An Olympic Career

Last Friday, Cupcake and I had gotten a room at a budget motel to celebrate her birthday, Valentines and the fact that we still find each other attractive, 29 years after meeting. I am not at liberty to divulge which particular birthday but I will say, if the figure were converted to dog years, it would be over 375. Let’s listen in as there appears to be trouble brewing in la room de l’ amour. (That’s French, you know.) “But I don’t want to,” I protested. “You know I’m not into that stuff.”“Oh, come on,” Cupcake enticed.” I think you’ll like it. It would be great to do together. I don’t want to do it by myself like last time. Please? For me?”

I resisted as long as I could but, man, I love it when she begs.

“Okay, I’ll try it for a while,” I caved.

That exchange between us would explain why, amid a room filled with sensual delights; gigantic Jacuzzi tub, crackling fireplace, and a bed the size of a small country, the evening found us watching the opening celebrations of the 2010 Olympics.

Now it’s not that I hate the Olympics. I’m just not sure we get enough bang for our billions. I also question why I, via taxation, have to subsidize an over-blown track meet featuring people who, other than our birth country, have absolutely nothing in common with. These are beautiful, fit, young people with great hair, plus Kevin Martin. I mean, if the Olympics really were truly a money-making proposition as some people claim, private enterprise would have taken over years ago and instead of being every four years, would be a weekly reality show.

To me, I can’t help but see the whole thing as paying people to do jobs that don’t really need doing.What direct benefit do I get from athletes learning how to slide down hills really quickly? After all, the impact on my daily life would be negligible, even if Canada won every medal. My paycheque would remain the same, my darts would still suck; nothing would change. In fact, the only difference I can perceive between a world with Olympics as opposed to one without, is that in a world bereft of The Games, I wouldn’t have been sitting in a sumptuous motel room watching television.
I have a theory why countries fight over hosting them. I believe we are all are victims of international peer-group pressure. It’s like we’re all, as nations, still in junior high.

And what pressure there was. We had to win gold at our own Olympics since we never had before on Canadian soil... or snow... or ice... Calamitous! We better throw more money at it!

I’m old enough to remember (unfortunately) in Montreal and Calgary when we failed to finish first in any event. How truly Canadian, I thought. We are such generous hosts! No wonder the Olympic Committee chose Vancouver.

As Cupcake and I watched, I had to admit the snowboarder entrance was pretty cool.  The guy must have had kahunas the size of cantaloupes which should have made the descent even more difficult. The native dancing was enthralling, too, as was Ashley MacIsaac’s incredible fiddling performance.

“Who’s the dude with the sour face?” I asked Cupcake of the grim-looking dignitary sitting beside Governor General Michaelle Jean. “He looks like a refugee from a 1930’s horror flick.”

“Oh shush,” scolded Cupcake. “That’s Jacque Rogge, the president of the IOC.  I’ll grant you that he does look like he just ate some of your father’s tripe and onion soup.”

I must say, the speeches from Canadian celebrities praising their homeland did make me uncomfortable. I’ve always felt our undemonstrative patriotism fits nicely with our national image. I find over-zealous public displays of love of country as inappropriate as over-zealous public displays of romantic exuberance. That’s what motels are for. Besides, it’s so un-Canadian to invite someone to your home just so you can brag about it. Our way is much more subtle. We simply open our doors in welcome and let folks think what they may. We know they will love it, too.

The speechifying aside, the celebration continued to amaze. Sure there were a few glitches; a delayed dignitary here, a stubborn cauldron leg there, but it was still an inspiring spectacle. I wanted to be in BC Place so bad, if only to get one of those nifty electric candle jobbies everybody in the audience got.“See?” said Cupcake as the credits rolled. “Aren’t you glad we watched it?”

“Oh yeah,” I agreed readily. “When I pay three figures for a night away, there’s nothing I’d rather do than watch TV.”

“You know,” Cupcake giggled. “With your grumpy face on, you look just like that Rogge guy!” P.S, For those interested in my Great Treadmill Adventure, you may recall I was working out the cost/hour of treadmill ownership. I have now used it for approximately three weeks and have brought the price below $100.00/hour. I have been using it even more, lately, since I pimped it out with a cup holder and a sandwich tray.