the ocean

The Olympics are here again, which I love because now I can indulge both jingoism and my love of dramatic personal backstories. It may well be that people who are not naturalized U.S. citizens have some sort of athletic ability, but I don't need to know about it, and NBC is certainly not going to let me. But they will make sure I'm aware of every asthma attack, cold and distant parent, and third grade election loss of each and every American headed to South Korea for the games. It's perfect, because I'm a busy man, and don't have time to make my rooting decisions based on a nuanced understanding of facts and circumstances. Show me a flag and I'm all set.

In all seriousness, though, I do enjoy the Olympics. I think it's mainly because by and large these are not sports or athletes we'll be seeing the other three years and 341 days of any given four-year period. I like relearning the rules of curling each time, only to have it gently lull me to sleep within twenty minutes. I'm genuinely blown away by the abilities of all the people on snowboards and skis who fly through the air, generally intentionally, in dozens of different ways, even if I somehow can't manage to bother to watch them any other time. And I love that sports that aren't just knocking into people or barging past them are actually getting a little bit of attention, even if I know it won't last. It's a nice change of pace.

Of course, I'll also be fine when it's over, because I manage to feel guilty about how much of it I'm missing, just as I do with just about everything. If only I could quit my job and just watch TV all the time. Said everyone always. Ah, what a land we live in.