Awe-lympics

Can I tell you a secret?  I am a cry baby.  I don't mean I whine and cry about every little thing that happens in my life.  Well, that's half true.  I pretty much whine about everything, but I don't cry about it.  What I mean to say is that I get teary-eyed very easily: commercials, TV shows, movies, songs on the radio, billboards, thinking about how my hamster died in 1987.  You know, the usual suspects.  It's no great feat to make me cry and if you ever want to do it, just tell me that my mom is going to die someday and I'll become the mayor of blubber town right before your eyes.  Try it sometime.

One of the weirdest things I think that makes me cry, almost more than anything else, is sports.  I don't even like sports, really.  For instance, I watched the last few minutes of the NBA championship this year and I was so overcome with emotion for the Celtics players that I, well, I kind of bawled about it.  One minute I was watching some chick try to interview Kevin Garnett and the next I was smiling and crying and laughing like I personally had something to do with it.  He was so happy and exhilirated and I know how hard he and his team had to work to get to that point that I became happy and exhilirated for him and I cried tears of joy for... a basketball game.  You got a problem with that?  I hope not, because if you do you're really not going to enjoy being around me in August.

Yes, the Olympics are starting just a month from now and, while it is most well known as a forum for the best atheletes in the world to gather and compete to become the best in their sport, it is also one of the things that will make me cry like nobody's business.  Those people work so hard and they're doing it to just so they can represent their country (and maybe to get on a Wheaties box and/or some sweet sponsorship deals).  If you didn't think anyone cared enough to cry about Olympic canoeing, you've never watched it with me.  Don't even get me started on table tennis because I have some stuff to do today and I can't do it if I'm crying all day.

And the commercials!  With Morgan Freeman!  And the Inspirational Stories!  The one with the runner who couldn't finish his race and his dad came down on the field to help him to the finish line?  I'm misty just thinking about it right now. 

The worst for me, though, is the one with Kerri Strug in 1996 when she did that vault on a BROKEN ANKLE.  Ok, so it wasn't broken, it was a "severe laterial sprain and tendon damage", but it still was amazing!  I have a hard time making it over to the couch if I've stubbed my toe and she sprinted, jumped, and twisted through the air and then landed on one foot.  Shit, man.  That's some bad-assedness right there. 

I remember watching that in 1996 and crying, obviously, but also feeling so proud that she was on our team; that she was one of us.  It was very moving and, even 12 years later, it  me like a ton of bricks whenever I see it.  Stuff like that is why I like the Olympics.  That and the men's swimming.  Yeesh.  Have you guys seen Michael Phelps?  Sure, he's kind of a Monet, but who cares about his face when the rest of him looks like this:

Damn, Gina.

Um, yeah, so... kind of lost my train of thought there for a sec.  Yes, Olympics.  I'm excited for the Olympics.  Which Kenyan is going to win the marathon?  Who's going to win the gold in badminton?  It's anybody's guess!  One thing's for sure, though, I'm going to need a new box of tissues.

(Note to My Husband: I actually really like swimming for the swimming alone and I am definitely not watching it just to see swimmer bodies.  Nope.  Not this girl!  Ha ha.  Ok, just to make it fair, you can totally watch ladies field hockey.  You're welcome.)

Comments

[jive turkey]

Hee! Oh, you and I are polar opposites when it comes to the Olympics. I can't stand them. Yeah, I get it, tradition and sportsmanship and blah blah blah but it fucks with my TV schedule and I DO NOT CARE ABOUT PEOPLE DIVING INTO A POOL.*

Also, one of my totally rational fears is having some brilliantly talented gymnast for a daughter, because my ass is not driving her 9 hours round-trip to her Romanian trainer's house every day.

*I do, however, get the weepiness you describe when I listen to certain musical soundtracks, so there you go.

[ɹǝƃƃolquǝʞoʇ]

I don't get it. That speedo is sitting so low. Is his junk holding it up or has that got to be the tightest elastic waist band ever? Ouch!

[Roar]

Damn you, Care. I just got misty reading about the dad who helped his son cross the finish line, and again now typing it. Damn it!

And thank you for the photo of Michael Phelps. No, I really mean it. Thank you. Chippendale's men turn my stomach, but come on! Phelps? That shit's just hot. This photo actually does a good job of minimizing his butter face, too. I said it. [Yes, it took me a long time to see that he had a face.]

[Carrie]

Hee. What if his speedo fell off while he was swimming? Not only would it be embarassing, he'd have to deal with all the drag his junk would create.

And, Roar: he has a face? Are you sure? I'll have to go look again. Also, this time around I don't feel so pervy when I'm looking at him because he's not so young. Wasn't he like 16 during the last Olympics? All I really remember about those was Michael Phelps and eating all that saag aloo at your house and being unable to move my fat ass off of your floor for the entire opening ceremony.