I Coulda Been a Contender
Thank GOD! IT'S OLYMPIC TIME!!!! It's time for me to sit on my couch for endless hours at a time, eat fried wontons, and watch the world's greatest athletes perform feats of incredible talent, endurance, and strength. It's time for me to well up with tears at the slightest hint of the somber yet inspirational Olympic overture; and then to weep uncontrollably at the countless stories of struggle and dedication, while I bathe myself in orange soda and Pizza Hut popper pizzas. It's time for me to not leave my pajamas, sob incessantly, feel uncoordinated, wish to god I'd just die, and gain 50 lbs. Folks, it's the greatest time of the year!! It's the Olympics!!!!!! Yahoo!!!!
And what about those opening ceremonies? Weren't they something special? My roommate and I just kept saying aloud, "those crazy Italians!" and "Well, isn't that Euro!" and "I once made out with a guy on rollerblades whose head was on fire."
"You did? Me too!"
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"What a coinky dink!"
"Wait, was his name Darren?"
"Darren Samuelson?"
"Oh my..."
"GOD!"
"You slut!"
"You're the slut, slut!"
"I never want to see you again! I'm moving out!"
"Go then, bitch...hey, that's my Cream album...wait, let's not fight."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, too. You're my best friend."
"No, you're mine."
"Stupid Darren."
"You said it, Sister." (hugs and tears + more hugs and tears + one pirouette)
(For those of you who didn't watch the opening ceremonies, there were guys on rollerblades with flames of passion flying out of their helmets).
Ooh, but I did get so choked up when the torch was lit. It always gets me every Olympics. As such a unifying moment, when nations embrace over one huge exploding inferno of peace, I can't help it...I feel one with the world.
(Everyone should know that, while I write this, Foreigner's "I Wanna Know What Love Is" is playing so hard on my iTunes. Imagine it while you read.)
Aside from love and brotherhood, I think another sentiment that is shared among all of the millions of Olympic viewers around the world is the sense of "I could've done that...If I had tried. Damn, if only I had committed myself to a sport and not to being mediocre." It's the same feeling that theatergoers have when they see "Stomp." Literally, go stand outside the "Stomp" theater and watch people come out. Everyone is banging their rolled-up programs on poles, trash cans, their children, other people's children, orphans, baby dolls, baby dolls' children, orphan dolls, etc. Everyone thinks that with a gently-used North Face parka and maybe a half-mile jog through the mall twice a week, that they would be the next Bode Miller.
That thought then seamlessly evolves into another thought which is, "If I had committed to a sport, in what sport would I have most likely achieved Olympian status." Now, my brother made it to the Junior Olympics and the World Championships in kayaking. Had he given up college for a lucrative career as a pro kayaker, he would've certainly continued on to Sydney and Athens. He's decided instead to become a professor of geology...ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, what a perve! It does bring up the fact though that the less popular sports are probably easier to excel at since there is less competition.
After using my TI-82, a protractor, some gunpowder, a few pebbles, arsenic, and the rind of an old Serbian peasant's melon, I have deducted that once again I really think that I could go to the Olympics in table tennis. I have a dynamite serve (as well as attitude). Archery is my second choice. Back to table tennis. I've been training for this my whole liiiiiiife!! Every time I find myself sporting a new Taz tattoo, soaked in burbon at 3 AM on the floor of Zeta Phi Beta Lambda, where do I crawl? Right over to the beer pong table. That's where I fashion a paddle made out of my own hand and begin to practice against a cup. I've never lost. And if you think that empty cup is letting me win...think again.
The other alternative is to play for a country where you are the only athlete in that sport. Has everyone heard of Grandma Luge? The only athlete in the Winter Games from The U.S. Virgin Islands and the only over-50 athlete to ever compete in the Winter Games. Does Turkmenistan have a rhythmic gymnastics team? They do now.
And what about those opening ceremonies? Weren't they something special? My roommate and I just kept saying aloud, "those crazy Italians!" and "Well, isn't that Euro!" and "I once made out with a guy on rollerblades whose head was on fire."
"You did? Me too!"
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"What a coinky dink!"
"Wait, was his name Darren?"
"Darren Samuelson?"
"Oh my..."
"GOD!"
"You slut!"
"You're the slut, slut!"
"I never want to see you again! I'm moving out!"
"Go then, bitch...hey, that's my Cream album...wait, let's not fight."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, too. You're my best friend."
"No, you're mine."
"Stupid Darren."
"You said it, Sister." (hugs and tears + more hugs and tears + one pirouette)
(For those of you who didn't watch the opening ceremonies, there were guys on rollerblades with flames of passion flying out of their helmets).
Ooh, but I did get so choked up when the torch was lit. It always gets me every Olympics. As such a unifying moment, when nations embrace over one huge exploding inferno of peace, I can't help it...I feel one with the world.
(Everyone should know that, while I write this, Foreigner's "I Wanna Know What Love Is" is playing so hard on my iTunes. Imagine it while you read.)
Aside from love and brotherhood, I think another sentiment that is shared among all of the millions of Olympic viewers around the world is the sense of "I could've done that...If I had tried. Damn, if only I had committed myself to a sport and not to being mediocre." It's the same feeling that theatergoers have when they see "Stomp." Literally, go stand outside the "Stomp" theater and watch people come out. Everyone is banging their rolled-up programs on poles, trash cans, their children, other people's children, orphans, baby dolls, baby dolls' children, orphan dolls, etc. Everyone thinks that with a gently-used North Face parka and maybe a half-mile jog through the mall twice a week, that they would be the next Bode Miller.
That thought then seamlessly evolves into another thought which is, "If I had committed to a sport, in what sport would I have most likely achieved Olympian status." Now, my brother made it to the Junior Olympics and the World Championships in kayaking. Had he given up college for a lucrative career as a pro kayaker, he would've certainly continued on to Sydney and Athens. He's decided instead to become a professor of geology...ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, what a perve! It does bring up the fact though that the less popular sports are probably easier to excel at since there is less competition.
After using my TI-82, a protractor, some gunpowder, a few pebbles, arsenic, and the rind of an old Serbian peasant's melon, I have deducted that once again I really think that I could go to the Olympics in table tennis. I have a dynamite serve (as well as attitude). Archery is my second choice. Back to table tennis. I've been training for this my whole liiiiiiife!! Every time I find myself sporting a new Taz tattoo, soaked in burbon at 3 AM on the floor of Zeta Phi Beta Lambda, where do I crawl? Right over to the beer pong table. That's where I fashion a paddle made out of my own hand and begin to practice against a cup. I've never lost. And if you think that empty cup is letting me win...think again.
The other alternative is to play for a country where you are the only athlete in that sport. Has everyone heard of Grandma Luge? The only athlete in the Winter Games from The U.S. Virgin Islands and the only over-50 athlete to ever compete in the Winter Games. Does Turkmenistan have a rhythmic gymnastics team? They do now.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home