Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Amazing. Just amazing.


Is it possible to be too good at something?
Is it legal for a kid to smile this big?
Is it wrong for me to feel no pity for Hossa?
Has there been a better year in my adult lifetime to live in the wonderful, fabulous, sports-blessed 'Burgh?

ANSWERS:
Decidedly, no—as illustrated by that smiling boy and his jubilant teammates. At least, it is not possible until Obama gets ahold of the NHL and evens things out—gotta spread the wealth of talent, you know.
Yes, it is legal. Just barely.
Perhaps I should feel a little tinge of pity. I'm searching. No, no. None.
No, there has never been a better year to live here. Not since I was a kid—and they were still clearing out the smoke and filth at that point. So, no.

Another parade tomorrow!!! Congrats to those incredible, odd-defying boys of winter!

Friday, August 15, 2008

Uneasy thoughts


So, did you catch any of the opening ceremonies at the Olympics? Yes, it was grand, and impressive, and amazing. And holy cow, did it give me the creeps.

Has anyone else read the children’s novel A Wrinkle in Time? And if so, do you remember the part about the planet where all the kids bounced the ball in perfect unison, except for the one boy who couldn’t keep the rhythm and was hidden inside his house? Does that seem a tad familiar? Honestly, how many people running around in light-up green suits are really necessary to impress? How many Tai Chi masters do we need to see performing in unison? How many beautiful, swaying, charming women in identical skirts? How many cute children singing together? Can you imagine the rehearsals for such a show? The mere thought of that choreography's preparations makes my head spin.

And speaking of cute children, the story about the pretty little girl who lip-synced a song in place of a less beautiful child is heating up the online world (http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,402093,00.html), as it should. I’m irritated that such a thing would happen, outraged for the sake of the girls involved in the cover-up. (I’m also a tad uneasy because I’m not certain the same thing wouldn’t happen if the games were hosted here…)

Some weird “sports” are surfacing, too: we tuned in a couple of nights ago hoping to see some diving (Marcus is fascinated by diving in general, even at the local public pool), and boy did we get diving—synchronized diving. Huh?! What the—? Is this real? Apparently, yes. Two divers perform the same dive in perfect unison. I wouldn’t have believed it if someone told me. As if the amazing and difficult dives are no longer impressive enough, now they must be completed simultaneously with another diver. It was absolutely absurd. And need I say that the Chinese divers were impeccable? I joked to Todd that they had to be the best or they’d be quietly murdered in the showers and replaced with more master divers—and a part of me wondered, honestly, what some of those athletes have been put through to achieve these physical milestones. I know they're often culled from small childhood to be intensively trained. Makes you wonder.

When a leadership is so bent on perfection, just what is it capable of doing to achieve it? They can whitewash Tiananmen Square as many times as they like, they can cover up the protests going on outside the stadium, they can try to bury the inhumanities that occur to their own citizens, but this is a country with some serious competitive and control issues—and enough physical bodies to do some serious damage, to their own people (since everyone is replaceable) and to others beyond their borders (because there are so darned many of them inside those borders).

The good thing about all this nonsense is that it takes the focus off of stories about how the makeup of our country is changing dramatically, and much faster than expected (http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,403441,00.htmlhttp://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,403441,00.html). That kind of worries me, not because the face of America is changing (as the majority, I’ve been kind of spoiled, I suspect), but because most stories attribute the changing face to immigration and births among immigrants…and most of those immigrants are willing to work for a lot less money than the typical American. That’s not good news for our job market.

Unless, of course, you’re really pretty; then maybe you can get paid to look like you’re working—while some less attractive mug shoulders the actual responsibility and breaks a sweat.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

"Aren't you gonna play?!" NO.


‘Tis the season of picnics, and that’s a wonderful thing. However. It does come with its downside.

The cooking aspect I don’t mind at all; I love to cook and prepare new dishes, and the summer potlucks are an excellent forum in which to be creative. Picnickers are hungry but honest. You’ll know in an instant if you have a hit, and will be equally certain if you’ve fallen flat (the container you brought will still be full come picnic’s end).

I love the outdoors, so that’s great too. I’m not one of those people who hate to sit outside, or won’t be seen without shoes on; I don’t suffer from misophobia (fear of dirt or being contaminated by dirt), and although I despise most flying insects, I’m always stocked with various Deet products to fend them off.

No, the food’s fine, the outdoors are good. It’s the sports—those dastardly sports. Or, perhaps I should rephrase that: it’s not the sports, but the sporty, coordinated people who insist on everyone’s participation in whatever senseless game is being played. I’m not a sports person. I love watching most of them, will root for the Stillers and Pens and even the Pirates in a pinch. I have a very basic understanding of popular professional games, and I’m quite happy to observe many sporting events.

But to play a sport? Look, I’m not competitive, not about that anyway. And I'm a klutz to boot. I’ve always been. I mastered walking after much practice, and it’s been pretty much downhill since. Middle and high school activities forced me into band membership, and although I did enjoy it and still love music, I have to admit that it was partly my sports illiteracy that kept me there. Even marching was a challenge, not because I lack rhythm, but because I am graceless—discord in motion. I was always in step, though!

And now that it’s picnic season, I’ll be silently dreading the end of each meal, the first eager calls of “Who’s up for some softball?” God forbid they be a competitive crowd; that’s the kiss of death for me. I used to feel slightly ill before attending a yearly 4th of July picnic because I knew how fiercely the other attendees would square off in the volleyball games. I’d rather have been on the “fat guys” team (yes, they had one) than have to serve that @#*! ball and not reach the net. Again. (I haven’t been to that gathering for some time… Wonder if they’ve mellowed with age, or if they still spike that ball at people’s faces?)

So, I’ll be enjoying the great outdoors with the rest of you in these next few weeks—we've already picnicked a few times, in fact. And each time I’ve tossed my paper plate in the trash, I’ll be hoping against hope that this year, instead of a bag of balls and bats and nets and racquets, someone will uncover a pile of books or sketch pads. It could happen. Right?