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Tuesday, September 19
Olympics aren't only game in town



The Summer Olympics are only a few weeks away, which means one thing.

We are about to get very sick of the Summer Olympics.

Maurice Greene
Sure, the Olympics have Maurice Greene. But that's not everything.

In fact, between the commercialization, the three coats of hype and NBC trying to force the concept of crypt-hype down our maws, some folks will come to hate the Olympics, and we put it to you that such a reaction is not only normal but almost admirable.

Two brief remarks. One, this is not a case of defending the honor of The High Lord Mouse by belittling another network product. Like every multitentacled network, Disney/ABC has more to atone for than it can ever manage, most recently the Philbin-O-Thon.

And no, it is not a breach of your patriotic duty to say so, either. Our parents fought the Nazis for our right to be catatonically bored by the Olympics, to be stultified to the point of inertia, to dream that we lived in Liechtenstein, where the Olympics are no more interesting than the glove compartment of your Uncle Leo's late-model Kia.

For those of you who happen to enjoy the Olympics and all it lies about standing for, you may move on. We do not wish to change your minds. You can cover yourselves up to your eyelids in gymnasts, shot-putters, target-shooters and flag-waving yahoos of every variety if you see fit. We defend your right to choose. Let a thousand flowers bloom. Power comes from the barrel of a remote.

But while you're off wishing our guy beats that poor Belgian to talc in the first round of the Greco-Roman quilting competition, or that all the Russians, Ukrainians, Moldovans, Estonians, Latvians, Lithuanians, Belarussians, Kazakhs, Tadzhiks, Turkmens, Kyrgyz and Uzbeks were still just Soviets you could hate indiscriminately, we agnostics will be fine. Don't worry about us, and don't fret that we'll come into the room while you're watching some 11-year-old stick figure on the balance beam and go, "What? This again?"

No, we'll have baseball and the pennant races. We'll have the NFL and the beginning of the college season. We'll have more than we know what to do with, and we'll do great.

You see, the Olympics this time are being overkilled for us in September, when the sporting schedule is at its most hectic. It means that those of us who find the whole Olympic movement a model for corruption, drug abuse and general weaselry can amuse ourselves with our own models of corruption, drug abuse and general weaselry.

Now what could be fairer than that?

In Sydney, you'll have judges cheating boxers out of fairly-won decisions. In the rest of the sports world, we'll have umpires and back judges turning balls into strikes and punt returns into blocks below the waist.

You'll have broadcasters fooling us into thinking that the U.S. men's basketball team is really getting geeked up for that quarterfinal with Egypt. We'll have Dennis Miller and Dan Fouts arguing over the relative strengths of Darrin Chiaverini and JaJuan Dawson.

You'll have medal winners failing drug tests. We'll have linebackers failing marijuana tests.

You'll have sprinters blowing hamstrings. We'll have pitchers developing blisters.

You'll have the medal counts: "Look, Brunhilda, we're still kicking Burkina Faso's butt." We'll have the wild card race: "Now if the Marlins wins 17 of their last 12, and the Giants all come down with cholera ..."

And we'll have two things you won't.
Football is made for gambling, whereas the 20K walk is not. In fact, if it weren't for gambling, football would be cockfighting, only with slightly more graceful chickens.

One: actual live events. We won't have to wait for The History Channel to give us the results of the javelin ... unless, of course, someone has the eminent good taste to impale an official with one.

And two: gambling. Football is made for gambling, whereas the 20K walk is not. In fact, if it weren't for gambling, football would be cockfighting, only with slightly more graceful chickens. We will find ways to make Bengals-Ravens, Eagles-Saints and Titans-Open Date interesting in ways that you could never manage with an all-Kenyan final in the 5,000-meters. It's called, "betting the gas bill," and it gives you an endorphin rush you can't get with any Olympic sport that doesn't have Tonya Harding in it.

So you all enjoy the Olympics. Wallow in the overwrought grace, the hyperbolic tales, the slow motion scene of Paul Hogan falling into the Olympic Flame, and Bud Greenspan making it all sound like Winston Churchill after Dunkirk. We'll leave you to your amusements, and you'll leave us to ours.

Although you can watch Kurt Warner throw for five scores against San Francisco if you let us watch Stacy Dragila in the pole vault. When we say, "Let a thousand flowers bloom," after all, we're not just good-time Maoists. We really mean it.

Ray Ratto, a columnist for the San Francisco Examiner, is a regular contributor to ESPN.com.


 


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