All righty! Here we go! Welcome to the Winter Olympics. It’s been a long four years. Well, technically two years if you treat the experience in all encompassing terms, but I’m looking at it from an individual, seasonal perspective, so then were back to four.
The time has finally come for the world’s finest athletes to gather in a single, majestic locale…to get their freak on! It’s true. No matter what the year, no matter what the country, no matter winter or summer - for just over two weeks, the chosen epicenter of Olympic competition becomes a true exercise in international relations. We might as well call it the Trojan games. It’s not surprising – hundreds upon hundreds of Earth’s most perfect twenty something physiques packed into a single municipality - exotic accents, competitive spirits…tights…and free time for the first time in years. With that everpresent distraction, it’s no wonder we decorate countless unknowns on the medal stand.
The Olympics don’t seem to carry the same luster they once did, when International relations were strained between…well, pretty much every country - you know, when professional wrestling shamelessly delivered terrifically politically incorrect stereotypes to our waiting eyes. But (for me, anyway) it’s still a draw, still a must-see. It’s the only time that downhill moguls, half-pipe snowboarding, and curling will be relevant to me, when I will set my DVR to ensure I don’t miss a moment of the action. It’s all about the medal count, baby. To mount the podium, especially to top the podium, is still an international status symbol – the big “nanny-nanny-boo-boo” to the rest of the world.
I don’t think we’ll ever have another “Do you believe in miracles?” kind of moment, but every competition is an opportunity for us to rally around our colors, and a reminder of how much we kick a*s. Living in