It’s been an odd week. I love my sports but these winter Olympics are not floating my boat. It might be because I know Sochi was warmer than Dublin for most of last week. It might be because big butch Mr. Putin is mincing around the place like a Tsarina looking for her collection of Fabergé eggs or it just could just be because the sports are silly. Not all the sports. No, just a few. Let me explain.
When I was small the winter games were different. Downhill skiing excited me. Speed skating had a thrill to it. Even ice dancing had a beauty and power to it. I could see they were athletes.
Curling has a hypnotic effect on me. I only realised this as I was slowly waking up after breakfast. I actually became a tactical genius in those few semi-conscious minutes before I had to trudge into the cold Dublin winter and wait for the bus.
Now we turn to those so-called sports that are ruining my life. You can guess them—snowboarding, moguls and freestyle skiing. You know the ones. They fly through the air with flowing blond locks and Day-Glo anoraks. Their average is years younger than me. Everything is awesome in their world. Babe.
Am I getting old? Everytime I watch these prime examples of ‘yoof’ culture, I think bold thoughts. I think evil thoughts. I think of passing “the dutchie to the left hand side”. I think of rigorous drug testing. I breathe. I relax and float away.
They’re just not real sports. These are makey-uppy, made-for-TV sports for kids far too cool for their own good. Or sport for hipsters—who, in fact, don’t like sport. Am I sounding like an old fart? Of course I am. Give me a rifle and send me on a 50k biathlon any day.
Enjoy the Games.
