Olympic Gymnastics

I used to watch Olympic gymnastics with keen interest. I have always suspected that I could've easily become a gymnast in high school except that a) I was already a swimmer (and the two sports shared the same high school season), and b) I still had too many scars, bruises, and wake-up-screaming nightmares from the one time I tried to do a back flip off the diving board. (Remind me, and I'll tell you all about that sometime. It's an especially amusing story if you like blood. Lots of blood.) Anyway, there was a time when I enjoyed viewing gymnastics, knew the names of the athletes, and actually would've considered dating one or two of the female competitors. None of the females had Dorothy Hamill desirability, and were nowhere near the Summer Sanders zone, but I still thought they were OK.

And as for the guys, well, I actually started writing a screenplay for Kurt Thomas to play an updated, urban Zorro...but then he went and made Gymkata, which made me want to jam knitting needles into my eyes and chug a bottle of Liquid PlumR.

[Interlude for a Little Perspective: As abysmal as Gymkata was, Kurt Thomas really wasn't the problem with it. I doubt that even a great actor like Stephen Segal or Jean Claude VanDam could've overcome the poor script and incompetent direction. But Gymkata was a hundred thousand times better than Mark Spitz's ill-advised acting debut on "Emergency". Mr. Spitz could certainly swim, but when it came to acting, he was sure as heck no Johnny Weismuller. And for further perspective, check out breaststroke champion Steve Lundquist in "Return of the Killer Tomatos"; and that's probably all I need to say about that.]

Even though I had been a fan in the old days, my appreciation for Olympic gymnastics has faded. Perhaps I began losing it when the commentators described Olga Korbut as "cute". Or perhaps it was when they pronounced the Hamm brothers' surname as "Hahm". Dudes, this is America -- you're just going to have to pronounce your name like a honey-baked pork product (or at least like the beer from the land of sky-blue waters). And don't even get me started on all the reasons that Team USA should never have had a coach with the same first name as Dracula. Sheesh.

[Editor's note: The previous paragraph and its obvious lack of sensitivity to diversity issues does not represent the opinion of anyone associated with this website. We openly embrace all cultures, languages, and political backgrounds. We recognize and affirm that all individuals (even Commies) have the right to represent our country's sports teams, or to find attractiveness even in people whose name contains the word "butt" and/or whose face looks like one. Thank you for your support.]

It's gotten worse--to the point where I can barely watch. Part of it is that the competitors rarely smile, other than the forced and unnatural grins they momentarily slap on for the judges. It doesn't look like anyone is enjoying themselves. And then you add the slicked-back hairdos pinned up so tight that their faces have to hurt, the makeup and glitter on the faces of kids who don't even look 12, and the general appearance that they're all some sort of anorexic and soul-less mutants. And then there's all the weird arm waving and back bending at the end of each routine, and the fact that an amazing performance can be completely wiped out by one step over a line, and the insane brevity of the events. (I mean, a vaulter trains for years to compete for an event of literally two-second duration.)

There's also the concentration-camp atmosphere that seems to accompany the selection and training for the kids, making the whole sport seem like some sort of institutionalized torture. It's just not enjoyable. I feel like someone needs to tell the gymnasts to go hang out with the swimmers for a while; those guys take their sport seriously, but still know how to rock out, eat burgers, and party!

Of course, all the swimmers are over 6 feet tall, so the gymnasts would only come up to their knees. Perhaps Mike Myers could find comedic possibilities in such a meeting, but I suspect it would just be uncomfortable for everyone. So in the absence of a plan to let the swimmers help 'em chill, my advice to the gymnasts would be this: Let your hair down, listen to some Weird Al, and order a dang pizza. When you can smile again, converse intelligently about baseball, and stand up straight without looking like an Egyptian hieroglyph...well, then I might come back to watch and enjoy your sport.

That's my advice to gymnasts. For the rest of the world, my advice is to enjoy the swimming, and hang out with swimmers as much as you can. That way, you'll always have a great day!