After catching bits and pieces of the Olympic coverage the past two weeks (not very much; I am unapologetically unable to theoretically get it up for sports I don't recognize) I find myself scrabbling at my arm to yank out the saccharine IV that the American press has somehow jammed in there. I do not need a tedious backstory on how every urchin made it to the Games. I just don't. NBC has been particularly bad, but mostly because they discovered two weeks ago that the internet exists, and viewers would somehow - somehow - find out the results of an event that ran at 9am our time (later that same afternoon Olympic time) and be less inclined to wait for NBC to cue up a two hour Very Special Olympic Presentation at night replete with spoilers from top to bottom.
Pssst NBC: There Are No More Secrets.
I've been marveling with the rest of you at the lovely fitness of so many athletes. Though my vote has long been cast for a complete return to the original Olympic events, with the original official uniforms (they were naked), it appears we are nearly there. It seems every sport now requires people - which means women - to wear a bikini. They're beautiful, really. Spectacular athletes running, diving, leaping and spiking the ball. There is much discussion about the merits of beach volleyball, but they get the sand from Huntsville, near my cottage, so, go team. NBC helpfully put together a video for you to appreciate the vast range of athletes at these events. Somehow, however, in the editing process, the only people who made the cut were beautiful women, and mostly blondes. You can practically hear the chick-a-wow-wow playing, and while they are quite lovely, I'm not certain years and years of training and sacrifice took place so a bunch of letches in an NBC editing booth could pull their puds and lament that the winter Olympics requires so many damned clothes.
I'd rather watch the BBC broadcasts; they're far freer with their words, and they don't have to pretend they don't know who won. The last few days of the Olympics are usually the mop up sports, anyway, as the rhythmic gymnasts are finding. I'm tired of having to listen to people argue what is and isn't a sport. Lots of things are sports; doesn't mean they're Olympic sports. It's become a bloated mess, frankly, and dancing with a wand confuses more than just me - this piece from Zoe Williams in The Guardian cracked me up: it's not mean, but it's so true. On the hometown girl:
""The thing with Francesca Jones is that she sets small goals and achieves them," the commentator said. "And she's definitely realised those with coming to the Olympics." I'm not sure about that. A small goal is putting your make-up on before you go to the shops."
But, you all knew I was just saving the best for last. Tim Dowling is spot-on today - you know you want a laugh. Off you go.