The Olympics Grinch

You've missed me, haven't you? It's okay, you can admit. My wit, my charm, my sunshiny attitude. I know, your life is a dank pit of misery without me. But, you see, important things have been happening. I have been rapt with the pageantry, the glory, the athletic stupendousness of the Olympics.
Yeah, I know. I can't sell it.
I am about to be the most unpopular person I know: I HATE the Olympics. I'll give you a moment to quit sputtering about pageantry, glory, and athletic stupendousness....you done?
I know. I know. They have trained, sacrificed, suffered, woken up at 3 AM to train before their god-awful jobs as a plate scrapers at Wok Lobster, Spaghetti Lobster, Wiener schnitzel Lobster, and Lobster, Eh? so they could gather here, in Vancouver, British Columbia to compete in the finest display of athletes from all over the globe. (Insert triumphant music here.)
My question is this: why couldn't they have sacrificed, suffered and trained in something that I am interested in? Curling? Meh. Ice Dancing? Really!?!? And Skeleton is not a sport so much as something Johnny Knoxville did in high school in one of his desperate attempts to have somebody notice him. Any sport that requires a phalanx of judges is not a sport; it reminds me of a very dynamic ad pitch for hair gel and cheap make-up to a bunch of corporate stiffs.
I'm not saying what they do is easy. God only knows how they defy gravity, spin like a blender, or race on a sled at 300 mph. I, for one, would be in a full body cast if I even attempted the downhill ski route with my skis wedged out in slow motion. And, yet. These sports are even more fake than the summer games, which at least are rooted in the tradition of competition thousands of years old. But don't get me started on Summer Olympics now. I have two years to stew over that.
Second, and again, unpopular. Al Michaels and Bob Costas make me want to end HiDef forever. Costas should sue whomever did that surgery to his eyes, and divorce his wife, who presumably assured him that the toupee/hair dye makes him look taller/smarter/younger. Michaels needs to see a dentist for some bleach/veneers/plaque removal. Bob Costas has ruined sports (in related news, see my tirade about college football). Everything, everyone (who's an American athlete) in the Olympicsis transformed into a COSTAS MOMENT.

Three years ago, Brittanie Aimes suffered heartbreak. The love of her young 14 years passed away, leaving her alone with her psychotically
pushy mother and completely emasculated father. Her father, an
attorney and multigajillionaire, worked every day tirelessly. Only
later did Lindsay discover his long hours involved a liberating
affair with his buxom secretary, not just the drive to pay for her Olympic training. Lindsay's mother, desperately trying to recapture her own faded youth, pushed Lindsay to practice harder and harder.

Every morning before home schooling, Lindsay went to
the backyard skating rink to practice and train with the finest coaches from around the world. Gregor Myanomich, the famed couples ice dancer from the 1976 games trained young Lindsay to the point of
exhaustion. Even after the tragic mishap when Lindsay's mother accidentally (she was acquitted) ran her over with the family SUV as Lindsay tried to flee the tyrannical regime of coach Myanomich, Lindsay practiced. With a cast on. And that's not easy on skates. Lindsay LITERALLY ate, slept and breathed ice dancing. Which is not easy on the lungs, as they are better equipped to breathe air.
And then tragedy struck. Lindsay's hamster died. Today. At. This. Moment. Lindsay. Aims. For. Redemption. She. Dances. For. Chuckles. The. Hamster. Today. Lindsay. Will. Dance. Her. Heart. Out. For. The. Love. Of. Her. Rodent. (whisper) Let's watch as her short program is about to begin.

Also, what is up with the outdated medals? Rap Stars have bigger jewelry. We need to update the bling that these kids take home. Gold? That stuff is like $400 an ounce right now. And it was probably mined by children in some country that can only dream of the comfort and coolness of snow. And the officials are GIVING it away up there. What happened to social responsibility? Ethics? We need to be giving these athletes recycled paper goods hand formed into medallions. Or recycled cans. Or rubber tire byproduct. It's so UnCanadian to consume materials unnecessarily. Unless, and I think I've stumbled onto a world conspiracy right here: all those "Mail us your ugly gold shit and we'll send you cash" commercials were run by the Canadian Olympic Committee as an ethical way to collect gold for the medals given to the athletes. Which makes so much sense. The reason they give such crappy dollar value for your gold is because they pay you in CANADIAN DOLLARS!

And here's another thing. I am not a rah rah person. Betcha didn't know that. I appreciate that these athletes participate in these games with some patriotic valor. And, of course, when American athletes get caught doping or cheating or juicing, I feel that is a stain on the country, not just the athlete. But, I just cannot get all patriotic when a fellow country(wo)man wins a medal. Maybe it's the global economy, and the facts like my Japanese car is made in Ohio, that I feel that all the lines are blurred. Chinese athletes train in Canada, Italian athletes train in Switzerland, and the hockey teams are the worst! The All-Star teams divided up, and assigned the ones who once hailed from some country back to that country. These guys all have Mcmansions in Florida where they don't pay income tax on their gigantic professional athlete salaries. WTF? Teams Canada and Russia have a deep seated, and perhaps insecure, national pride staked at every game, and the loser will skulk home in ignominy. Wayne Gretzky presides over these hockey games as a demi-god, a superhero of the puck and stick, Canada's living, breathing national treasure. But he did play for the LA Kings when I was a kid, and was a sports icon there to me. (I didn't really even know about the whole Edmonton thing until later. Sorry, Canada.) These are men I've cheered for in Toronto, in Chicago, in LA, and now they're on the other team? That's insane. No one, not even Costas, can expect me to sort all that out.

And finally, my last issue with the Olympics is selfish. During this bleak period of February, in the dark, cold, bleary days of winter when there is no light in my life save the weak rays of the sun, I always have February TV sweeps. I have those last few new episodes of my favorite programs before we descend into summer "encore presentation" hell. I have been CHEATED, dammit. I want my freaking programming back. I want ice dancing, Costas, and Michaels to go away. I don't want to hear 'sequins' and 'sports' used in the same sentence. Athletes should not wear grease makeup in 'performances.' I don't want curling on primetime. I want my crime procedural, my man candy, my sitcoms. Hell, after weeks of white snow backgrounds, I'll even take Leno back. Really, anything. Please. Let's get Polar Bear Patty to walk around, wave a flag, turn our eyes to whatever city's next, put out the flame and move on with our lives.