Dear Blog Friend
I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. It is
official. I am starting a petition to the powers that be for an extra 4 to 5
hours every weekend. There is just too much fun to pack into 48 hours and get
to bed early enough to function on Monday morning. Here it is 9:16 on Sunday
night. There is no way that I will finish soon enough to get a good night’s
sleep. Four hours would be just enough for writing and editing our time
together each week. The fifth hour could productively be used napping each
weekend.
Before I go much further, I want to give a shout out to the
unidentified one or two faithful readers from Germany
Wie gehts?
Ich gehts mir gut.
I hope that you are proud of me Mr. Thompson. It has been 32
years since high school German, and I did that unaided.
Last weekend at the Dunes was great. Yet, the pounding of
the surf ground the topical ideas for last week’s blog into mental dust. So
now, I have ideas for blogs backing up like planes on an O' Hare runway during
a snowstorm in January. I have three right now. With each passing day, they
grow more dated, old, and stale.
For example, the Olympics should not pass by un-noticed,
escaping comment. I love the Olympics. It gives me the illusion of activity
while sitting on the couch. It is almost as effective a WII fit. Also it
provides me with a wonderful opportunity to ridicule people who are vastly
superior to me. I think that Usane Bolt can run faster than I can ride my bike.
I compensate by calling him Insane Bolt.
Gabby Douglas is so strong that she could crack walnuts with her toes.
Yet, I must confess a bit of smugness when she fell from the balance beam. If
you look on Wikipedia, her Olympic experience is footnoted as the first gymnast
to win the all around gold but not medal in any of the individual events. That
kinda knocks the shine right off that Wheaties box doesn't it?
More superiority? Let's look at water polo. Yes, water polo,
a made up sport. I do believe that water polo players take the following
trajectory on the road to Olympic greatness. They show up for swimming tryouts
on the first night in their speedos, swim goggles hanging from their neck. They
have the commitment, the dedication to be at the pool for three hours every day.
They have a great human interest story that haunts them. They dream of Bob
Costas interviewing them the night after their triumphant medal ceremony.
"Sure the news of that devastating hang nail rocked my world, but after
the shock of the news, I got back to the pool and rededicated myself to being
the best Wheaties eating swimmer I could be." What they don't have is any
speed.
So the coach comes along side and encourages them to become
involved with the synchronized swim teams. That next evening they show up to
practice with nose plugs and vaseline on their teeth "so that smile will
shine" only to find that what they lack I speed they have not made up for
in grace. Luckily, the water polo coach arrived a few minutes early and noticed
that this person has some real talent; a fair amount of buoyancy and no respect
for personal space. So after a few minutes of chatting with the water polo
coach, the sync coach approaches this new Olympic star, suggests they pick up a
funky swim cap with these weird ear things and hang around for practice. Here
is a SAT clue for you college wannabees; water polo is to swimming as curling
is to . . . . That’s right C: ice
hockey.
I am sure that you are wondering what I believe was the most
incredulous moment of these Olympics. For me it was the reporting of these
games. I remember vividly that one of the trending articles on Yahoo.com was
“Why Doesn’t the Sand Stick Beach Volleyball Players?”. I was incredulous that
more people would read that asinine article than will read my blog during the
course of a 100 years. Everyone should know why sand doesn’t stick to beach
volleyball players. It’s the Olympics people. It is made for TV drama. It is
the world of make believe. They undoubtedly have a whole crew of people with
little air compressors come out and blow the sand off of these modern day gods
and goddesses. It is edited out and we see our heros sandless.
I shouldn’t be incredulous. I know that sex sells. Beach
volleyball is all about the sex appeal. Come on, all of the beach volleyball
players are past their prime real volleyball players who still look good in
swim wear. All of them except Phil
Dalhausser, he is a bit homely. (judging those who are infinitely superior to
me.) Well in an effort to boost readership, I have decided to start wearing
skimpy beachwear when writing each week’s blog offering. Let the blog views
begin.
Best reporting of
the Olympics? I am glad to say that it is the following sentence by yours truly.
“Hope Solo, US Soccer goalkeeper, tweets about Olympic Village sex while
keeping the ball out of the goal.” That is not a double but a triple entendre
with a brutal ironic twist on the dismount and she stuck the landing. Hah. Most
of my family members will say that I went too far for that obscure joke. They
are correct, but it tickles my funny bone.
Worst color
commentary of the Olympics happened during real volleyball. The US
Thank goodness
the Olympics are over. A fortnight is enough. It is time for me to get off of
the couch and do something while the world is dispersed for the next four years
until the world comes together in Rio .
How will I cope?
I suppose that I will bask in the knowledge that my teeth are straighter than
Michael Phelps. What’s up with that?
Take Care.
Roger
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