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Update, 12:27 pm. Maybe writing "survived" was pre-emptive to put in the headline, since we have no idea how the folks captured in this late-night Santacon brawl are feeling today.

The guy who gets his face cold-cocked (and loudly) at around the 36-second mark is probably lucky he's alive, his head just missing the pole to the right. The brawl was probably the result of reasoned and rational argument, given that the whole thing involved grown men who were wearing Santa suits.

Remarkably, the NYPD said there were no arrests this year arising out of Santacon.

Original: We hate Santacon, we hate Santacon, right down to its Santacon lane, which in New York wound its way through the East Village and the Lower East Side before ending in Brooklyn and, invariably, vomit.

Yes, another year of Santacon has come and gone, which means another year of booze-soaked (some might say booze-necessary) frivolity in Santa costumes has confused yet another year of children who have just acquired object permanence and are now wondering why Santa is peeing on the side of that brownstone. In New York, the Gothamist covered the whole affair, showing the fun-loving spirit that inspired the event to begin with, and the Santa clods at their worst. 



Santacon supporters this year relied on such strong, unimpeachable arguments as "tradition" to defend their decision to go out in this year's very nippy conditions and "support local businesses" (read: bars). 

Still, much of Twitter seemed unimpressed by the goings-on.

We will cede the final word on Santacon to Richard Lawson, who spent his day barricaded inside penning this widely-praised poem about the Santacon that was. 

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