Sorry, America, but what is the deal with The Olympics?
Flashback to 1996. It’s summer. We are staying in my grandmother’s bungalow at a Ukrainian resort in upstate New York that had a legitimate hole in the bathroom floor. Seriously, a toddler could’ve fallen through it.
Everyone was so hyped about watching the opening ceremonies from the Centennial Olympic Stadium in Atlanta. Being that my family was in the middle of the woods and cable wasn’t a thing, the reception was squiggly at best. In fact, looking back, we may have just been watching porn with very patriotic music… and that weird cartoon, shape-shifting blob mascot Whatzit (AKA Izzy).
I still am. Like, why are you going to disrupt This Is Us (eff you, crockpot) to broadcast the luge? Does anyone follow luge outside of the 3 days it’s featured on NBC? Do lugers even care?
And the last time I cared about bobsledding was in 1993 when I saw Cool Runnings at my neighbor’s movie birthday party. I’m only interested in five men cramped together in a tube if they are naked and covered in chocolate syrup… and whipped cream… and a cherry. Mmmmmm… mansundae… mmmmm.
I get it, I get it. These are world-class athletes at their peak, representing their respective countries. When they win, we win. McDonald’s will give out free McNuggets or something if an American wins the gold—because nothing says peak physical performance like celebrating with some nugz. #Winning
And since it’s the Winter Olympics, there are NO men in Speedos. Like, why bother? That’s the one thing that could actually get us through the cold, hard, boring Winter Olympics. What’s the point of Gus Kenworthy’s smile and Adam Rippon’s butt (you can bounce a quarter off that thing) if they’re fully covered by layers of spandex? When these athletes are so focused on getting to the podium that they’re not even posting thirst trap pictures to Instagram, they may win, but we all lose.