I go crazy for the Olympics, and I just can’t seem to put my finger on why. It doesn’t matter the sport, the time of year, or which underdeveloped country is getting slaughtered now, I’m in.
You can slap an American patch on any jersey of any athlete in the world and I would cheer for them. My overzealous pride for my country cannot be matched, as the same with my hatred for another shame of a country, a country that produced the most annoying and bothersome celebrities ever such as Alan Thicke, Shania Twain, and Celine Dion.
I love to root for the Olympic storylines that sweep America off their feet. I was on the edge of my seat every time Apolo Ohno skated, I kept an eye on the American hockey team as they came five minutes away from another miracle, and I was heartbroken when I heard of Lindsey Vonn’s crash.
I even learned of a new sport (game?) called curling and it was particularly interesting to me because it looked as if it took no athletic skill whatsoever to compete in and that’s my kind of game.
I also learned mom’s always do know best, but sometimes it can be in an unforeseen way. Many years ago when I was in my hyper active stage with ample amount of free time to cause destruction around the house, my mom would always punish me by making me do the one choir I hated the most, sweeping the kitchen floor. It wasn’t until just now did I realize that in fact, my mother was just giving me quality practice time to work on my sweeping skills so I could be a professional curler, in case basketball didn’t work out.
Seriously, I watched when that burly American, who would have looked better in a slow pitch softball game or a beer drinking contest, launched (curled?) his 4th consecutive unsuccessful game winner down the ice. Whoever coached this team obviously recruited the wrong type of players (sweepers?) This game (activity?) is more suited for the moms of Middle America than those lumberjack drunks from those states up north. Did anybody bring the latest issue of “Good Housekeeping” to Vancouver? Because I think it could have been helpful. At times, this sport looked more like a "Swiffer" commercial than an Olympic game.
You know, I bet I could have done better than those guys did. Heck, give me the Firebolt broomstick from Harry Potter and I could teach those curlers a lesson. So thanks Mom, for not only letting me follow my dream, but also giving me options to a backup plan in case the first one fell through. Love you!!
Never in my life, have I witnessed more hockey in a two week period that the one that just passed. Happy Gilmore would have been proud as I did whatever it took, to watch my precious hockey game.
The whole tournament was a piece of cake until at the very last second, when Sidney wanted to feed the inner “kid” in him and stole the last piece.
The Olympics have come and gone, but not without dreams being shattered and tears being shed. I guess I won’t be able to feel this proud to be an American for another two years…but wait a minute, what’s there to say we can’t have a fall Olympics or a Spring Olympics? What’s keeping professional Halo out of the Olympics or cup stacking? All in favor say, “I”
Of course, we do have the World Cup to look forward to. The highly anticipated rematch of the Revolutionary war of England and the USA is sure to be a dandy and I can't wait.
