Olympmatic

The end of the Olympics always leaves me feeling a little melancholy. I suppose I should be immune to the whole spectacle, I mean, I am an educated guy, right? And there was a great deal of motivation not to invest in these Olympics: the Chinese, for one, are a sinister lot, what with their systematic violation of human rights, competitively priced electronic goods and hot communist broads.

Inevitably, as I always do (hence my use of 'inevitably'), I bought into these Olympics lock, stock and barrel roll. That's right, my name is Denz and I'm an Olympic fanboy.

Thus, in the spirit of all things Olympic, I have decided again strap on my leotard and mount the pommel horse that is the blogosphere with some post-Olympic observations.

Observe.

The ultimate "Olympic" moment of the games for me was Matthias Steiner in the weightlifting: winning the gold medal, after missing his last weight, on the last lift of the games, a year after his wife had passed away and then holding her photo aloft as he received his medal. Hell, the way he celebrated after making that last lift was enough to make any married man misty-eyed.

Unless, of course, you've been bucked in the face with a frying pan by the bitch.

It has been said, but Usain Bolt was an absolute freak. Can't wait to see him in the bobsled two years from now. That's how it works, right?

As a spectacle, the sprint finals are hard to beat. The only possible improvement I can think of would be to have linebackers from other nations present at the finish line to 'sack' the sprinters that don't medal.

Tyson Gay got ... JACKED-UP.

Speaking of jacked-up, two of Australia's swimming hopefuls were beaten (robbed) in somewhat suspicious circumstances. Grant Hackett's loss was especially painful. The man was going for his third Gold in the 1500M free over three consecutive Olympics, pantheon stuff, only to be beaten by a guy from Tunisia (or Andorra or one of those places I could never find on a globe within 60 seconds) who had just returned from an 18 month suspension for doping. Oh, fuck that.
What can we get for 63 cents?

The other, Eamon Sullivan, broke world records in the 100M freestyle heats, before losing it in milliseconds to some surrendering frogman named Alain Bernard. Pictured here:















How do you say "On the Juice" in French?

Best post-win interview of the games: (here).

On the hoops front, the Redeem (our self-esteem) Team proved itself to be, once again, entirely unlike the Dream Team. When Argentina busted out the zone in the semis and the NBA's finest collapsed like Shaun Livingston's knee, I almost pissed my pants in glee. What followed exposed the ongoing problem with USA team: 12 angry men does not make a team make. Add in Manu, subtract the Tim Donaghy-esque calls on Argentina (especially the three point foul on Melo) and the US medal hopes are going home with the stars and stripes draped over their coffin.

Hitman one, this is hitman two actual.

I thought Spain played admirably in the finals, despite the fact that the Australian broadcaster interrupted the broadcast at the 8 minute mark (ie. when Spain pulled within 2 points) to show the nightly news, which included critical information about Princess Mary of Denmark going to a park in Tasmania. Seriously, there aren't enough expletives in the world.

All told, Ricky Rubio is going to be a motherfucking star, despite being a shade older than the Chinese gymnasts, and Rudy F is my sleeper pick in fanball. Still, I concede that the US deserved the win, particularly with Kobe demonstrating why he is the best player in the NBA. That said, if the Olympics proved one thing, it's that Dwyane Wade is the best player on the fucking planet.

FIBA rules. Welcome back, Flash.

In view of Wade's performance, I think the Knicks should accept that Lebron is going to Brooklyn and ramp up their efforts to sign the dwynamite kid. If only to make Forbes feel even more awkward about his hoops infidelity. Miami Cuckolds, baby.

The closing ceremony initially had nothing on the Opening, but it was nice to see the Chinese be a little more relaxed, even if that relaxation was choreographed. My only problem was the BOB feed resulted in fairly lame audio, the likes of which I have not seen since my participation in the Pkast (see link to left).

Aside: Pre-Pkast, I actually bemoaned the fact that previous podcasts sounded as though they were recorded in the men's lavatory at Samgakji station. What I did not anticipate was the 10 dollar "Sorny" headset I purchased for the podcast would make me sound like I was speaking through a cardboard bugle, whilst in a toilet, 40,000 leagues below sea level. Coupled with my tendency to make 'matter-of-fact' statements that did not engender further discussion and my drop-d accent that is the voice-podcast equivalent of a "face for radio", I feel I have relinquished TMH of any concerns he had about the adequacy of his performance in PKast 2B. In retrospect, I feel it would have been more effective if I communicated my thoughts by tapping morse code onto a shared drain pipe. My only solace is that Sparky will either rate it as the best/worst debutante podcast performance in history. I do, after all, detest mediocrity.

Which reminds me, what is a shittier Olympic outcome: 2nd place or 4th place? To me, people who win the Bronze always seems like they are having so much fun. It's like "I was out of contention, but I medalled. I now have none of the responsibilities of a gold medallist, so I am going to use this as a free pass to bang as many Chinese volunteers as possible before I am deported'.

Welcome to Beijing.

Seriously, that's the worst part of the Olympics finishing - no more hot Chinese medal presenters.

As for the next Olympics, I was initially unsure whether the first image of the London games should have been a doubledecker bus, especially one with a roof that opens up. Too soon for me. Then I mused on it a little and realised this thought must have occurred to the London planners and, in the face of it, they decided to take back the icon with their cold, pasty hands. Bang up job, lads.

Still, it was interesting that none of the umbrella dancers elected to wear backpacks/hijabs.

Other masterstrokes included Jimmy Page (who is officially older than Gandalf), Beckham placekicking the hell out of a Chinese volunteer and the crazy as hell Lord Mayor. Fancy a spot of wiff waff, Boris?

But, obviously, what really allowed me to overcome my sadness at the end of the Olympics was the girl in the hotpants on top of the bus playing the violin. If that's the shape of things to come, then Rule fucking Britannia.


















London is Calling.