Category: sports

In stark contrast to Michael Phelps, Jamaican sprinter Usain Bolt, crowned “The World’s Fastest Man” by winning the 100m last night, acted — quite frankly — like a total jerk. The 6-5 athlete clearly has a stride advantage over the rest of the field, and once he seemed definitively ahead, about 15m from the finish line, he smiled a huge smug smile and outstretched his arms in premature celebration. He finished in 9.69 seconds, a WR time to be sure, but how much faster could he have gone had he not started showboating before his victory was sure?

I mean, here’s an article about it that says it better than I have the energy for right now.

So I’m gonna take another person to task here, mainly because my emotions tend to be all over the map during the Olympics. They just do that to me. With the Olympics, I feel suddenly and surely and deeply. I will root like crazy and oppose like crazy; cheer like crazy and boo like crazy. I’m someone who doesn’t hide from gray areas in “real life”, but I have a hard time seeing grays — during the Olympics. And again, this situation has something to do with priorities — to me. Just like I don’t understand or embrace what appeared to be the priorities of Nastia Liukin’s mom, I don’t understand this guy at all.

Because, bottom line, I look at what he did like this:

He sacrificed even greater achievement for his own ego glorification.

Premature ego glorification at that. In that one act, he showed me that his ego was more important than his achievement. Bigger than his achievement. To me, he personifies the opposite of a champion. An even more astonishing result was really his for the taking, but he stole that time from sport and squandered it on himself. Basking, again, prematurely. As he was literally coasting to victory, God help me, I would have liked nothing better than for one of the other runners to pass him and steal the win from him — because I instantly became opposed to him. I was yelling AT him. Within 7 seconds. Seriously. I want anyone and everyone to beat him from here on out. Coasting his way to victory when runners behind him were giving their all, running their guts out, is a slap in the face to each of them. The gesture says, “I have contempt for you and your efforts.” It demeans other athletes. It demeans sport. The posturing, the chest-pounding, the flag-draping, the self-centered celebration. Sickening to me. Truly.

Usain Bolt may be The World’s Fastest Man, but, to me, he will never be a champion.

Michael Phelps. 8 gold medals in one Olympic games. A truly spectacular achievement. Something for the ages — that we all got the privilege to witness. Wow.

I mean, there’s really nothing else but WOW. Forgive me for saying this, but it was basically sports on an orgasmic level.

On top of that — on top of feeling proud and breathless that “our guy” did that — I feel proud of him as a person, a young man, because of the way he’s comported himself throughout this competition. Maybe that makes me sound like a shriveled gammie; I don’t care. I loved how, when the various relays were won, he would always point to the greatness of his fellow swimmers, to the team effort of it all. When asked by Bob Costas about former Aussie Olympian Ian Thorpe’s comments that “he couldn’t do it; it was unlikely,” etc., I love how he said, “I welcome all comments. They all motivate me.” I loved how he always found his mom and sister in the stands after his awards ceremonies and gave them his flowers. I loved how he and his teammates always huddled after winning, their heads down, long arms around each other, murmuring words of praise. I loved how he fought — graciously — against he crazed juggernaut of his own rapturous press. I loved how, last night, in his final gold medal ceremony, you could finally see the glimmer of tears in his eyes. He didn’t need to hold back anymore; the task was done. He rejoiced almost modestly when he won individual races, but celebrated wildly when he won relays with his team. He’s just impressed the heck out of me, in every possible way. For me, the word “champion” doesn’t mean a lot unless there’s some sort of depth behind the achievement, some kind of grounded inner core, some sense of humility even in the face of your own external greatness. Michael Phelps has that. He’s got it all.

Congratulations, again, to a champion in every way.

Started the list here.

Now more to add:

~ Bela Karolyi, for being so maniacally enthusiastic and impossible to understand. When he speaks, I feel like I’m listening to the rat-a-tat-tat of rain on a tin roof or the spray from a machine gun. I love that he wears Hush Puppies because he seems the exact opposite of someone who would wear Hush Puppies. And the exact opposite of Bob Costas. Their pairing is sheer broadcasting genius.

~ Bob Costas, for being so durned smooth and professional and for good-naturedly participating in The Bob and Bela Show.

~ Tennis player Rafael Nadal, just ’cause. He’s in the final. It’s either gold or silver for him. GO, RAFA! (We are on a nickname basis, yes, thankyou.)

~ Swimmer Ryan Lochte, gold medalist in the 100m backstroke, for having his suit tied too loosely and still winning the event. Even though he defeated another Olympic crush, Aaron Piersol. And even though his suit didn’t come off entirely. Drat!

~ And my pet, the beefy peach, of course. I can’t wait to show her the new habit-trail I got her — and the hook I put on her cage to hang her Olympic medal. (Yes, I know it should be “from which to hang,” but I think that sounds ass-y here. My opinion.)

But them’s some tony digs, for sure.

Earlier, Bob Costas interviewed Nastia and Shawn in the studio, with the girls sandwiched on the couch next to Bela Karolyi.

And I couldn’t help but notice: The beefy peach’s feet didn’t even touch the floor. It was a heart-melting moment for me.

So because I’m completely smitten with her chipmunk adorability, I think she needs another somepin’ somepin’ for her cage. I’m pretty fond of this Lincoln Log Cabin for Pocket Pets and Olympic Gymnasts:

In this homey abode, she can tumble about AND recite the Gettysburg Address.

(Just beware of the theater, beefy peach!)

As I just mentioned in the comments here, Nastia Liukin didn’t phone her absent mom, as I previously thought. She had to TEXT her.

The woman’s phone was off.

OH, LORDY LORDY LORD!! I think I just witnessed a miracle! A miracle on (melted) ice! Michael Phelps just won the 100m butterfly by .01 of a second! (If what I just wrote actually stands for “one one-hundredth,” which is what I meant. Please correct me if I’m wrong.)

But could it have been any closer?? Good LORD. Phelps was behind with 5 meters to go and literally just out-touched Cavic, who was basically in the lead at the last second. By all rights, he should have won. The difference was the touch. Cavic slid in, arms outstretched for the wall; Phelps took an extra half-stroke and put his fingertips on the wall first. He’s some kind of swimming savant, I swear. It’s that simple. A swimming genius.

Wow. WOW. Another breathtaking moment. He’s tied with Mark Spitz now — 7 gold medals in one Olympics.

One more race — a relay — to go to break the record. (By the way, did anyone see Matt Lauer’s interview with Mark Spitz? I have nothing to say on the content therein. Only this: Mark Spitz? Hubba hubba.)

So … how many more days til I can breathe again??

CONGRATULATIONS — AGAIN — YOU GOOFY-TOOTHED SWIMMING GENIUS!!

“Silver and gold, silver and gold, mean so much more when I seee, silver and gold decoraaations on every beefy peach!”

Congratulations to Nastia Liukin and Shawn Johnson, the beefy peach, for winning gold and silver, respectively, in the Olympics Women’s All-Around!

Now Nastia is not my pet; I don’t have a special cage for her with a shiny habit-trail and a new water dish and whatnot. I was rooting more for Shawn to win, because she is my special pet. They were both great, but Nastia was just slightly better. A couple of dead-stuck landings better is all it came down to, really. And they were both better than the judging. Ahem. Hey, it’s not just me. The commentators were talking about it throughout the entire event. I suppose you could say, “Well, what’s the big whoop? US went one-two.” Sure, they did. But the meet didn’t need to be as close as it was with the Chinese girl who ended up with bronze. She was a constant threat — and not based on her performance, but based on judging. It was pretty blatant. If it hadn’t been for some obvious glaring errors in her routines at the end, she could have ended up with gold for lesser programs than the two US girls were putting up. Since the experts who were calling the event clearly felt this way, I feel a little more justified in this — my mere tuber-layman’s opinion.

But by the final two rotations, the judges just couldn’t ignore the near-perfection of Nastia and Shawn.

I’m happy for Nastia. Her dad is Valery Liukin, — gold medalist 20 years ago — and gives off a slightly menacing Soviet-work-camp aura or “vinning is de only option” vibe or something. So maybe it’s best this way.

Still, I’m so proud of my little beefy peach! She went for it, fearlessly, every step of the way.

On another note — what was with Nastia having to call her mom from the gym floor after she’d won? She said later her mom was “too nervous” to watch, so she was out walking around Beijing or something. Seriously, what is up with that? To me, that’s inexcusable. This girl lived in your body for nine months, Betty. Now she’s out there on the international stage, competing at this momentous event, attempting something spectacular, transcendent, something the rest of us can’t even conceive of, and you’re out shopping or something? Are you kidding me? Get your butt in those stands! BE there for her. Be physically present, you selfish wench. It’s not about YOU. I don’t care how “nervous” you are, BE there to watch your kid. You’re the mom; that’s part of your job. Be there for your kid. Sheesh. I mean, Mary Lou Retton was there — for your kid. More present than you. Inexcusable. Now the only thing this woman will ever have of her daughter’s performance will be on tape, DVD, whatever. Something secondhand. She’ll have no memory of having experienced it live and in the moment. She won’t be able to know what the atmosphere was like in that gym. What it looked like, felt like, smelled like. What it was like to hear all those people cheering for her kid. Maybe this is an especial pet peeve of mine since I don’t have kids. I can’t stand laziness and selfishness in people who’ve been blessed that way, who take it all so much for granted. I’m sorry for Nastia that she has such a self-absorbed mom. I know I sound harsh. I don’t even know this woman and I’m taking her to task. But to me, her actions speak volumes. I don’t need to know her; I can see what her choice was and the consequences of that choice: Her daughter was forced to call her on her cell phone to tell her how it went. She can never get those moments back. That’s the memory she has. The phone call. That is messed up. At a time like that, if you can’t forget yourself, lay aside your nerves, suppress your self-centered thoughts, focus on your child, and be there for her, you don’t deserve to be called “mom.”

Okay. Sorry. Got away from myself for a moment. But raise your hand if you’d have been willing to be her surrogate mom in the stands last night.

Bottom line: Our girls were AMAZING. They are champions. They competed with fire and guts. It was so beautiful to watch.

CONGRATULATIONS, NASTIA AND THE BEEFY PEACH!

You got me all choked up.

How come, in men’s gymnastics, they wear long pants when they perform rings, high bar, pommel horse, and parallel bars, but they wear little girlie shorts to do vault and floor exercise? Why is that? Why? Because, you see, I am very uncomfortable with the shortness of the shorts and the flare of the shorts combined with the general drafty-ness of these events and the potential to see certain things — things I’ve only heard whispered about out in the school yard, things I just don’t need invading the privacy of my home and my eyeballs whilst I am innocently observing the goings-on. It’s the Olympics, people; not a wee wee museum.

This just in, something that may or may not be related: I really really don’t like that the men’s parallel bars are called “p-bars.”

Basically, I have myriad unfathomable issues that keep me up at night.

Also, as a general rule, I am opposed to men whose butts are smaller than mine. My sister once rationalized the end of a relationship entirely based on this notion. “Wouldn’t have worked. His butt was too small.” So I know I’m not alone. Now, she and I may be alone together, but whatevs. That’s just the way I roll. Teeny tiny bums, teeny tiny waists, huge freaky biceps that are wider than the dude is tall — no, this I cannot abide. It cannot be borne. These are fine athletes, absolutely; some of them might be upstanding citizens and philanthropists and drive hybrids willingly, but that body type just shivers me timbers.

As you were.

A running commentary of tonight’s doings that I will keep updating. Except for synchronized diving, which I will not be discussing, as I feel I’ve already said everything that ever needs to be said about it.

First, The Bob and Bela Show. Frankly, I am in love with the psychotic intensity of Bela Karolyi.

BOB: What does Team USA need to do to win tonight, Bela?

BELA: VEL, BUB, THE HEV TO HEET DERE ROUTINES. DEY. MUST. HEET!

BOB: What about China? What does China need to do?

BELA: CHINA MUST HEET DERE ROUTINES TO VIN! DEY CANNOT CRACK, BUB! IF DEY CRACK, DAT’S OPENING FOR U.S.!

BOB: So I hear you saying that both teams need to rely on a combination of great routines from their own team and little cracks from the other team.

BELA: YES, BUB! EVERYBODY MUST HEET AND NOT CRACK IN ORDER TO VIN! DAT IS EVERTING!

BOB: Thank you, Bela. We’ll check in with you later.

BELA: YES, BUB!

*******

Wow. Just running out of superlatives for my Olympic crush, Michael Phelps. He just won the 200m butterfly in WR time. His 10th Olympic gold — more than any athlete ever. Congratulations, Michael Phelps! You continue to amaze.

*******

I’m sorry. Some of these Chinese gymnasts just don’t look 16. I hate to say it. That’s the age they’re supposed to be. I’m just …. well, not buying it. A couple of them are teeny-weeny. Like 9-years-old teeny-weeny.

Is it just me?

*******

My little pet, the beefy peach, just did a fine fine vault! I’m so proud. Keep this up, BP, and there’s a bigger cage for you when you get home.

*******

Nastia is coming up soon on uneven bars. One assumes her siblings Grossia and Filthia are in the audience, cheering on their sis. She’s getting ready, chalking up her hands; daddy, her coach, a former Russian gymnast, is loitering around, making me nervous. Her forehead is needlessly high, have I mentioned that? Not that they’ll mark that against her. Necessarily. Her dad keeps getting in the camera shot. Move it, daddio! Wow. She’s rocking it. Stick that landing, baby! Okay! Good job! She heet it, Bub!

*******

Oh, goodie. The Bob and Bela Show, commenting after Nastia’s uneven bars:

BELA: IF DEY GO DIS VAY, GOOD OUTCOME. VHAT VE TALKING ABOUT? SOME SETBACKS, BUT NOW GUD GIRLS!! GO GUD GIRLS!!

BOB: People wonder how much of this is an act with Bela Karolyi. None. None of it. I swear.

*******

Back to swimming. My Olympic crush, Natalie Coughlin, is swimming in — what is this — okay, the 200IM. (btw, US swimmer Katie Hoff annoys me for some reason. I have an irrational dislike of her eyes. They’re a tad …. buggie. Additionally, she never smiles. I like my snap judgments to be based on physical features people can’t help, thankyouverymuch.) Coughlin got the bronze. Good job!

*******

Oh, wait. Is this the men’s 4×200 freestyle relay already?? I can’t keep up. My Olympic crush, Michael Phelps, is swimming again. Good Lord. Does my honey lamb never get a rest?? We’re WAY ahead at this point. Like about 23 minutes ahead of WR time. Thanks to hardworking honey lamb.

*******

The suspense is killing me. Will we win? GO GUD BOYS! HEET IT VERY FAST! Annnnnnnd ……… do your ears hang low, do they wobble to and fro, can you tie them in a knot, can you tie them in a …… oh, hey, WE WON!!

*******

Back to the beefy peach, et al. One of David Bowie’s little China girls just fell off the beam. (I don’t know what I’m saying, okay? I just took a Tylenol PM, so I’m not reporting clean, basically.) Here’s an even littler (littler?) China girl. Oops. Boo-boo. I mean, come on. What do you expect? It’s past her bed time, for lard’s sake. I want to brew her some tea and give her a fortune cookie that says pandas don’t like cheaters then tuck her into bed with a Broadway show tune of her choice.

*******

Okay. We’re up next on balance beam, that nerve-wracking instrument of torture. The last China girl — who also had boo-boos — was scored pretty darned high, uhm, considering. I’m sure Bela is freaking out. Here comes our girl, Alicia. She just fell off the bar, right at the beginning. Ugh. But she rallied. Oh, I feel bad when I see them look all crushed afterwards. And, oh, for pete’s sake. They keep showing her fall from every different angle. Enough already. Now Nastia. One little bobble. Otherwise, good.

*******

Beefy peach on beam. ACK! Last US girl. AND SHE NAILED THAT PUPPY! YAY! Bigger cage and a new water dish for her! We are one point behind China. It comes down to the last rotation — floor exercise — to decide it all. Hope it’s over before the Tylenol PM puts me to sleep.

*******

First up, Alicia, our girl who just fell on beam. AGH! She just fell on floor exercise! Oh, no! Gah, I feel so terrible for her. And she stepped out of bounds. Oh, no. She just fell apart. Poor thing. Well, I think it might be over for us for any chance at gold. Maybe silver, too. The score is killer bad. AGH! Nastia is next. She’s very long-limbed — annnd she just went out of bounds, too. Long limbs didn’t help her any there, that’s for sure. I have no idea if that was good or bad. It seemed fine after her step out. Pretty good score. Beefy peach next. She went out of bounds, too!! AGHHH!

*******

China on floor. The US can’t do any more to help themselves. This first girl literally looks 9 years old. Even Bela was just freaking out about their ages — he doesn’t believe it either. Just because you’re wearing turquoise eyeliner doesn’t make you 16, Peaches. She has got to be a child. No way is she 16. Awesome routine — because she’s 9 and has no fear, that’s why. Frankly, they’re kicking our bottom in this rotation. They will win the gold — and that’s not my issue. My issue is that, clearly, people are questioning these athletes’ ages and no one is getting the answers. I understand they have these passports that say they’re 16; I don’t understand why no one seems to be allowed to ask for definitive proof of age. It’s like, “Yeah, they’re underage; they’re cheating; ho hum, no big whoop.”

*******

Final standings: China gets gold; US gets silver. We should be proud, really. We fought for it. It was a great competition. HOORAY, GUD GIRLS!!

*******

This post is insane. I know. Completely whacked out. I have to stay up for the final Bob and Bela Show coming up. That last one, I could not make heads or tails of what Bela was saying — except that he thought the Chinese girls were not 16.

Oh, here they are:

BOB: Final thoughts, Bela Karolyi?

BELA: BUB, THE US DID NOT SEIZE DEIR CHANCE, BUT CONSIDERING VHAT DEY VENT THROUGH VITH INJURIES, DIS IS A FAIR RESULD. TOO BAD CHINA IS UNDERAGED. CHINA VIN; VE ARE SECOND IN THE VORLD.

*******

“A fair result. Too bad China is underaged.” Hahahahahaha! He’s gleefully opinionated and possibly manic. I love him.

All right. Good night, pippa.