I'm Not Wearing Those Tights

Like the other gazillion people on the planet, we at the Parker house have had a great time watching the Olympics over the past few weeks. In fact, the amount of time we've spent watching the coverage has been about equal to the amount of time it takes me to make a "30 Minute" Rachael Ray recipe, which is to say a long, long time. From the sad beginnings of these games, to the gossipy intrigue between Vonn and Mancuso, it's been an event to remember. But remembrances aren't the only things I'll have. I've actually learned a few things over the past few weeks. First, bobsledding is just about the most boring 45 seconds in the winter games. Any activity that involves one individual just sitting in the back and hiding while hoping the guy upfront doesn't flip the ship, well, that's just ... boring. Plus, it's pretty much the same zip down the ice over and over and over. Having them dodge obstacles, or at least switch places while in motion, would seem far more interesting from a spectators point of view. Also, I have come to the conclusion that almost no one south of the Mason Dixon line, certainly no one with a twang in their voice, will ever win a medal in the Winter Olympics. We in the South don't play hockey, ice skate, ice dance (good Lord), cross country ski, and we certainly don't curl anything over 12 ounces. Partially this is due to the fact that we have more humidity than snow, and also that most of these sports involve tights, leggings or spandex of some sort. That's an problem due to the fact that these are not items you will typically find in the Cabellas or Bass Pro Shop catalogs. Now, I will give a nod to that biathlon race where you ski then stop and shoot stuff. I think that resonates with a good many fellers who have stomped their way through early December snow on the way to their tree stand.
While I actually enjoy watching the cold games more than I do the warm ones, it's a fair summation to say that the Summer Olympics better represent what most humans actually do in the realm of exercising or surviving. For instance, it can safely be said that most of us at one time or another have either ran, swam or thrown something. On the other hand, how many of you have worn a poofy, leotard thingy that resembles an eviscerated black swan while dancing around on skates to the music of Wagner? I didn't think so.
Regardless of which sports by which we're enamored, one truism exists for all the athletes themselves: they work their butts off for what likely will be no more than a trip to the Olympic Village (or Willage as some of them foreigners say). Yes, that would be fun, given the fact that many of the athletes are attractive, in great shape, and are in their virile 20s. But I'm not so sure that being able to spend 8 hours at the opening ceremonies is worth spending 800 hours of training on ice or snow in boots, skis or skates in the hopes of meeting Lindsey Vonn. So I tip my beanie to all of the athletes who have given us great memories, great inspiration, and more great fodder to make fun of ice dancing.