The Summer Olympics

I’ve never been able to really figure out why I don’t care about the Summer Olympics. As someone who truly appreciates culture, spectacle, and feather boas, you’d think a series of events kicked off by a party that would make any Pride event proud would be right up my alley. Unfortunately, it is not.

Swimming? Does nothing for me. Horsies jumping over things? Even less. Volleyball? I don’t like playing it, much less watching it. 14 year-old girls pushing themselves to unbelievable physical limits in gymnastics, lest they be sent to the glue factory? Nope. Never.

I can’t even bring myself to be wrapped up in the national jingoism that appears every four years. I’m still worn out from the “Domestic Attempt To Neutralize Bad People” in Iraq. I’m plum out of reasons to hate the Algerian steeplechasers.

And the sad thing is, I always watch the Winter Olympics. Even if just for the hockey. At least with Olympic hockey, the games are long, involved, and intriguing. Many of the events in the Summer Olympics remind me of the Kentucky Derby. About 3 hours of talking about something, and about 3 minutes of doing it. If I’m going to engage in that kind of pathetic ratio, I’m having sex.

Does the fact that I find watching the Summer Olympics about as exciting as the idea of Kevin Costner playing the Green Lantern in a Michael Bay-directed movie make me a bad American? Or, at the very least, a lapsed one?

I know a lot of people who feel the same way, and I’m pretty sure they’re Americans. And isn’t that one of the great things about America? The ability to gather and complain about our mutual dislikes? Let’s celebrate our dislike of the Summer Olympics! Let’s grouse together about reruns of The Office being taken off the schedule and replaced with basketball! Let’s be the best Algerians we can be! Oops.