Olympic Enthusiasm, Or Lack Thereof

On the current day, a companion shared via Facebook their profound dislike for the Olympic Games. As one might anticipate, this sentiment was met with considerable opposition and disagreement from others. Their collective declarations expressed an unwavering devotion and adoration for the athletic contests. I am quite certain that my readership will echo similar sentiments, professing their enjoyment of figure skating, snowboarding, or some comparable discipline.

The Olympic Games, in essence, serve as yet another example of what renders me an outlier within societal norms. My preferences diverge significantly from those commonly held by the typical American. Consider the television program LOST; it garners widespread admiration. My personal assessment? Utterly dull! I found Gilligan's Island to be far superior! Similarly, the adoration for Lady Gaga strikes me as rather peculiar, as I find her to be exceedingly uninspired. While America embraces Ugg boots, I certainly do not. I possess no particular interest in cinematic releases such as The Hangover or Superbad.

Consequently, I must convey that since the closing years of the 1980s, my engagement with observing the United States' efforts to surpass other nations has been nonexistent. Absolutely nil, none whatsoever. Who could possibly be concerned? The vociferous exclamations from the commentators. The questionable judgment of the adjudicators. The monotonous advertising slots, featuring, for instance, that song from Trainspotting - a tune that feels positively ancient, at least fifteen years past its prime... The overwhelming media saturation. For me, it all constitutes a profound lack of stimulation... It is entirely possible that my general disinterest in athletic pursuits contributes to the arduous nature of these significant sporting spectacles for me. I have no regard for The Superbowl (which merely presents an opportunity for me to consume chicken wings) or The World Series. NASCAR, in my estimation, is profoundly misguided. Indeed, I find myself belonging to a rather uncommon demographic. I acknowledge that this pertains to a fundamental component of the All-American way of life - spectator sports.

With the recurrence of every quadrennial period, I anticipate the Olympic Games with a sense of apprehension. It feels as though they are broadcast incessantly for an immense duration. My spouse maintains exclusive control of the television, dedicating their attention to the skiers, snowboarders, and those competitors who recline on their backs before descending a perilous alpine track. While I am aware of its proper designation, I intentionally refrain from vocalizing it. The very utterance of the term conjures associations with the word "loogie." "Loogie" must surely rank as the most repulsive word in the English lexicon. My younger brother derived considerable amusement from its usage during his childhood. "Ally, I just expectorated a looooogie!"

There exists a singular instance in my personal history when I genuinely appreciated these international competitions. Merely one occasion. It was the summer Olympiad of 1984, and a gymnast named Mitch Gaylord was an extraordinarily captivating athlete. To be sure, I was merely twelve years of age, but my goodness, he was quite appealing! I found immense pleasure in observing his aerial maneuvers on the apparatuses and his acrobatic feats. His proficiency was remarkable. I was astounded by the precision of his landings, which were consistently flawless. His physique remained perfectly aligned, with his arms extended outwards. I intensely disliked the mandatory running and jumping exercises over the vaulting horse substitute during physical education classes. I was invariably unsuccessful in executing these movements. My physique was too substantial, rendering me incapable of hoisting my eighty-pound frame using only my wrists.

In any event, his memory resurfaced in my thoughts recently. My uncle insisted that we all observe the opening ceremonies, an endeavor I had abstained from for approximately two decades. I facetiously informed my cousin that I had been an ardent admirer of Mitch Gaylord. I asserted that given a surname such as Gaylord, it was improbable that he was, in fact, homosexual. We consulted his Wikipedia entry to ascertain his recent activities and to determine if any mention was made of him having a partner. It transpired that he is currently in his second marriage and has children. This is not to imply that his sexual orientation would have been a factor had it been different - I merely harbored the notion that it might have been somewhat predictable, wouldn't you agree? A gymnast with the surname Gaylord who happened to be gay. That seems a touch too contrived, doesn't it?

Perhaps I ought to compose a missive, either a letter or an electronic mail, to Mitch, conveying that he represented the sole element of the Olympic Games that has ever captured my interest. I ponder whether such a gesture would be perceived as disparaging or complimentary. Hmmph.