What your view of sports and life would be if you had too many concussions
Now that we find ourselves at the start of the 30th Olympiad, it is time to get some facts about this quadrennial snooze-fest off my chest.
First of all, let me preface this by saying America is a nation of sports fanatics, and I am no exception. There’s no way I can deny I share in this immoderate enjoyment, particularly for baseball and college football, to an almost fatal excess. In the past, I had several girlfriends who did not share in my love of sports; therefore there have been times when I was nearly been gunned down by women who felt slighted by my total immersion in the spectacle of autumn Saturdays.
This is why anybody who knew me before the advent of Mrs. Dubsism would not have been surprised in those days to get news of the discovery of my dead body on my couch, with a satellite-connected television in front of me, a radio on the end-table with the play-by-play of yet another game, the newspaper stuck firmly between my ink-stained fingers, a podcast of sports-talk show on my smartphone, and a new .45-caliber hole in the back of my head courtesy of the aforementioned sports-scorned girlfriends. There were plenty of chances for this vision of my own death to reach fruition; I’ve nearly been fired at while watching football, cross-checked for enjoying hockey, and bludgeoned during a baseball game.
Through this parade of domestic assaults, I am still a sports junkie, and likely always will be. Thankfully, Mrs. Dubsism is also a sports fan; it’s basically a prerequisite for any chance at tolerating me.
But then there’s the problem of the Olympics. Mrs. Dubsism, and far too many other people arm themselves with a convoluted logic the logic that because I love sports I also am an ardent lover of the Olympic Games.
They couldn’t be more wrong.
While Mrs. Dubsism and her ilk mistakenly believe that the Olympics are the “high holy days” of sports, I can’t understand why these games are such a big deal. This spectacle is chock full of crappy events no one gives a frog’s watertight ass about, excluding an agonizing two-week period every four years. So, for the sake of peace in the Dubsism house, getting me interested in the Olympics will require that some changes be made.
[ASIDE: As far as the above picture is concerned, go over to Blog Surface for the cheekiest take on sweet athlete cheek.]
I’m not even going to revisit the issue of what constitutes a sport; I’ve already done that. Rather, I’m going to offer some ideas for improvements to current Olympic events.
Let’s start with synchronized swimming. For the life of me, I can’t understand why anybody would watch this. Don’t get me wrong; I realize that these women are finely tuned athletic machines, but I fail to see the sport in flailing around like a bass on the end of a hook. So instead of wasting a lot of some poor woman’s time training for this aquatic foolishness, why don’t we get someone who is closer to actually being a fish. They are far better suited for this with all those gills and fins. Maybe we could get Don Knotts as “Mr. Limpet” into this event. Or better yet, let’s Darryl Hannah when she played the mermaid in “Splash.”
This leads to another question. How come I never got to see her breasts in that movie? For the time I spent rooting around in the $5 DVD to find that damn movie, I felt I deserved at least a peek. But that’s a different story. On second thought, there is a link here. I’m ponying up a bale of cash for the satellite TV package that bring the Olympics to my living room; and while I’m spending more money, I’m getting less entertainment. That is not the way it is supposed to work.
So, if we can’t get Don Knotts or some sweet mermaid rack, then perhaps synchronized swimming could be performed in the nude. That way, I wouldn’t feel as cheated on my entertainment dollar, and this event may become a hell of a lot more exciting. This is the only way I think it is possible to add something to an event where contenders are determined by the quality of their nose plugs.
Whatever you do, don’t toss away those plugs, because you are going to need them for enduring the next odious item on the cavalcade of shame, the equestrian events. There is no conceivable reason for this to be in the Olympic Games. Who would even want to be associated with this horse-backed idiocy? It is almost impossible to make a bigger ass of yourself in the saddle of an otherwise beautiful animal, unless you happen to be one of those cowboy-hat, cowboy-boot clad rodeo dipshits.
But more importantly, the horses are the athletes here, not the geek on his back that’s along for the ride. But if he wins, does poor old Mr. Ed get the medal? Not a chance. All he’s going to get is put out to stud. Now, we don’t do this for the human athletes; this alone should keep the horses out of the Olympics. After all, fair is fair. The only way to make this equitable would be to change the medal system so that the winners got sex instead.
I firmly believe that the primary effect of this change would be nothing short of hilarious. Giving the winners unlimited sex would mean that newly post-pubescent fifteen year old boys would dominate every aspect of the Olympics. Just get ’em good and pumped up by having them watch the new and improved synchronized swimming, then turn ’em loose. A horny teen-age boy who thinks he has even the remotest chance of actually getting laid will roll through any event like the Red Army did through Berlin. In any event, it certainly would lend a whole new meaning to the phrase “taking a victory lap.”
Not to mention this change would have There is another great thing that this would accomplish. No longer would we have to concern ourselves with testing for anabolic steroids; the hormones these boys would be on are 100% natural.
But the epitome of ridiculous was reached when, to my horror, table tennis became an Olympic event. Ping pong, as it is known in the real world, is a game played primarily by third-graders in the family rec room, the nuts in the therapy program at the asylum, or by the dregs of society at the penitentiary. A sport made just to bring together all those Bart Simpson clones, the insane, and the criminally inclined. How nice. Realistically, aside from all the waifs, schizophrenics, and convicted felons, the only people who enjoy this sport are about 38 damp, slightly malodorous Koreans who have nothing better to do than swat balls off a table all day. Not quite the image that springs to mind when you think of world-class competition. Just flat out ditch this turkey.
As long as we are talking about which Olympic sports I think should be relegated to the trash heap, let’s finish the list. Number one is volleyball, regardless of the gender of the participants. I’m incredibly confident that I am not the only one who believes this, due to this set of facts. First, all the people who play this sport on the Olympic level played it in college, generally at the larger schools.
If you’ve never seen the inside of an arena during one of these matches, let me explain it to you this way. I’ve seen buildings that were on fire that had more people inside. A shining example demonstrating the lack of interest in this sport occurred a few years back at a major university in the city I lived in at the time. In an attempt to get some butts into the seats for a match that had playoff ramifications for the hometown team, the volleyball tickets were given away at the beginning of a men’s basketball game. The volleyball game came directly after the hoops, and in the same arena. To watch the volleyball, all these people had to do was remain seated; the ticket stub from the basketball game would have even got them a free hot dog and soda.
However, the basketball game ended, and the holders of 10,000 free tickets headed for their cars as if rattlesnakes had been turned loose in the building. If no one will even bother to go see these people when they played down the street at the local school, or when they’re already under the same roof and it won’t cost them dime number one, why does anybody think they will waste any time on this junk now?
This may surprise some of you, but number two on the list is basketball. As far as the men’s game goes, am I really expected to be excited watching an NBA all-star team pound the hell out of Uganda, or some other third world country which doesn’t have a prayer? Who really cares about the final score when the Americans have the game in the bag about twenty seconds after the opening tip-off? Worse yet, when this team is on the court, you can’t even do one the most American things imaginable.
In the same spirit which has given me life-long sympathy for fans of the Chicago Cubs (although I still heap derision on them for many other reasons), I love to root for the underdog. You pull this kind of stuff on “The Dream Team” crowd, and they will call you a member of Al-Qaeda and burn your house to the ground.
Lastly, Olympic basketball totally ruins another great American tradition. Did you ever try to bet on a game with an eighty-point spread?
The women’s teams are more closely matched, but who gives a shit? This version of Naismith’s game is just plain boring. When was the last time you saw a woman make the monstrous dunk to win the game with half a second on the clock; the crowd being flung into a frenzy? The big jam and the madness of the last two minutes are the only things about basketball that are truly exciting. Women’s basketball has neither of these redeeming qualities. Honestly, who wants to suffer through a two hour, low-talent, slow-paced game?
While we are opening the Summer Games today, the Winter ones need a mention as well; the third inclusion on this list is figure skating. It would be taking note of the obvious to say that figure skating just plain sucks. To draw a comparison, let’s look to the other rink-bound Olympic endeavor: ice hockey. Hockey always has two teams on the ice who are competing to score goals at the same time. This means that there is no need for a group of judges to decide who performed better. Hockey also does not need stupid music to make it dramatic. One guy with the puck on a breakaway does that rather nicely. Nevertheless, a couple of people prancing around on the ice in sequined, lace-frilled, outfits will always look less like sport, and more like a bad rendition of “The Folies Bergere On Ice.”
I, as a loyal sport lover, wish to see the day that the Olympics would be free of the dreck that keeps the real fans away. Until then, I will avoid at all costs being in front of my television for this five-ring circus. As a matter of fact, the only reason that I ever even watched any of these colossal wastes of time in the past was that it came as part of a package deal to keep one of those aforementioned women from killing me.
Speak of the devil, here comes Mrs. Dubsism now. She saw my Olympic-bashing, she’s got my .45 in her hand, and she doesn’t look happy.