There’s no disappointment like Olympic disappointment.
Epic, unmitigated, gut wrenching disappointment, the likes of which could never be felt by mere mortals. That is to say, those of us who have not toiled on the slopes or in a skating rink or some such training facility for hours upon hours, waking at dawn, slave to one’s own unrelenting drive and ambition, only to have it all dashed by a single fall, a 1/5billionth of a point…
Dammit. Dammit all to Hell.
There is no pain and sorrow felt as deeply as that of an Olympian scorned.
But…have we not bled? Have we not experienced loss? Pain? Disappointment? Soul crushing, shattering dream degradation?
Naaaahhhh. Nope. Nuh uh.
For…is it not better to have trained and lost than never to have trained at all?
In the words of those in Sochi, “Nyet.”
Ah…the thrill of victory, The heart palpitating smack down agony of defeat.
But you don’t know what they’re talking about. And neither do you. You could never grasp the magnitude of it all, what with your failed career aspirations, and your petty little dreams. Your college exams, your small, small goals.
And silver? Bronze? Talk to the hand. Yeah, that’s niiiice and all. But I’m here to take home the GOLD motherf*cker!
So how does it feel to hurdle yourself down a mountain at breakneck speeds to come up 1.15 thousandth of a point behind the other guy? Not so good, eh?
“OH!” “That’s gonna cost her! That triple quadruple toe loop into a sow cow combination rocket missile Hamill Camel Blade Blast was…impressive…buuutt…it fell short. The toe placement was just a tad out of alignment and that means you fail! You lose! You get nothing! Good DAY Sir! Now the whole rink has to be washed and sterilized! You get no fizzy lifting drinks either.
I don’t care how much you contort yourself like a human Bavarian pretzel, you. are. not. good. enough. Back to the rink in Bulgaria with you, Toots. Four more years and then impress us. Also? Don’t choose Send In the Clowns to accompany your routine. Don’t you know that clowns are passé?
She jumped out of a plane at the opening ceremonies in London for this? Liz doesn’t put down her purse for just anything, ya know.
The human drama of athletic competition is everywhere. Bode Miller? How ya feeling now? Is your brother still dead? That’s for covering for NBC’s totally tasteless line of questioning. But you understand, without all the personal tragedy stories played out to emotional exhaustion, all we’ve got are a bunch of uninteresting stats and medal counts. Blahbiddy blahbiddy blah. No one wants to hear that. They want siblings giving up spots for disappointed siblings, dead siblings, disabled siblings, knee cappings with metal pipes, athletes who’ve lost parents – particularly recently. Tears of joy, tears of disappointment, tears of anger, frustration, and preferably total devastation! Oh – and severed limbs. We like that too. Determination, the kind that non-athletes could only hope to exhibit. That’s what we’re looking for.
Disappointment? You can’t handle disappointment. Not on an Olympic scale anyway.
One more thing; can someone please explain to me why everyone is biting their medals? At least McDonalds is giving those of us at home on the couch a consolation prize. As the athletes sink their teeth into Olympic gold hardware, we can sink our teeth into a golden chicken mcnugget. Now that is something we can all understand.