Winter Olympics. 02/20/26

I love sports. Tossing a ball around, playing a round of golf, riding a bike, hiking a trail. That’s exercise but I was really talking about sports on tv. Football games (did you know a couple years ago, 93 of the top 100 rated tv shows for the year were NFL games?) True. So there, basketball and baseball! I follow all my favorite NY teams religiously. But there comes a time every year, in the dead of winter, when the football season comes to a close with the Super Bowl, and basketball is playing its last couple of games before the All-Star break, which lasts a bit more than a week. To recap, no football, no hoops, and baseball hasn’t started up yet. But not to worry, there’s the Winter Olympics from some places called Milan Cortina. Actually that’s two places they’ve mushed into a single place. Try as I might, I can’t get beyond my disdain for “Big Air” skiing, the ski jump, slalom combo, curling, synchronized swimming. These sound like made-up sports to me. There’s a reason for that. They are made-up sports. Try as I may, I just cannot bring myself to sustain any interest into something I don’t understand and won’t see for another four years anyway.

And there’s something else. Whether its slaloming down a hill at 75 mph or ice dancing with a tall guy and petite woman (so he can toss her in the air and catch her and spin her, put her down gently and then eventually marry her). They practice relentlessly for four years awaiting their one chance, which might last all of three minutes. If the ice dancer falls only once, if the gymnast doesn’t “stick her landing,” if the biathlon guy misfires his rifle, then all their hopes and dreams go up in flames. And not Olympic flames. That’t it. Kaput. They’re done. The Super Bowl Champion Seattle Seahawks lost three times this season and they won it all. The best basketball team loses 20 times before the playoffs even begin. Baseball? The best team loses at least 60 times while the worst team still manages to win about 60 games. But in the Olympics, one slip, one fall and everything you’ve dedicated your life to achieving is poof, gone, out the window. Too much pressure. I hate watching when their dreams come crashing down to earth. It makes me wonder what Olympic event I might excel at. The only thing that looks remotely possible is curling, but I’m afraid my broom would touch the stone and then I’d be toast. John is a lot bigger than me and played collegiate soccer. He might be able to play a few minutes of center forward in the Summer Olympics, but me? No shot. The only thing I could win gold at is sleeping, which is exactly what I end up doing every time I attempt to watch the aforementioned Winter Olympics.

Sweet dreams,

Andy and John