If you’re like me, nothing is more enjoyable than the Olympics. Every four years, you are suddenly free to drop everything and spend two weeks pretending you actually gave a crap about these sports all along.
American sports fan during the Olympics: “Ooh, go back, it’s gymnastics! I love me some Shawn Johnson.”
American sports fan at any other point in the following 3 years and 49 weeks: “Shawn Johnson ... how many points is he averaging this year? I thought he got traded to the Spurs...”
Of course this year’s main focus was on Michael Phelps. In one week, he was able to get eight gold medals. I consider myself blessed if in one week I can get eight people to smile at me.
To add insult to injury, Phelps achieved this feat on a diet that consisted of three fried-egg sandwiches, a five-egg omelet, a bowl of grits and six pancakes for breakfast, three sandwiches for lunch, and a pound of pasta plus a whole pizza for dinner. The man is a swimmer. I refuse to swim for half an hour after I eat a Snickers bar.
Phelps, however, was not the only swimmer of note. The fit and beautiful 41-year old American swimmer Dara Torres took home one gold medal and the silver medal in three events, including the 4 x “inspire 41-year-old men everywhere to drag their wife to the nearest pool and physically force her to take up swimming” medley relay.
Another athlete making headlines was Jamaican sprinter Usain Bolt. Bolt found himself in hot water after being criticized for showboating as he coasted to a world record in the 100-meter final. Bolt answered critics by setting another world record in the 200-meter final, taking a victory lap around the stadium to acknowledge adoring fans, then returning to the finish line to congratulate the other runners.
As they crossed it.
You know the Olympics are a wild ride from the start of the Opening Ceremony. Every four years when the International Olympic Committee sits down to discuss the Opening Ceremony, they pop in a video of the halftime show from the previous year’s Super Bowl, eject the tape, and say, “Now, clearly this junior-varsity production is merely a jump-off point. We just wanted to get ideas flowing.”
The subsequent Olympic opening ceremony plan is insufficient until flags, jet propulsion packs, archery paraphernalia, absurdly bendable people, and lots and lots of !@#$ on fire is incorporated into the act.
Matters are not improved when the responsibility of dressing fashionably is handed to people who spend their entire day doing nothing but grueling physical activity. The resulting parade of athletes into the Olympic arena often resembles an 80s party: the people there look ridiculous, the people not invited feel like they dodged a bullet and folks are only mildly surprised if someone shows up wearing wayfarer sunglasses, a brightly-colored windbreaker and a set of elk antlers.
A report coming out of Beijing stated that softball and baseball will not be included in future Olympics as a result of “a lack of popularity.” I saw this headline on a scrolling marquee underneath coverage of women’s rhythmic gymnastics, which involves women spinning a ribbon around. When I conducted an informal poll at a bar by standing on the bar and asking if rhythmic gymnastics was “popular” among any of the assembled parties, I was immediately nailed in the skull with a bottle and asked never to return. Clearly, the IOC has done its research.
I do not understand what there is to talk about as an Olympic commentator during a televised marathon. I would imagine that around the ninth, maybe 10th mile, the commentators would run out of things to say and just seize the opportunity as a unique therapy session. “You know, America, sometimes I feel like I just need to get my life in order. Reconnect with my dad, take up stamp-collecting, just ... you know what I’m saying, America? Call this number with feedback.”
I wonder what happens to all the athletes who do not receive medals. Are there participation certificates, like from the Presidential Physical Fitness thing you did in the fourth grade? “Here sir, we want to thank you for coming all this way, nearly keeling over dead from the air quality ... oh, and for representing your small country whose GDP is roughly equivalent to the monetary value of those 8 things hanging around Michael Phelps’ neck alone. Sorry you weren’t able to win a blessed thing. Here’s a certificate.”
Austin’s column runs biweekly Tuesdays. He can be reached at a.wiles@cavalierdaily.com.
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