Shoveling it to the public

Chester Einstein's Words of Wisdom

It's late summer of 2004 and you know what that means. Only two more months until we kiss Dubya's ass goodbye, you might say. Well that's important, but I'm referring to the huge worldwide event that occurs every four years. It's an event where athletes from nations all over the world gather together and compete in athletic feats of goodwill ranging from handball to archery to table tennis. This year's event is being held in Athens, Greece, where the very first gathering of athletes occurred back in 776BC, which is about the time I was born. Heh-heh! If you brainwaves haven't guessed yet, I'm talking about the Olympics and as you might expect, I've got something to say about 'em. All I've got to say about 'em is Olympics Schmolympics! What? You expected me to say something nice! Where have you been for the past year?

Let me wax on about my distaste for the modern games or as I see it, just another excuse for corporate America to commandeer an otherwise fine spectacular of sport and bend it to their money grubbing, greedy whims. For instance, why is it that there seems to be official sponsors of the Olympic games all over the place: the Official Camera of the Olympics; the Official Hemorrhoid Cream of the Olympics; the Official Condom of the Olympics. They got an Official sponsor for everything! How do they choose what the official product of the Olympics is going to be? Hmm... let me think long and hard about that one. How do they do it? I think I've got it. They choose the product that throws the most money at the Olympic committee! Well, I don't have any money, but by gum, I think you can safely declare me the Official Curmudgeon of these Olympic games.

Mind you I've got nothing agin' the athletes. There are a whole crop of youngsters winning our hearts this summer: those virile women hammer throwers, those brave and rugged synchronized swimmers or that cute little Paul Hamm and his angel like voice. I have to admit that cheesehead stole my heart! But then NBC has to ruin everything by overdramatizing every little moment of competition by stringing together a montage of highlights set to a rhythmic rock and roll beat or some Celine Dion song. Dag nab it! They're going to stuff that touchy feely crap down your throat whether you like it or not.

At this point, you're probably saying, "Oh shut up you old coot! You're just mad because they're young, vital and winning medals and you're just a cranky old man with nothing to look forward to except grim death." Well you may have something there and thank you for being so sensitive, you bastards. Back in the day, although my job list doesn't mention it, I used to be quite the badminton player as a youth. As my friends put it, I was 'master of the cock'. Then they sniggered behind my back for some unknown reason. No one could touch me on the courts. I smashed shuttlecock after shuttlecock down my opponent's throat. My service caused my adversaries to gasp in shock and awe. In the end, they pleaded for death. But unfortunately, WWII transpired and I was put to use as cannon fodder, acting like a Kraut dodging artillery out on the gunnery range. When the war ended, I just couldn't guide the old cock the same way. To this day, I just can't watch any badminton matches on television.

Not that they show any exciting events like badminton or handball or judo. No, we get to watch a bunch of millionaire hoodlums get their heinies kicked on the basketball court. This might sound unpatriotic, but I was glad they got their butts spanked. Not that it matters much to them. They'll still go home to their money, cars and hos. This might also sound unpatriotic, but I am interested in athletes from other countries. How about doing features on them, NBC? I want to know more about that sweet little woman weightlifter from China. I want to know what makes the Kazakhstan water polo team tick. I want to know the training techniques of the Pakistani field hockey team. Did I find out? Well what the hell do you think? Of course I didn't! But I sure saw enough of those scantily clad women beach volleyball players patting each other on the ass, hugging each other and writhing all over the sand. What a second. What the hell am I complaining about? That stuff was hot! That was better than Springer!

Well, I've ranted myself into a good froth again. As usual, after I watch the Olympics, I feel a surge of anger that I've got to work off in a positive manner. I think I'll go out and exercise. Yessiree, I think it's time to dust off my racket and shuttlecock. Badminton anyone?