Friday, August 13, 2004

Oh yes! - It’s the Slob Olympics again…..

Superb! Another 4 years gone and another 2 weeks of total horizontality in front of the box coming up.

I’ve been doing a lot of training – building up gradually, starting off on just a few cans per night, building to my maximum capacity. I’ve got to be responsible – it’s a marathon not a sprint after all.

Yeah, 2 weeks of cheating, crying, whinging, tantrums …….. and ‘sport’ (obviously). 2 weeks of peanuts, pizza, beer, raw cabbage …. And more beer (obviously). And all from the comfort of my own arm chair. Brillo.

Even though I’m just watching, I’m living it. Every jump, every dip, every last gasp effort from our plucky British team of losers is played as if by ‘synchronisation’ in the great hall of OK Towers. For instance, in Sydney during the 2000 Olympics, I was watching Jonathan Edwards, ace triple-jumper to some - ‘hop, skip and jumpy guy’ to most, preparing for his first effort.

There he is, at the end of the runway, preparing, psyching, wobbling thighs, flexing fingers, loosening up, imagining his jump, imaging he’s going to jump right out of the stadium.

There I am, at the end of the couch, preparing, psynking beer, wobbling gut, flexing fat fingers around another piece of pizza, imagining I’m going to have to go to the toilet if he doesn’t hurry up an get a move on!!


As if mentally prodded by a million overfull bladders, Jonathan starts, he gathers pace, pumping sinews, eyes bulging, he’s really motoring now. He hits the board….. HOP, SKIP a n d JUMP. Jonathan lands in an explosion of silica. His very short, very baggy shorts bite into the sand. Grains enter every lower body orifice of the Edwards torso. I bet it really chaffs.

Bloody hell, never mind the state of Jonathan’s undies – I’ve got my own problems to sort out. For as he was pounding, I was twitching, as he was ‘hopping’ so was I. Unfortunately, one of us was hopping with a beer and pizza in hand – and it wasn’t Jonathan. By the time Edwards splashed down, I’m covered in runny pizza and beer. I look like some drunk’s puke up on me….

During the 2000 Olympics, I decided to do a bit of TV surfing to find out about other sports. "Sailing looks interesting…. And hey, guess what? Team GB are pretty bloody good at it as well!"

Ben Ainsley, apparently a nailed on favourite for the Gold in the ‘Park Lake Little Boaty Class’ is having a real tussle with his arch rival and nemesis from Brazil - Robert Scheidt. (How is that pronounced?)

Ben won – and Robert didn’t. Ben was about to be awarded his Gold medal and the BBC was there to record the ceremony in all its patriotic glory…..

The Olympic diatribe crackled out of the loud speaker system with as much gravitas as could be mustered. First in French (obviously) then into English….. "And in first place and winner of the Gold medal, from Great Britain - Ben Ainsley. In second place, from Brazil, Robert Shite…"

The kids laughed and revelled in this legitimate excuse to say "Shite, Shite, Shite" a lot.

"Well", observed Alfreda, "I know he didn’t win but I wouldn’t call him ‘Shite’ – ‘Crap’ would have been descriptive enough"….