I'm still watching the Olympics - this year, Britain's success has made it a tad more interesting than usual.
However, I'm struck by how very odd some of - nay, MANY of - our (the world) athletes are looking. It's a bit of a freak show.
I hate to say, but Michael Phelps is positively mis-shapen. Fantastic athlete he may be, but he just looks bizarre, all arms with a tiny head.
Our runners are becoming pockets of muscles on legs; or skinned whippets if they go distances.
And why is the sprinting considered 'the blue riband' events? Cycling/hurdling/running/swimming - the 'sprint' is the elite sport? Why? Why should someone being able to run fast for 10 seconds be more honoured, more respected, than someone who can run for 30 laps and then sprint finish?
Sports people. Frankly, who needs them?
Tuesday, 19 August 2008
Monday, 11 August 2008
Olympic Heat
The temperatures might be high in Beijing, but they're soaring in our living room. Thanks to the influence on my teenage daughter, all sports, or more specifically, sportsmen (sorry ladies, you don't get much look-in) are given air time by virtue of their hotness. And I don't mean whether they're working up a lather!
If there's no-one that comes up to the fairly discerning standards she sets, then the event is not watched. She refuses to watch anyone that's 'ugly' in that sure-of-herself way that only the young and selfish can impose on the rest of us mere mortals.
Big noses, facial hair, body hair, bad haircuts - they're all liable to have you removed from our screen after a very short time - whether you're in gold medal position and doing the best performance of your entire life or not.
I was, for instance, under instructions to get her up at 07.30 this morning, over-riding the usual standing orders for the summer holidays that say she's not to be disturbed before 10am.
That was so that she could watch young Tim Daly doing his thing on the diving board.
"Look at the six pack on him!" she roared, in a spectacularly unladylike way, though I have to confess to mixed feelings when looking at the young lad. Yes, indeed, his six pack was impressive - in fact I didn't realise a lad of that age was capable of developing abdominal muscles like that - and then I felt a little embarrassed for even thinking such highly personal thoughts about a lad younger than my own son.
So, we watched young Mr Daly's diving exploits (though the full armpit hair of the very first divers drew a load 'eeyuch' from her) together, her drooling and me searching around for an older model to focus on.
She's getting quite into the swimming now. And the diving of course, with young Mr Daly still to compete in the singles events. I suppose I should be glad - at least he's roughly the same age as her. I have a feeling, in a few months time, it'll be a case of lock up your sons for all my neighbours. No man will be safe on the streets of Edinburgh. She'll lead a pack of feral girls to hunt down stragglers, or those who have made the mistake of having their earphones in when the warning sirens go off.....
But I will admit, it's a new way to look at the Olympics.
If you were going to give out a gold medal for 'hotness', who would you award it to.....
If there's no-one that comes up to the fairly discerning standards she sets, then the event is not watched. She refuses to watch anyone that's 'ugly' in that sure-of-herself way that only the young and selfish can impose on the rest of us mere mortals.
Big noses, facial hair, body hair, bad haircuts - they're all liable to have you removed from our screen after a very short time - whether you're in gold medal position and doing the best performance of your entire life or not.
I was, for instance, under instructions to get her up at 07.30 this morning, over-riding the usual standing orders for the summer holidays that say she's not to be disturbed before 10am.
That was so that she could watch young Tim Daly doing his thing on the diving board.
"Look at the six pack on him!" she roared, in a spectacularly unladylike way, though I have to confess to mixed feelings when looking at the young lad. Yes, indeed, his six pack was impressive - in fact I didn't realise a lad of that age was capable of developing abdominal muscles like that - and then I felt a little embarrassed for even thinking such highly personal thoughts about a lad younger than my own son.
So, we watched young Mr Daly's diving exploits (though the full armpit hair of the very first divers drew a load 'eeyuch' from her) together, her drooling and me searching around for an older model to focus on.
She's getting quite into the swimming now. And the diving of course, with young Mr Daly still to compete in the singles events. I suppose I should be glad - at least he's roughly the same age as her. I have a feeling, in a few months time, it'll be a case of lock up your sons for all my neighbours. No man will be safe on the streets of Edinburgh. She'll lead a pack of feral girls to hunt down stragglers, or those who have made the mistake of having their earphones in when the warning sirens go off.....
But I will admit, it's a new way to look at the Olympics.
If you were going to give out a gold medal for 'hotness', who would you award it to.....
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