Sportsbeat by Muffy Chase
The 2012 Howlympics is an open call for writing about and inspired by the London Olympics.
Last night’s gold medal clash in Beach Volleyball was one of the most riveting matches in Olympic history; two American teams battled for first and second while the rest of the world sat back and watched us beat the crap out of ourselves, and win!
One team was pretty old, but you really couldn’t tell by looking at them. Both had blondes with similar sunglasses, so sometimes I mixed them up. And they kept changing sides; a lot. And there were cheerleaders, which was weird because—they’re British… so who were they cheering for? They even had dude cheerleaders. My brother was like “they are so gay.” And I was like “you know homophobia is not a fear; you’re just an asshole,” which I read on Facebook. Who is George Takei? He is smart. Dude cheerleaders are just an example of how much more progressive Europeans are.
Okay, so I missed the middle because I had to go to the bathroom and I didn’t want to go during the commercial because it was for Hell’s Hotel with that British chef who screams. On my God, that show—I can’t wait for the Olympics to be over so I can watch that show. There should be a button you can hit when you see a commercial for a show you like and—boo-yah—right to DVR. That’s a good idea. I should go on that show Shark Tank. What is that British guy’s name? (Note to self: Google him, insert name here.) He’s hot even though he’s an asshole, but you can tell he cares and he’s not fat even though he tastes everything. Do you know what job sucks? Washing all those spoons (Note to self: idea for a drinking game—one drink per spoon. I would be so wasted!) That was a long-ass commercial—like when they did the segment on 007 and then the commercial for the movie; that was like half an hour. I was so happy when they went back to swimming. I had to piss like a racehorse and … Swimming? Over. It.
So I come back from the bathroom and my cat is eating my ice cream. His face is in the bowl. And I’m like “Jeremy the cat is fucking eating my ice cream!” So I get a new bowl because that’s just gross. How about that swimmer who pees in the pool? They should kick him out. That’s gross. You just don’t think Olympians are as gross and stupid as your stupid-ass brother who will eat ice cream that the cat—who licks her ass—was just eating.
You just don’t think Olympians are as gross and stupid as your stupid-ass brother who will eat ice cream that the cat—who licks her ass—was just eating.
Anyway, I knew who was going to win cause I got a push in message on my iPad. But I’m not watching to see who wins, I’m into the human drama: the joy, the agony, the aging volleyball chicas versus those other ones. And Michael Phelps struggling not to punch that interviewer—OMG where did they get her? She is so funny. She asks the stupidest questions but with a totally straight face (Note to self: does she have sitcom?) Or the Russian gymnast who thinks she’s all that (when the bouncy little Russian girl is much cuter). That’s what the Olympics are all about. Gabby’s hair? Please, it’s the same as the other girls’ hair (you want to talk about funky 80’s hair: track and field); or that one who sat on the floor crying for half an hour, what’s up with her? You’d think someone with a sword would be more thick-skinned. And missing athletes from Katmandou-istan? It’s like my gynecologist: I put this time aside, the least could do is tell me if you’re running late.
And in the end America gets the gold. I’ve been told that the Chinese have a lot of medals, but I don’t know what they’re in. Not volleyball.
Clarification: I took some of heat last week for not including the final scores for womens’ gymnastics. Look, I get 750 words for this and those tiny little girls have some stupid long names.
Correction: I didn’t get this beat because my Dad runs the paper. I got it because I work in exchange for living in the basement which at least makes him feel like he’s getting some return on that “stupid degree.” And hey, it could be worse. If he had fired me, you’d have Bob “The Crusher” McCluski covering Arts and Lifestyle.