers, shouldn't we be a little more blase about this? After all, we live in a cosmopolitan city that makes room for (or at least tolerates) a highly disruptive marathon, innumerable raucous street parades, thunderous fireworks, subway parties, inebriated zombies, and groups of teenagers. It's true that SantaCon is increasingly dominated by a boorish fratastic element, but don't frat brothers and sisters have rights too? If we don't let them blow off steam once in a while, they end up falling into a depraved bottomless brunch spiral, and we all suffer.

If you think they're bad now, what happens when we take their SantaCon away? What if SantaCon serves a vital purpose: letting a boisterous subsection of New Yorkers Long Islanders get this sort of thing out of their collective systems. Obviously none of us want them to find release in our own backyards, but what if there was a neighborhood ideally suited for this behavior, a place where forgettable bars have long-welcomed rowdy Chads, bland taverns where there's nothing unusual about groups of drooling blabbermouths falling all over each other in a bleary fight for control of the jukebox?

In short, what if SantaCon agrees to confine its sodden rampage to Murray Hill, and we all agree to let them projective vomit candy cane bits on each other in peace? Isn't that a fair compromise?

SantaCon Dancing from Gothamist on Vimeo.