The first I heard of the inexcusable, bonehead mistake made by Lindsey Jacobellis at the end of her snowboard cross run came when an interviewer asked me, quite loudly, "WHAT WAS THAT WOMAN THINKING?"
She'd obviously mistaken me for a smaller journalist capable of paddling a mini-kayak through Jacobellis' brain vessels.
Since, I have learned that Lindsey Jacobellis cost the US more than the gold medal. She has been found to be responsible for a great chunk of the national debt, she has inhibited work on a certain cure for cancer which would have saved countless thousands of lives among those fortunate enough to be able to afford insurance, and she is responsible for neither US train running on time.
Shame, shame. I would suggest we draw and quarter her, except no one around here can sketch worth a darn.
I know! Let's stone her!
This seemed a good idea until I had visions of my mother, a deeply religious woman, reminding me of the old chestnut, "Let those of you without sin cast the first stone."
Oh, the shame! Yes, at age 9, in my exuberance to tell a story I thought was hilariously funny, a narrative which absolutely demanded the inclusion of magnanimous gestures, I manage to whack not one, but two glasses clean off the dinner table. My parents glared at me like they were my skating coaches and I had missed a simple double toe loop.
"Do you always have to make a spectacle of yourself!" my father exclaimed loudly, his hand raised as if he were going to knock me to what our family quaintly called "kingdom come" (which I understand is closer than ever now--and I hope not because of my mistaken exuberance way back then).
But wait. The Olympics is a spectacle. It's a dramatic public display of not only what humans can do, but what they actually do under immense pressure.
Wasn't the television picture of Bode Miller streaking downhill on one ski, the other flailing around in the thin air until he could nurse it back safely to the snow, the most interesting part of the competition? I mean, c'mon, you see 25 guys take pretty much the same line through the gates and finish within a second of each other--how boringly similar!
Bode, you're my favorite screw up. Thanks for making a spectacle of yourself. Have a beer on me.
And Lindsey, you can be my second favorite. Playing it safe has never been my favorite game--and I'm glad it's not yours, either.
And mom, you raised a wimp. That stone felt so darn smooth and deadly in my hand.
(This piece first appeared in the About.com Olympics Blog)
The first I heard of the inexcusable, bonehead mistake made by Lindsey Jacobellis at the end of her snowboard cross run came when an interviewer asked me, quite loudly, "WHAT WAS THAT WOMAN THINKING?"
The American traveler to Italy certainly notices shutters. They grace most windows, offering security, direct sun blockage, and a way to use up all that green paint that Italians would otherwise have absolutely no use for...
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