Enough is Enough

Is anybody else happy that the Olympics are over? Like many people, I get excited every four years when the Winter Olympics roll around, and even more excited when that flame is extinguished. Normally, I’m not much of a sports fan. I’ve had my fair share of kids’ soccer games and all day college football tail-gates, and in both scenarios, I was caught sneaking a book on more than one occasion. The Winter Olympics, though, are different. With the except of hockey, bobsled, and curling, which is more like a housekeeping event than an actual sport, the majority of the sport events are not team based. Instead, they are a culmination of individual skill, technique, and luck.


Abnormal teenagers from around the world converge to perform their stupid human tricks in order to get a medal doing something they can only do for a short time in their lives, something that most people could give two craps about. But that’s okay. We come together in this great show of national pride, putting ideological differences behind us in the name of good sportsmanship and friendly competition. Too bad our governments can’t take a lesson from our athletes.


My favorite event is definitely speed skating. The skate blades are insanely big, the outfits nut-huggingly tight, and the drama high. I am fascinated by American short track speed skater Apolo Ono, both because of his ability to squeeze by spectacular crashes and his oddly orange soul patch. His head hair is brown, and that thing on his chin looks like some spilt tomato soup. I also enjoy long track speed skater Shani Davis. He looks like Frozone from the Incredibles in his sperm like outfit when he takes the ice.


Olympic hockey is not as much fun to watch as NHL hockey because there is less fighting. And all that damn figure skating. Women skaters, which is generous since most of them have yet to start their periods, don their most tiny of skirted spandex outfits and twirl around. The male skaters are like contestants on a gay reality show on ice. Whoever puts on the most flamboyant performance wins. You go for the gold, girl!

Ice dancing, on the other hand, is less like a sport and more like a Saturday Night Live skit. It has a whole element of the creepy, with its combination of bizarre costumes, kitschy choreography, and all too common brother-sister pairs. The oddest performance was the Russian pair of Oksana Domnina and Maxim Shabalin, with their aboriginal costumes that made them look like they were only donning body paint and loin cloths. The only thing missing was black face.


The rest of the sports take places outdoors, as they should. Luge seemed to get less coverage after the tragic accident that killed Nodar Kumaritashvili of Georgia, which the national news programs thought would be appropriate to show during the dinner hour. Shocking? Yes, but more so that it happened in luge and not skeleton. Flying down an icy track at 90 MPH is dangerous, but doing it head first seems a tad bit more likely to have a bad ending.


Look at some of the other crazy ass sports: downhill skiing, mogul, slalom, super G. I don’t even know what half of that means, but I am pretty sure my body wasn’t meant to do any of it. How do I know? Because I fall down my own stairs. I trip over uneven sidewalks. Strapping sharp planks on my feet and careening down a hill doesn’t sound like it is in my best interest. But I like to watch others do it, especially when it results in a spectacular crash that doesn’t cause any long term physical damage. It’s like America’s Funniest Home Videos, only without the laugh track.
Snowboarding is an extension of skiing, but I don’t like it as much. It’s all a bunch of cold blooded skate punks, and this year their official uniform was baggy jeans and plaid flannel. I’m pretty sure a snow covered half-pipe doesn’t even exist in nature. Go back to the Winter X Games, dudes.


So honestly, the excitement of the Olympics was gone after the first four days. I am more than ready to see a new episode of 30 Rock by now. It’s March, for God’s sake; I don’t want to look at more snow, I want some sunshine and a short sleeved shirt. And another four years to get excited about sports that I can’t even stomach for two weeks. The closing ceremony shouldn’t be inflatable beavers and bad singing. It should be the loading of duffel bags into buses. It’s not graduation it’s the last day of camp, and we are all ready to go home.