Sport/Not A Sport (or "Boy, Do The Olympics Suck Now") Part 1
Monday, February 22, 2010 at 1:54PM 
While I generally do not go in for any sort of activity remotely tied to chilly environs, ice or snow except for reclusive whiskey drinking and endless masturbation - I thought I would take a peek into the proceedings of the 2010 Winter Olympic Games hosted by our Canadian cousins to the north. Not only to gauge what all the hoopla was about, but also to consider the actual events being purported as legitimate “sport”.
I used to watch the Olympiad obsessively as a youth (my trivia knowledge of many of the summer games between 1968 and 1980 is surprisingly extensive) but I began to lose faith in the humanitarian spirit of the contest and its efficacy in bringing about international good will.
This loss of interest (faith, if you will) came about neither from the terrorist atrocities of the Munich games nor from the foolish Carter Administration boycott of the ’80 Moscow event. The proliferation of Dorothy Hamill’s haircut on otherwise attractive females of the era could not even destroy my enthusiasm for the rich historical importance of the quadrennial festival.
Not even the most crooked boxing judgments against the U.S. fighters in Seoul could warp my love for the games. And if the most egregious theft in sport’s history - the Soviet swindle of the ’72 Gold Medal in men’s basketball – did not dampen my appreciation for the overall good that the Olympics represent, than nothing could.
Then, in 1984, I witnessed a new event, something called “rhythmic gymnastics” and every fiber of my belief in the benefits of human competition went out the fucking window.
Gymnastics, as a sport, is already on very shaky ground. The running tumbles, flips, handstands and general flitting about across a large mat are quite suspect in the arena of “athleticism”. Only, perhaps, if you consider Twyla Tharp on the same level as, say, Michael Jordan or Barry Sanders, can the argument even begin to take form. Now, with “rhythmic gymnastics”, add to the nonsense long strips of ribbons, balls, hula hoops and even more prancing about and you get an idea as to just how much precious horseshit is now considered under the grand umbrella of athletics.
I realize that the Olympics were originally intended as a celebration of human physicality and the endurance and grace that that form could take. But even in their most ouzo-besotted moments, their engorged members half immersed between the ass cheeks of a small Spartan boy, the Greeks would never have conjured or foreseen anything as fucking gay and ridiculous as “rhythmic gymnastics” being fobbed off as sport. And, as I immersed myself in the Vancouver games, it became quite apparent that far more silliness had been green-lighted by the IOC in recent years. I mean, curling and snowboarding? Seriously?
“What a lot of things there are a man can do without.”
-Socrates
And another good one (in my defense) from that most favorite of Greek philosophers:
“Think not those faithful who praise all thy words and actions, but those who kindly reprove thy faults.”
In other words, don’t kill the fucking messenger just because he's a judgmental prick who happens to be correct. We have to draw a line somewhere to stop this onslaught of fashionable creativity in sport design and the unwarranted inclusion of such endeavors in the most celebrated of all international sporting events.
Have you seen the “X Games” for chrissakes? These skate punks, bicycle enthusiasts and acne-pocked riff-raff were the marginalized stoners and burnouts in my generation. Now they’re celebrated as athletes? The sunken-chested losers, sissies and turds that were too weak of mind and spirit to make the athletic teams in my high school? Now they’ve got their own sporting festival? Who takes this crap seriously?
What do the announcers talk about regarding training and previous statistics or accomplishments?
Well, Jim, next up is Tyler Simmons from Scottsdale, Arizona. At the age of nine he started hanging around the “Shops at Green Briar Commons” parking lot with his board, annoying pedestrians and scaring old people with his sudden outbursts of profanity and willingness to slalom between the shoppers. He later moved on to the 7-11 where, at age 13, he grew his hair out and began frightening a whole new batch of old people with his dark messaged t-shirts and stained jeans. He would wipe out constantly from very dangerous tricks on stairs and handrails, drawing the concern of passersby. Then he would bolt upright from his fetal position, grab his board and scream, “You don’t know a fucking thing about me!” and skate off to Largo Park to screw with helpless families, just out for a walk with their kids and dogs.
He’s a real up-and-comer, Jim, a true model of gritty determinism and physical prowess.
He won an iPod on a metal call-in show recently. The kid is hot, ready for the next level and looks to have a long career ahead of him scooting around on a child's mode of transportation.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ll smoke the sweet chiba with the next guy. I have no problem mixing my dope with my games. I have great respect for Ricky Williams. But, don’t all of a sudden bestow thoughts of athletic fortitude upon a subculture of dorks because they manage to use their toys well. Skateboards, bicycles, snowboards, etc. aren’t the tools of the truly athletic. They are modes of transport. They are the tools of the freaks who were nowhere near talented enough to make any sports teams in school - essentially, the unpopular ones who listened to hair bands and had to fuck the ugly chicks. That was the '80s, though. I'm certain they're really cool now.
NEXT: The science, the study, the criteria and the final judgment on "Sport/Not A Sport".
Reader Comments (2)
No comment other than Happy Birthday Les Moores!
In her prime Twyla Tharp WAS on the same level as Michael Jordan you silly, silly man