26/7/96

The Olympics? Phht!

On the first day alone, we set a world record for channel-hopping.

    "Hey! What're you doing?!"
    She froze. "I don't know. What am I doing?"
    "You're eating a potato chip. I bought them for the guys. Now I don't know if we'll have enough."
    The wife threw me a look. "The guys?" Obviously, she'd forgotten they were coming by to watch the Olympics. Or I'd forgotten to tell her. No matter.
    "Sorry, bub," she said, "you'll have to call it off. I've already invited the girls to watch."
    "No!"
    She grinned evilly. "And let me remind you, the single, sole, solitary TV we own is mine. I bought it with my wedding money."
    This, we realized quickly, would not do. Some of my friends can't stand some of her friends and vice versa, especially the ones married to each other.
    We worked out a compromise: we'd watch alone. Just the two of us. You know, cuddle up with a bag of chips (she'd already had one, so it was my turn) and watch the show together. Romantic like.
    "Whoa there," she said the moment I turned on the TV. "Why should you hold the remote control?"
    "Because you change channels too fast." I've heard of marriages breaking up over that. "Some guy could be on third base with nobody out on Channel 5 and you'd want to check on how the Maltan vaulter is doing on 16."
    The compromise we worked out was to have the remote on the couch between us, and I'd control the buttons on the left side and she'd control the buttons on the right. The downside was that, with the gadget exactly equidistant, we couldn't cuddle.
    And where would the chips go?
    On the first day alone, we set a world record for channel hopping. We went from weightlifting to women's gymnastics so fast we thought we were watching womenlifting. I don't think anyone else in the world watched the sports we did. Butterfly boxing. Rhythmic breaststroke. Equestrian wrestling.

TO MAKE things more interesting, I suggested a series of friendly wagers on select events. "You can bet on all the Israelis," I offered.
    "Oh, goody," she said.
    I scanned the schedule. Basketball. Hmm. "I'll give you Zaire against the US."
    "You mean the Dream Team? No way!"
    I pointed out that the Zaire team is the Dream Team in Zaire, but we don't usually get much sports news out of Kinshasa, so who are we to say who's better? Still she hedged. "Okay," I conceded. "I'll give you Zaire and four points."
    So maybe I was taking advantage a bit, like when I bet there'd be a new Olympic record in beach volleyball. "Men's or women's?" she countered. I let her choose.
    Eventually we realized we didn't need wagering to make things more interesting. We were engulfed by the soaring spirit of the Olympics, the greatest of competitive quests, the ultimate reason four billion people were tuned in: the advertisements.
    "Ladies and gentlemen, we're moments away from the women's 400 relay finals, and a dandy race it should be, thanks to Coke. A-a-a-nd there's the starter's gun, sponsored by Coke! As they round the first Coke sign, the Belgians are out in front but only by a sip ahead of the Australians as they pass the Coke machine. The first relay is clean -- oh, no, the Nigerians drop the Coke bottle! Oooh, look at the dejection on the face of the Nigerian Coke distributorship representative! Nearing the finish line, the Swedes and Mexicans are bottleneck and bottleneck, boy do they look thirsty, it's gonna be close, it's -- it's -- time for a commercial break.
    "Hi. I'm Sebastian Coke..."
    It's not what it used to be, I grumbled.
    "Coke?"
    "No, the Olympics. It's so -- commercial. Everywhere you look, another logo." I had a sudden thought. I turned off the TV. My hunch was right. The picture disappeared, but a Coke logo remained flashing on the screen.
    I remembered the good old days, when not money but politics spoiled the Games. "Boycotts, counterboycotts, alternative Olympics, national steroid programs, those were the days when sports meant something. Nowadays? Is any athlete a true blue amateur? The five men of the US basketball team earn more than the Gross National Product of Africa."
     Mulling all this, I nibbled on a chip. Then it dawned on me. "I think I can put it all together," I said excitedly.
    She bolted upright. "The chip?"
    "No, the Olympics. This year, for the first time since maybe ever, there's no major distraction: politics, racism, war, drugs. So they had to attract our attention with something else, something irrelevant, namely advertising. Because without that, what's left?"
    "The Olympics?"
    "Precisely. And the Olympics are, frankly, a bore. Between the Opening Ceremony and the Closing Ceremony, with no controversy and nothing but pure sport, it's a whole lot of hyped blah."
    "You're nuts," she said, spitefully khlopping a handful of chips.
    "Take baseball. There's a World Series to determine the best team, but the best teams don't play in the Olympics, which determines nothing more than which is the best bad team, none of whose players anyone's ever heard of anyway.
    "Basketball: the exact opposite. All the best players in the world play on one team, so what's the point?
    "You can watch the tennis players doing nothing different year round on their tournament circuit.
    "Track and field is dumb. A champion runner, who is honored and worshipped for the rest of his life, is maybe a second faster than the guy who finished last, who goes home humiliated. For all I can tell the only difference between first and last is somebody didn't exercise a particular thigh muscle sufficiently over the last four years.
    "Do you really care who the world's greatest female shot put is? The triple jump is dumb. The pole vault is dumb. The hammer throw is very dumb. I mean, what would you say if one day I came home and announced that I quit my job so that I can devote my life to being a great hammer thrower?
    "You ever watch the gymnastics? That's not sport, it's exercise. There's no quantitative difference, except for a contrived points system that only the judges understand.
    "Tell me," I sneered, "that synchronized gymnastics and rhythmic swimming are real sports."
    "No," she agreed. "But synchronized swimming and rhythmic gymnastics are."
    "Same difference." I carried on. "Rowing is so dumb that it's won by the team that can go backwards the fastest. It's the only racing sport in which the winner can see the losers.
    "Sportsmanship is at its best when the guy who busts open the most faces wins the boxing gold. That, too, is not sport. It's criminal assault.
    "Okay, so maybe kayaking is a sport, but except for Eskimos, who cares?
    "Archery and fencing are as relevant as jousting and virgin sacrificing, and, I would say, they belong right alongside beach volleyball. Beach volleyball, for goodness sake! Now, there's a human endeavor of Olympian proportions."
    "Walking! If that's a sport, then so is sitting. You ever see a walk-racer? It's not walking, it's tushy-wiggling and elbow-jabbing."
    "Are you through?" my wife asked. "I mean, is there a sport you haven't trashed?"
    I ran through my mental list. "Nope. That about covers it. But there is one more thing. Sex."
    She sighed. "Not till the Olympics are over."
    "No, I mean, sexual equality. It's a big thing these days. For instance, women tennis players are now demanding the same pay the men are getting. Fine, I say! Let them compete against the men! Equal pay for equal work!"
    "Male chauvinist pig!"
    "No, that makes me a male feminist pig. Why do equal-rights advocates condone separate competitions for men and women? Aren't we all just people? My, but don't they shut up like a clam when equality is inconvenient!"
    "Right. So you'd suggest gold, silver and bronze medals for the men, and pink medals for the women."
    I wasn't about to tell her it sounded like a good idea (and I certainly won't admit it in print).
    She snatched the last chip which, had we been keeping score, would have given her a 63-51 victory in the mixed singles noshing finals.
    "All things considered," I said, "there's really only one change I'd recommend for the next Olympics."
    "A boycott of advertisers?"
    "No. A second TV."