21 February, 2010

on owning the podium

as far as slogans go, this is a good one. after all, if we end up failing to even come close,* we can always shrug and say we meant it in the real estate sense. cause, like, we totally own the podium, right? it's ours. all the way. even if we rarely get to actually stand on it.

yeah. that's all i'm going to say. i will say nothing about the speed skating brothers. i will say even less about the women's skeleton. i will definitely think about fuzzy kittens if i am even tempted to consider thinking about the possibility of having hockey cross my mind. in fact, i will shut the fuck up about it all, and think about nice podium ownership. or curling.

we spent the weekend meandering around vancouver. for those who live far away and were unable to make it, do you want to know what the olympics are like? imagine a huge crowd of people in various shades of red, all yelling. a lot. plus there was lots of cowbell. and a guy in spandex being pulled down robson on skis, shooting sparks and being really rather charming. and then the yelling. did i mention the crowds? or the yelling? hey! let me tell you about how loudly all those people seemed to yell.

our skytrain trip home (around 1am) was an olympic event in itself. the train was so full that for the most part i found myself standing not on my feet, but on toenails, various bunions and whatever bit of moi i could manage to support myself on. in fact it was so crowded, that if it turns out later i am pregnant, i will not be at all surprised. there was a victorian youth** mooing intermittently, and in short order we found ourselves mooing as one, the whole wagon. it was very moving, mooing in unison with the possible fathers of my possible incipient baby. despite the extreme crowding, and the united yell of "wait for the next train!!!" every time the doors opened and someone attempted to get on, the atmosphere was genial and fun. unless you were my bunions.

recap:

hockey: i am relinquishing any medallic hopes. and i will no longer watch hockey. ever. if you see me watching hockey, come over and kick me in the head. the end result will be identical, and you will have saved me an hour and a half of my life: time in which i could conceivably write the prologue to a brilliant novel, or a ballad, or a limerick, or even stare at a computer screen blankly, all of which would be a far more productive use of my time.

olympics: loud crowds in red. lots of inconvenient fences. kick-ass transit ridership. and of course, owning the podium...right.***






*which, yes, is sadly the case. we even fail to bring home the bronze in medal count.

**meaning a youth from victoria, not a time traveller in funny britches and dickensian hair.

***just so you know, this isn't so much bitching, as much as the words of a heartbroken woman. it's awful seeing someone who's trained so hard, and given so much of their time and effort, only to come in fifth, or seventh, or get disqualified on a technicality. i'm far too soft for this business. besides, the US win every time so what's the point of even showing up?

2 comments:

Country Gent said...

Wouldn't that be a terrific story to tell your future son, Juan Wolfgang Lee, how he was conceived?

the polish chick said...

wouldn't be much of a story: it was the olympic winter games and the skytrain was very VERY crowded. the end.