Aaah… the Olympics: the one time it is okay for the host city to put burning issues such as bad debts and poverty on the back burner and funnel untold amount of resources into an event that no one talks about four months later.
Every four years, I get imbued with the spirit of sports and that’s when I beeline for the garage, dust off my now 12-year-old amazingly well-preserved sport shoes and get on the elliptical trainer for five minutes. Trust me, if you know you will never have a shot at clinching a medal, the elliptical trainer and the step machine are the next best alternatives for a pedestal.
Speaking of medals, the bevy of hopeful Olympians bear the emotional heft of winning one because the Olympics only happens quadrennially and nobody has the patience to wait that long for the opportunity to stand at attention as the National Anthem plays. Which is why when they don’t get their medals, they throw a temper fit, much like those petulant leaplings who incessantly remind us they only get to celebrate their birthday once every four years.
Question: Which category would an 8 year-old leapling compete in?
But it’s understandable: they work hard to achieve their grandiose dreams and they deserve their fist-pump moment of unbridled joy. On that note, there is something just so primal, something that tugs at the heartstrings about seeing athletes in skin-tight spandexes. All I have to say is: Thank you, E.I. du Pont de Nemours and Company. Never before has any fabric so masterfully managed to teeter between the brink of absolute modesty and unadulterated titillation.
Here’s the thing about spandex suits: It takes a sheer amount of hubris to wear it. On top of owning a tapered body, you need to be bulging in all the right areas. Add that to the pressure of having to wear them on global TV. Your derriere is now public property and every body part of yours is discussed ad nauseam, especially amongst the harshest demographics of all: hormonal teens. Well them and deviants too cheap to get paid subscriptions to porn.
Lycra shorts and spandexes fail to accentuate my curves —let’s leave it at that: curves— which is why I can never be an Olympian. Well that and I am sloth personified. I am the kind of person who would walk the extra mile to where the escalator is just to avoid taking the stairs to the second floor. And you will never find me scurrying to catch a bus.
That said, I just cannot stomach the thought that my Olympic dream is squelched forever. More depressing is that I will never get to do my celebratory, Ms. Universe wave as the world bows to kiss my feet. At 25 years of age —okay, I’m pushing 26 December 8th— detractors would say the ship has sailed for me to be a child prodigy.
I wish a genie would grant me my one wish to win an Olympic medal. Well, actually, if there’s any wishing to be done I would wish for a Grammy. It just has a better ring to it: Grammy award winner versus Olympic medallist (say what, pig’s medallion?).
But it did hit me: as the reigning Guinness World Record holder for … Highest Bejeweled Blitz Score, I do have some clout and should be rallying for Bejeweled Blitz to be an Olympic sport. The IOC has judiciously begun the Paralympics for the handicapable —the game renders me to tears— and there’s even one that caters to the four seasons. So why not have an event for the morbidly obese and couch potatoes of the world?
My high school teacher once said, “Thinking is to the brain what exercising is to the body.” I reckon it’s high time for us to recognise cognitive thinking as a form of sport. And in this day and age of interracial and gay marriages, female condoms and fried ice cream, where boundaries are pushed and blurred, why are we still so obtuse about celebrating indolent people as athletes?
I hope to see the day Bejeweled Blitz gets instituted as an Olympic sport. That is the day we can finally say the world is truly without discrimination. Think about the benefit: now absolutely anyone can be an Olympian! Imagine how proud your boss would be when you tell him you’re training for the Olympics and that is why you cannot work on the pressing tasks he assigned you. “Wow! I would never have the kind of tenacity that you possess. Good work. Why don’t you take the afternoon off and concentrate on winning that medal for our country?”
I can already imagine the ensuing commentary:
“Some controversies before the start of the match: a few athletes tried to sneak the Phoenix Prism and Cat’s Eye past the referees.”
“Would you look at that level of concentration?”
“That’s 12 Hypercubes in 40 seconds. That’s a world record right there, ladies and gentlemen.”
“I want you to look at his hand position. That’s the eagle claw: that perfect arch, that firm grip cupping the mouse, wow.”
“He just switched a pink triangle with a blue diamond! That’s the fourth penalty Alden Boon has chalked up. His only shot now is the bronze medal and that is only if he doesn’t make any more mistakes.”
“AND she goes into Blazing Speed mode! She needs to get 250,000 points to smash her world record and 200,000 points to put another gold medal in her win column.”
“Look at that posture: he’s leaning at a 27 degree and his head is tilted to the right at a 30 degree angle. That’s the optimal position.”
“Observe the speed of her mouse clicks: they flitter so swiftly. She said in an interview with TIME magazine that she took 10 years to perfect the technique.”
Now I don’t know about you, but this is a sport that would keep me glued to my computer screen.
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