****
Buckle up, readers. This may be a long ride…for an event that comes and goes in two weeks.
Seeing the (Summer) Olympics shift energy from Paris (2024) to L.A (2028)….California…celebrity-capital-U.S.A….I am, once more, as I seem to be after every season of Olympics, torn. I shouldn’t even watch the closing ceremony because it just tears me up. I would both love and hate to be there, love to experience the relief of being able to mingle without the previous pressure to compete, love to get another helping of host-country culture and entertainment (if there is any), love to get one more chance to seal friendships before parting ways. But, also, hate to see everything end, hate to see the flame extinguished (isn’t it just supposed to pass on to the next host nation?…not go out and then start anew?). I get so emotional when THE END approaches…and arrives. I’m the guy who doesn’t enjoy parties much because they eventually end, and the fun, the joy, goes away.
[I’m also not much of a crowd person. Too many unfamiliar faces spoils my comfort. I need to know who is around me, and not knowing enough leaves me edgy; too many unknown variables.]
Consider what I’m about to say as my catharsis for coping with the end of a “good time.”
I’m feeling more of a France fan than I’ve been all my life. This small sampling of what is France has stirred my soul. I’ve been seduced by the simplest of artistry.** I think I get France, now.
——-
**If I may be blunt, France is no China or Japan (when those two are not suffering from a quarantine). France tries and has lots of creative potential…but it’s not the best composition that I have seen. The elements are there…just not the interwoven story and not quite the level of quality. I saw it in the opening ceremony; I see it, again, in the closing. A little too much Circus of the Sun and Moulin Rouge; the story comes off a bit weak under the weight of random movement and elaborate costumes without distinct, apparent meaning. A knight associated with ancient Greece? A cool female knight…but still a bit confusing. The Far East knows how to lay out a scroll and retell the progression of history, and, for that, I will always respect that region, even if some historical stories run a bit long (and involve too much combat).
Perhaps, France just doesn’t have patience for telling stories. It wants to get on with business. Make things happen, rather than sit around talking about it. So, you want a show? It will be short and lackluster. France wants to get busy with purpose. France isn’t a performer, a talker nor a celebrity of any kind. It’s a quiet, unassuming muse, an elusive unicorn. It wants to evoke something in the minds of others. It blows the smoke of inspiration in your face and then says, “Be creative.” You get it? Good. Now, enough talk. Let’s make something happen. The Moulin Rouge isn’t a Hollywood or Broadway theater; it’s a quick, flashy show before you get on with, before you pursue…other stuff. Entice with an appetizer, and then let’s go. You don’t eat a big meal in France.
[And, that’s why I like Italy. I can eat. France is a butterfly. Italy is a bee.]
——-
I used to think, as a teenager, France was weak; France was the coward that wouldn’t stand up and fight for what mattered. It only fought when thrust into a world war. France was the kingdom of the elves from Lord of the Rings; the French didn’t get involved in the matters of other races unless provoked, unless threatened. I thought the Statue of Liberty was a highly creative yet pitiful way of handing “the torch” of leadership to the U.S.A. It was “America’s” job, now, to be the global defender and champion.
[I wouldn’t say I think of the U.S.A. as the global defender or champion of anything other than boasting, right now. The U.S.A. has boasted so much for so long that it’s starting to alienate other cultures, it’s own immigrants (at least, those who aren’t sucked in, from head to toe, by the illusion of the “American dream”). Those chasing the dream take on a different path from the average American and never let it go. The U.S.A. has to spend so much time and resources amending for how it offended various peoples, and I’m just waiting in a very long line. It’s sick. It’s kind of like having your way with a prostitute and then trying to make the memory go away by dumping more and more money on someone. How do you get that money? Any way you can; sometimes an inconceivable “swagger” does all the business.]
Just one summer season of the Olympics in France has been enough for me to think otherwise, think more, of France. It’s still not top of my destination list. But, there is something primordially creative at its core which evokes artistry. It may be the cauldron of creativity. Just walking around Paris should be enough to spark the creation of countless books, plays, movies and all sorts of physical art. Perhaps it is the home of Hephaestus and/or Athena. Could it be there summer home? [Ha.]
France isn’t so much weak as it is graceful and reluctant to fight. It’s a bit vain. But, in being that vain and reluctant to fight, it has turned its energies to fueling creativity. And, that aligns with my own creativity. Creation in the mindset of violence or conflict is driven toward weaponry and defense. Creation becomes filling the armory when threatened. We want enough armor and tools to survive and silence the enemy.
France is a swan. A swan doesn’t get its gleaming white feathers dirty or bloody with fighting; it preens and cares for itself and bestows that grace upon those who align with that mindset. When the U.S.A. proved it was a friend in pursuit of peace and had its own creative potential, France gave the Americans a present and a “handshake” of friendship; not the sort of friendship you might want if you are a hot-blooded vanguard of righteousness.
So, in short, as a couple, the U.S.A. and France are not a happy couple. France wants calm, quiet, beauty and grace. And, the U.S.A. can’t calm itself enough to sit still for too long; it has to reach out, get dirty and take chances France won’t. It’s the stay-at-home wife and the adventurous extroverted husband. The U.S.A. tells France to get off its ass and mingle/fight. France tells its American partner to settle down and take it easy; find happiness in quiet moments. The U.S.A. isn’t listening.
Which is why the Olympics coming to the U.S.A., especially the over-glamorized region of modern California, feels really wrong. I don’t have any interest in watching those games. I’ve seen enough “celebrity.” The Olympics arenas of 1984 are not what they are or will be in 2028. You see how they introduce L.A. in the Paris games. There’s nothing humble or subtle, like Paris, in that. It’s typical modern American showboating, with a little subtle hidden message-ry coming from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. If only enough people had the brains to read between the lines.
I have nothing creative to offer L.A. I don’t feel for it. I don’t aspire to reach it, other than for a flimsy hope of having the good fortune countless celebrities have claimed to get from going there. It’s like ads for Las Vegas; so much COULD happen there, if you go…but will it? I’ve been duped before.
L.A. will certainly generate money for the Olympics. But, it’s going to feel so elite, spoiled and like a high-school popularity contest…my nerves pinch at the thought.
Looking forward to 2026 and the WINTER? games, I don’t picture Italy hosting the winter of anything. I thought people who hate cold weather ran to places like that, close to the equator. I don’t imagine Italy covered in snow except, maybe, right around Christmas when it’s time for that big holiday mass. And, even then, I don’t see the snow.
Having a sort of blood tie to Italy gives me another love-hate relationship. I don’t love how the Roman Empire stole from, copied and altered the name of everything Greek. That’s now how I want to be; that’s not me. But, in my blood, I am part Italian…and I have to acknowledge the good and bad of that. I am not easy to get along with, apparently, yet many I’ve met tell me I’m great…for something. When I believe in something, I tend to fight for (or endure and retain hope for) it more than the average person (and don’t always win). I’ve fought for friendship and defending my own feelings against bullies and hecklers. I’ve defended some of my artwork when people didn’t agree with or even remotely respect/approve it. When I encounter injustice at work, I speak up. When people in positions of power misuse their authority, I also make a fuss and/or rebel. [I think I’ve earned my Phrygian hat; wouldn’t you agree?]
I already am getting ideas for Italian artwork. Unlike L.A., it’s easy and feels…good. I may not love all of Italy, but there’s enough spice and flavor there to fuel a few revolutions. If Italy gave the Olympics season its all, it could flatten France. Italy could win on sheer passion alone. In a way, Italy is Ares, the more savage Greek god of war…except it’s not a warring nation, now. It’s driven by conquest; but you don’t see Italy taking down other nations. It doesn’t need to do that, anymore. It’s a self-sustained furnace, it’s own Olympic torch for eternity. I don’t know what keeps it contained and content…but it’s a relatively quiet volcano. Maybe it’s content because it has gorged on good food. Maybe it’s Aphrodite, who some say is the goddess of beauty while others say she’s the goddess of passion. But, while there is beauty in Italy, I wouldn’t say Italy is prettier than some other nations (too many to mention). Italy is passion; it is fire. If you mess with fire, you get burned. In a strange way, I respect and crave Italy’s passion for life. It’s a sustaining, motivating fire. But, that’s also a dangerous fire if it’s not properly attended. Lust is not healthy passion. Vengeance is not often if ever healthy passion (even if we sometimes feel it’s deserved when someone severely upsets us).
Italy evokes pizza and pasta. What does L.A. evoke? Spending money I don’t have? Looking at the excessively large and expensive homes of others? Listening to musicians talk of unhealthy obsessions and habits that no longer align with modern “woke” times? Wishing I was a celebrity? That’s an empty welcome to unhappiness. I will leave L.A. hungry and miss no one. The venue might be a relic surviving the passage of time, but it’s an empty theater that likely gets violated more often than it is respected. It’s a Motel 6 in a box, waiting to be used, again. L.A. and Hollywood get plenty of attention during the year, every year. Hosting an award show isn’t special. It’s just inviting bad habits and heartbreak. People call Paris the city of love, where many claim to fall in love but also where many claim to fall out of it. But, L.A.? I anticipate heartbreak there. The only love there is with wealth and flaunting it.
[I might just ignore the L.A. Summer Olympics, altogether. I don’t see the need for watching. I cannot even imagine that venue finding a respectable mascot. Just…pass.]
That brings my attention to something subtly deceptive about the Olympics. There are hints of something “rigged” in the air, all of the time. I get this feeling like something drives every Olympic event and season. And, no matter what pressure athletes put upon and endure themselves, it doesn’t impact what is already in motion.
A skateboarder gets the majority of attention in the games of Paris, right before he is welcome like a king in the next set, in L.A. It doesn’t matter what he does; he’s already golden in the eyes of the U.S.A. The same goes for certain gymnasts, who dominate broadcast TV time, along with all of the ads for AI that try to paint warm, inspiring pictures with little kids watching their stars perform, continuing the cycle of chasing the gold (not finding lasting companionship, chasing the gold), padded with images of people comforting the athletes, supporting them and tending their “wounds.” I don’t see it. I don’t have to see it. It’s decided. He’s the one. She’s the one.
If they disappoint, they were set up. Some other nation put up more money to tip the scales in their favor; that’s my suspicion. It’s all about money. The joining of nations in peace and harmony is secondary. The latter is anticipated as diversion by those working out the former.
Athletes aren’t just pieces of metal honed by their own passion and practice; they’re bought and sold and thinned to an elite group of sponsored race cars. The select get painted like movie stars on posters and other “merch.”
The current sort of Olympics is like going to McDonald’s (or Las Vegas); you are supposed to enjoy the music and setting, but be sure to put your money down on something (not entirely healthy) to ingest and try not to leave a mess before you leave. You’re not there to live in Candyland. You just need to be distracted and enticed enough to spend. Take your host-nation swag and go home; the cruise is over. Thanks for spending your earnings, if you did. Thanks for feeding the sponsors and tourism that pay for the athletes to compete to satisfy their financial support system. [‘Kind of sounds like buying a bookie to bet on race horses for us.]
You might view the Olympics as a more elaborate form of the Oscars. It definitely draws a larger crowd…to talk about awards. And, thankfully, there’s no big deal about what you’re wearing. Most likely, it wasn’t designed by a big-name fashion designer. Well, maybe the stuff from your sponsoring nation is; can you help that? Can you ignore it? Can you go without it? Nah. You have to represent; right? The evaluating entities of the Olympics hand out fewer gold prizes than the Oscars…but how does the hype and gossip compare? Which gets more talk about the prizes, the Olympics or the Oscars?
Talk buzzes around so many athletes I DO see, even though they don’t get the gold. I’ve seen some jaw-dropping and dazzling performances that didn’t get the coveted prize. I heard someone say that girl was the crowd favorite (she certainly dazzled me)…but she didn’t win anything she can hold in her hands.
[I know. I know! There are so many metaphors in my head, right now, for what she CAN hold in her heart and take with her, even if they aren’t physical objects made of metal and fabric.]
What did they accomplish by competing and risking their bodies? Shouldn’t that say something? Is one athlete really less for not winning a medal? But, how do you get so much buzz about three prizes and not slight those who were only nominated? And, if we don’t have the three prizes to chase, why do we compete?
Just having fun together doesn’t seem like something that compels people to invest, to spend. It sounds like a big, lavish party, and you might feel bad if you’re not able to come or even invited.
What do you say to people who invested in you and maybe put you in commercials…just to come home with nothing? Or, is every athlete put into commercials guaranteed some prize, in the end? Maybe they don’t get the gold, this round, but they get it in the “redemption” season. And, if that fails to work? What then? Does failure actually happen or are palms greased? I sadly really do wonder.
[I don’t think three prizes may be enough. I think other medals are deserved, as well.]
Yet, there is SO much talk about medal counts and getting the gold. It’s insanity. What a waste of time, talent and energy the Olympics becomes when we give so much to talk of the gold medals and the celebrities injecting themselves into the games. Why do athletes end up in therapy or crumble when they no longer can compete? Part of it, I imagine, comes from the separation, the filtering of what is Olympic magic/illusion and what is reality. The Olympics creates identity crises; not because it has always been that way but because of how “celebrity” it has become and how much technology has honed the attention of judges. What was probably once a more confusing and vague assessment of skills has become put under a microscope.
If we could just boil down the Olympics to its basics, its core, doesn’t it make sense that the medal chase may be the very problem that persists? The coming together of nations would still be there without the medal chase, but you’d also have less pressure to dislike people. You’d have less psychological aftermath. But, I suppose, this would be more of a world fair than a competition…wouldn’t it? If only…
I think the medals were intended to offer some measure of status, to identify who was the best in any given sport. But, I don’t think they were intended to be decided by millimeters and fractions of seconds. I don’t think they were meant to be taken away when an appeal for a better judgement of scores comes a few seconds later than stated in a document. Isn’t there a better way to hand out medals and keep athletes from self-destructing?
This might floor some people who, even like me, have become sort of hooked on the supposed intended spirit of the Olympics. But, I wonder if we even need the competition, anymore. The world is competitive enough, already. People fight for jobs like scraps of food. People lose jobs even faster over so many little (and some big) matters. Almost every day, we hear or see something that evokes competition. Even gaming cannot be as fun as it has become competitive. You hear people talk about being competitive…but do you hear them say they are fun or having fun, as much?
Of course, past Olympic athletes (at least, the former medal winners) pitch to keep the cycle going; they become commentators and/or probably get some kind of royalty pay from being connected to the games. They don’t have the same pressures put on their bodies when they felt they had to compete…but there are still pressures, thanks to their participation. When I hear a former competitor say they can’t get enough Olympics, I hear, “Keep investing money in what keeps food on my table and new clothes in my walk-in wardrobe or ample supply of luggage as I continue to circulate the globe like a tourist/celebrity.”
Hey, weren’t you…yep. Give that competitor some money. Support the Olympic troops. Is there a wounded veteran Olympian fund? You’re Joe Nameth; thy name is investor-funded civilian.
We need a global festival that brings people together. And, yes, we may need some form of activity to unleash pent-up stress. But, when that activity gets put under the microscope of advanced computer speculation, it loses some of its appeal. If I play volleyball and hear someone say I could have performed better if I just took a tenth of a step to the right when I served, I’d be annoyed. I’d lose all the fun of the game and give up, eventually.
Technology and speculation takes the fun out of everything. As does too much focus on competition and pressure to be “number one.” The saying goes around; no one remembers who came in second or third. They remember the gold winners.
I recall seeing a movie some time ago…or maybe it was Game of Thrones…when someone asked what had happened to the ancient gods. Why did the gods vanish? I think they lost interest in humankind when we could no longer give them reverence and got lost in our obsession with updating technology. [So…is Hermes or Hephaestus to blame?]
The spirit of the Olympics continues to be a flickering and waning flame. It’s not healthy. It’s not bright and full of rejuvenating life. It’s a sickly illusion of what was. It’s a good time for one IOE president to retire, as good of a guy as he seems ot have been. Retiring in the summer of Paris? How much better can one guy get? It’s a bed of roses for that guy. I don’t know what that means for the future; turning over jobs doesn’t seem to be going well in any area of existence. But, one can hope.
So, it makes sense that I get so emotional. It’s not just seeing something potentially great for everyone come and go so swiftly. It’s also secretly knowing, realizing something is still wrong, lingering, and needing repair. But, how do we do that?
[Right now, we’re NOT making the Olympics better, other than finding more possible camera angles and equipment to capture every move. We’re just kind of glossing over them as we get swept away in waves of technology and “feeds.” Even Alanis Morissette, looking really good right now, is, on one hand, giving a pitch for better communication as a species, and, on the other, selling cellphones that offer apps that alter how you communicate. Ironic…I think. Come on, selling cellphones, no matter what the companies pitch, isn’t improving the problem caused by cellphones. Just as no silver-tongued pitch for world unity is going to be improved by the very AI you’re actually selling.]
The following is less about the Olympics and more of a personal purge. But, at its core, is discontent with what is supposedly representing the epitome of world harmony, a time and place we can put our anger and unhappiness aside…if only it was.
What do I do with these thoughts of improvement I continually have? I judge and I judge and I judge…and I talk to myself because no one wants to hear it. What good is that kind of thinking? I see potential in what I’m shown and want to improve upon it…to dazzle the world much the way the best athletes do in these games…and I can do nothing or not enough to please myself. I am stuck; I am handicapped.
Part of me wants to run. Like Forrest Gump, I want to hit the road and not stop until I am utterly cramped up and exhausted. Hopefully, I have the good sense to get home before I collapse, as he did in the movie. Or, I want to take up break dancing and jerk and spin myself crazy until I am a lump of bones and flesh gasping for air on the ground. I am discontent with the state of the world (and my own little part, my family and lack of friends). I see illusions of happiness, like the grass greener on the other side, but also too many ugly truths coming out…squashing the fantasies.
Is it possible the majority of information bombarding my eyes and brain is directed toward some sinister goal of shutting humanity down in the most subversive way? Is some tech giant trying to shut me and everyone else this data hits down, to let technology take that place? I wonder…because I see so few sure-footed happy paths to take in life. I hear people talk about what will get me to happiness and fulfillment…but I don’t see the path, completely. So, I could, as I’ve done in the past, venture in this direction or that, and come to a decision I cannot confidently make. I’m not much of a gambler, alone.
What remains of the Olympic flame? Hope. Hope that “tomorrow” will be better than today; that’s what I retain as I venture on, searching for whatever it is that will make my existence feel complete. Others chase medals and hope that will finance happiness, after countless hours of training, repetition and anaylsis, scrutiny and self-torture.
I live in a place that occasionally has a festival for some particular culture. There are Italian, Greek, Polish and other festivals. But, they are little more than a meeting place for single people, double-dating couples and families who are desperate for eating out (not at home). You get a hint of music, a hint of culture and a handful of vendors selling food. It’s not much of a festival. Even our “state fair,” which combines all of those other festivals into one location and short stack of days, lacks something; it’s a lot of people crowded into a heated space, late in summer, dragging their feet in search of something to satisfy their needs. The music and theater of the state fair is better than the smaller fairs, but that’s about it, and even that theater seems to disappoint some. The Olympics seems like a bit more than a big assembly of vendors. It certainly is more culturally diverse. I’m just not sure, alone, what to do with it (and have yet to be present to experience one, other than watching it unfold and vanish on TV).
Hey, France (and any other nation that chooses to hear me). How about we organize an Olympics of artistry and forget the whole physical contest and concern for things like steroids. ‘Sound good? I am sure athletes, too, would benefit from the art therapy and not end up PTSD or physical-therapy spokespeople pitching every kind of pain killer under the sun.
Other than the icon on various pieces of equipment, I didn’t see what I expected of this “Marianne” around Paris…so this is what I envisioned. A Marianne sampler (in addition to pictures I included in a previous post). The first image has eyes on the next Olympics destinations.
Right now, people are studying a black hole, at the center of the universe, slowly sucking in everything we now, consuming and erasing it. What kind of life is that? We’re slowly losing sight of life and analyzing impending doom. That’s not very Olympian.
I don’t look for how to put out the flame. I look for how to keep the spirit of positive union going. United states? United kingdoms? United provinces? Bah. United nations. A united planet not self-destructing and looking for other worlds to colonize, to conquer. But, looking at how so many relationships crumble, holding onto such unifying thoughts seems…senseless. [Yet, still, I won’t devote my time to studying impending death nor live on “feeds.”]
I’m shutting up, now. 😛
Writingbolt's Creation 
Sometimes…Olympics Commentators Suck
Tags: 2024, athlete, athletes, athletics, broadcast, celebrity, commentators, comments, condition, editorial, exhaustion, fame, France, interview, judge, judges, judging, media, Olympics, opinion, Paris, press, PTSD, respect, sportscasting, stress, summer olympics, technical, television, therapy, timing
****
I’m going to come right out and say it. Most of the commentators for the Paris 2024 Summer Olympics (and probably every other Olympics I have seen) suck. I’m speaking specifically about the “American” commentators, including those foreign accents who have found comfy seats among the American-English-speaking folks. [If you watch the Olympics in some other country and dislike your commentators, I’d be interested in hearing your story.] It doesn’t matter how velvety-smooth your voice is (I’m looking squarely at the stout, brown-skinned, bald man with glasses who is…everywhere…like a VISA credit card); you people cannot restrain yourselves enough to give your American athletes, your celebrities of choice, the very people you have to interview, more respect when they are in poor condition to respond.
Key words: in poor condition…and have to interview. We know you have to interview them because they’ve been advertised and sponsored better than cars in a NASCAR race or horses in the Kentucky Derby. But, interviewing someone when they are out of breath and probably don’t have enough oxygen in the brain to sensibly respond? That’s just dumb…and rude.
[And, flashing a pretty face while laughing does not excuse you, either, Miss Maria Taylor, miss late-night, golden-brown goddess, miss supermom. The laughter feels a little forced, canned, at times. But, you seem to have better luck with interviews, maybe because you get the night shift and “next day” moments and are not typically seen with athletes right after their events.]
If you DID have respect, you’d ask different questions and wait with them until the athletes can breathe easier. But, no, every damn interview has to include “What does this medal you just won mean to you and to your country?” [But, more importantly, your country.] And, you cannot wait to ask these stupid, repeating questions, as if someone is holding a gun to your head. [And, it’s not a starter pistol.]
The nerve you highly polished morons have to mistreat these fragile souls who risk their lives to get a medal for their countries. I’d like to put all of you through the paces and then jab a microphone and fifty cameras in YOUR faces. See how YOU feel in the hot seat.
In your haste, all you accomplish is getting the worst from your interviews. Sure, you probably curb some negativity, because the athletes are depleted. But, that’s also lucky and risky thinking. If I was in one of those interviews, gasping for air, dripping with sweat, I just might let a few words fly that wouldn’t sit well with broadcast TV. I might end up a news feed scandal for what I said. And, I’d have you careless jerks, with your pressed suits and bleached smiles, to thank for my scarring slip.
I have to wonder…do the athletes have the opportunity to refuse? Can they bypass the microphones and cameras waiting just a short distance from whatever they call a finish line in their event? Can they shake their heads and walk away, giving themselves time to regain strength and, maybe, tidy themselves before answering stupid, repetitive questions? If not, shame on the rules and/or customs of this venue. And, if the athletes repeatedly fall prey to the microphones, hoping they will be asked/told something reassuring just to hear the same tiresome, annoying dialogue they hear after every other “run” they take, that’s also very sad.
If you must talk to someone when they’re out of breath, try asking how good it feels to be done with the event. Ask something that helps relieve the athlete of their current exhaustion and/or distress. Offer some encouragement; say they are okay, now that the trial is over. Tell them to have some fun if they’re not required to compete again. Don’t give them some patriotic BS or expect them to wave the nation’s flag for you. And, give them a towel or water bottle!
Now, you might point out the interviews that take place some vague time after the events, when the athletes have had time to don fresh, dry, sometimes stylish clothes and groom their hair (if they have any). In those instances, sure, there is more respect. But, there is still the chance stupid questions will be asked. I think there is some dumb writer behind all of this who preps a carbon-copy list of questions some lousy high-school teacher would give his or her class. Every year, every group, the same questions get used.
The athletes seems more interested in how the medals contain bits of the Eiffel Tower, but you’d rather ask about patriotism. What do you THINK the medal means for their country?! It means a digit gets added to the damn medal count you can’t stop discussing!…as if medal counts mean everything or more than the bonding of nations. Good grief! The athletes offer you opportunities for unique discussions, and you throw recycled formal letters in their faces.
[‘No wonder interviews produce bile in throats, making those interviewed shift uneasily in their tiny, uncomfortable seats and roll their eyes. Yes, I said bile.]
I’m also extremely sick of the commentators who feel the need to judge every little move an athlete makes, down to the tenth of a point and the hundredth of a second. Let’s just say gymnastics is really, REALLY annoying to watch, in that way. I get excited watching a swimming relay; and then some technical jerk says the last swimmer for the team I favored lost by a hundredth of a second. I don’t want to hear that! What’s next? Losing by one thousandth of a second? Spare me. Spare the world that PTSD.
Imagine failing to get a good grade in school or get the approval of your boss at work because you were a hundredth of a second late with your work. It’s no wonder athletes become edgy, paranoid, egostical. I’d have a breakdown, too, if I heard three or more people moan about me missing out on a medal by such a small margin. Give them a break!
She came in fourth! Okay? That’s all you have to say. You can kiss the precision of your modern metering technology or make detailed notes in your meticulous journals when the microphones are off.
Then there’s the tendency for commentators to become drunk with crowd noise and fumble their way through commentary. Words spurt from their lips in the heat of the moment, skewing reality, not always making sense. I’d be the same way if I had to talk about gameplay while playing any game. Maybe that’s a sign; maybe we don’t need comments on every single move athletes make. We don’t need to talk about how that female athlete’s legs bend or how her lead would look even more impressive if you took away the hurdles…in a hurdle-leaping race. [What sense does that make?] If you take away the hurdles, it would certainly alter the results. You don’t need to make the leader of the race sound like a goddess. She’s still human. Egos get shattered every day in athletics. Occasionally, environmental factors interfere.
[Hey, why don’t you ask the AI you keep pitching and supporting to comment for you? Oops. There go your jobs, struck down by the Salesforce. ‘Not impressive. ‘Most non-triumphant.]
So, I’m telling all of you commentators to back off and “slow your roll.” I don’t care what financial pressure is on your back. You tell your bosses to back off, too. Show these laboring athletes more respect. Because, if you don’t, you can dig out your fat wallets and purses and pay the medical bills of the people you hurt with your impatience and carelessness…and those annoying repetitive questions! Athletes shouldn’t have to invest in bug repellant to get rid of mosquitoes like you. Lindsey Vonn shouldn’t be in commercials for sleep aids. [She should be soaking up the sun at some beach with me! Ha. The Password is…companionship.]
What about Colin Jost you say? Well, in short, I’m not a fan. I personally think he’s very self-centered and privileged. He won a lottery to sit (and stand) in Tahiti, where he makes light of everything and continues to seek the pity of women (and gay men), young and old, for his…mishaps. Sure, what he has to say is better than the repetitive and meticulous stuff other “pros” are saying, but that’s more sad than good. Give me a microphone, baggy shorts and some sandals; I’ll serve you similarly slick and more witty lines with a less polished image (I confess) and less focus on myself. I might know even less about events like surfing and do less research while humbly soaking up as much culture as I can. I’ll ask athletes questions that open up their hearts, make them laugh and dry their tears.
What about Snoop Dogg you say? Well, he sure got the golden ticket, the all-access pass. And, sure, he comes off as a nice, humble guy…in a way. But, the commentary that comes out of his mouth is sort of like the babbling you do when you’re in a dream. It doesn’t always make sense; so I can’t classify it as an interview or satisfying. It’s like watching a cook sample food someone else made during their cooking TV show; they can’t quite speak clearly with their mouth full of delight (if they aren’t lying through their wet lips). He just keeps vocalizing some sort of feeling about everything he has been so blessed to experience. The visuals he shares (with the cameras) are more pleasing than what he has to say. I’m honestly a little envious…until I see all of the other celebrities in attendance, and then I start to wonder exactly how much access has been given to wealthy and otherwise famous faces.
I feel like the 2024 Paris Olympics is a lavish party I failed to attend, and, even if I did attend, I wouldn’t be comfortable around so much wealth and fame. I’m not exactly the sort who gets excited about acquiring autographs and photos with people who don’t know me and don’t likely give a crap. This event is bigger than any Oscars or Emmys night, with more than one large building full of “big names.” I’ll just keep admiring the view of the Eiffel Tower from the beach-volleyball setting and forget what was bothering me for a while.
I’m Writingbolt. This isn’t my job. It’s a sort of habit.
Okay, judges. What’s my score? A 4.95 out of a possible 5? And, yet, I missed the podium by one hundredth of a point? I don’t get a medal? Well, @*$&* you. I didn’t really need a score or medal, anyway. If anyone’s looking for me, I’ll be at some Nice beachside cafe, listening to the surf and dousing my irritation in something saucy and sweet.