Olympicoma

I have spent the past fifty-plus hours in an Olympicoma, defined by Bone-a-pedia as "an extended state of lethargy induced by four channels of nearly non-stop Olympic programming."

But it's a good lethargy.

Whilst watching Todd Rogers and Phil Dalhausser, my hair idol, dispose of another opponent this afternoon in men's beach volleyball, I began to ponder my own Olympic dreams.  Sure, my greatest athletic accomplishments have been documented.  (Note: That becomes a better read the more bored you are.)  But much like most areas of my life, I've always felt there was something missing.

And while I think we all agreed a couple years ago that my best shot was in curling, I've yet to actually throw a stone.  Or even attend a curling game.  So at this point we have to realistically ask: What if curling doesn't work out?

Therefore, I've been scouting these 2012 games for a sport in which I could excel.  At first I thought maybe archery.  After all, I really like the hats.  Then they said it takes fifty pounds of pressure to pull back the bow.  On every shot!?  Good heavens, I can barely do fifty push ups.  Wait, is it barely, or hardly?

So I've decided it would be better to suggest some new events that might be added to the games, any one of which would in all likelihood allow me to realize my Olympic dream.

Co-Ed Water Polo (In Shallow Water) ~ I specify co-ed because I would feel more than a little uncomfortable in a pool having physical contact with fourteen guys all wearing our Speedos.  But throw a few girls in there and I might be OK.  And shallow water because, look, we all know how to swim, no one needs to prove anything.  Plus, it would be much less tiring.  So, either shallow water or we all wear arm floaties.  I'm fine with either.

Words With Friends ~ Since purchasing an iPhone a few weeks ago, I'm like 40-2 in Words With Friends!  Plus, this would make for great TV.  Imagine the drama, as players sat across the table from one another and played on their phones: "Oh no, Jim.  It looks like the Montenegro contestant has lost service!"  "I think you're right, Rowdy.  My Montenegrin is a little spotty, but I believe he just cursed his cell provider.  And quite colorfully, I might add."

NFL Two-Minute Drill ~ This is a football toss game they have at our Chuck E. Cheese.  I can always achieve the Hall Of Fame bonus, which is like fifty tokens.  It also makes an alarm go off, which was a little embarrassing the first few times, what with a couple of kids standing around and their parents already giving me the stink-eye because I'm hogging the game.  But I got over it.

Nerf Free Throw Shooting ~ I once made 42 free throws in a row on my Nerf goal.  And that's without even practicing very much.  I have no idea how that stacks up with the world's greatest Nerf free throw shooters.  And therein lies the tragedy.

Competitive Napping ~ Granted, this wouldn't make for great television.  But are you gonna tell me the steeplechase is winning its time slot every night?  (FYI steeplechasers, the water is in the same place every lap . Go around it to save time.)  I see competitive napping as a program of four or five events, similar to gymnastics.  You would have couch napping, desk napping, the power nap, napping with noise.  Competitors would be judged on length and soundness of nap, speed in getting to sleep, ability to sleep through an alarm, volume of drool, etc.

Wiffle Ball Field Hockey ~ As I assume none of you know what this is, let me explain.  My sister and I would play this using Wiffle ball bats and a tennis ball.  You just hit the ball with your bat and try to get it past your opponent's goal line (which for me was an invisible line running in both directions from the basketball goal in our backyard), all the while trying to keep your opponent from getting the ball past your goal.  I dominated!  Of course, I was like fourteen and my sister was seven.  (What?  I let her win, occasionally.  Had to, or she wouldn't play anymore.)

Paper Football ~ I once scored 128 points in a paper football game against my friend, Archie, during 10th grade biology class.  I might've scored even more, but Mister Whitmore caught us playing and threw our football in the trash.

Scene-It Seinfeld ~ Since getting this for Christmas a few years ago, I'm undefeated.  I'm sure you're surprised.  No one will play me anymore.  I'm not even kidding.  Actually, I'm not entirely undefeated.  That's because sometimes -- and I've never revealed this to anyone before now -- I play against myself.  It's pretty intense.  A lot like that scene in War Games when Matthew Broderick makes the computer play tic-tac-toe against itself.  Except the DEFCON level remains unaffected.

Are you listening IOC?  And if none of those work, I have others:  Putt-putt.  Air hockey.  Boggle, obviously.  Rock-Paper-Scissors.

Just imagine, sitting in your living room, watching a still-good-looking-as-ever Bob Costas covering the 2016 Games in Rio.  And you hear him refer to Bone as the "Michael Phelps of Co-Ed Water Polo - Shallow Water Division."

I think that's a dream we all have.

"There's nothing I know of in Rio / But it's something to do with the night / It's only a whimsical notion / To fly down to Rio tonight / And I probably won't fly down to Rio / But then again, I just might..."

All I am saying is, give curling a chance

I was all ready to share at considerable length the story of one man's struggle to survive sports purgatory for yet another year. You may recall sports purgatory is the barren wasteland of the sports year, lasting from the end of college football until the beginning of fantasy baseball, with a couple of oases included in the form of National Signing Day and March Madness.

Highlights were to include, and pretty much be limited to, iTunes adding Eddie Murphy's Party All The Time at long last! Though I know by mentioning that, I risk you rushing to the iTunes store immediately and never coming back.

But something happened on the way to that blog post. A new oasis emerged from the British Columbian countryside. And that something was the Olympics. Perhaps you've heard of them.

Oh, twas a shrewd move by Bob Costas to schedule the Winter Olympics right in the midst of this yearly sports abyss. It's like a get-out-of-purgatory-free card. And more thankful I could not be, as I've been able to add three hours of curling viewing and google-imaging Julia Mancuso to my daily routine of Wii and... breathing.

What? Let he who has never clicked to enlarge an image of Lindsey Vonn throw the first stone.

Speaking of throwing stones, is it just me or does curling seem to be on like five times as much as any other sport? I've watched so much curling that now when I close my eyes, all I can see are those curling rings -- green outer circle, white middle circle, and blue inner circle. They're etched in my brain.

I'm learning curling terms -- the button, the hack, in-turn, out-turn, guard, draw, freeze, peel, biter, in the house, and my favorite: shot-rock. One thing I really like about curling is that it's one of the few Olympic sports I could still possibly medal in at my age. Think about it, if I devoted my entire life to curling for the next four years... who knows? Although I tried playing a curling game I found online last week to help me learn the rules. Didn't help.

I actually had a 45-minute conversation about curling with Axl last night. I'm not sure I've ever had a 45-minute conversation about a single topic other than Alabama football in my entire life. Actually, scratch that. I just remembered my sometimes rather intense discussions about General Hospital with the Darryls.

Something I'm always curious about during the Olympics is where they find some of these announcers. They're experts on all these rather obscure sports, and fairly competent broadcasters as well. My question is, what do they do the other three years and fifty weeks between Olympics? I mean, is curling televised somewhere in the world year-round? And if so, how do I get that channel?

I prefer the sports where there is a tangible way of keeping score or time rather than the sports based on judging. I especially enjoy watching the splits as a skier or luger makes their way down the course, just a few hundredths of a second ahead or behind the leader. But while I enjoy watching the luge, I have no idea what makes one luger better than another. The luge announcer the other night was like, "Oh, he lifted his arm slightly in that turn. That's gonna cost him." What?

Another of the more interesting comments I've heard this Olympics was, "He started luging when he was ten." How does that even happen? Do they luge in gym class? Was the kid outside sledding with his friends one day when the Bela Karolyi of luge was driving by, saw the kid and spotted something special? Or is it like piano lessons, where the parents push the kid to luge even though he doesn't want to? "No, Ma. I don't wanna go down the icy track at eighty miles an hour." (For some reason, I just said that in an Eric Cartman voice.) "You'll luge and you'll like it! Now get in there!" Actually, that might make a good Lifetime movie, or ABC Afterschool Special. That is, if they had made ABC Afterschool Specials after 1996.

Finally, there is ice hockey. For reasons I'm not entirely sure of, ice hockey in the Olympics is the sport that makes me feel the most proud and patriotic. Maybe it's because we're never one of the favorites. And I'm sure it has something to do with the Miracle On Ice. Whatever it is, I was cheering and chanting as the United States skated to a 5-3 upset of Canada last night. "U-S-A! U-S-A!"

But the most inspirational story of these games had to be Wednesday night when Carrot Top -- who after a failed career as an aging comedian decided to take up snowboarding -- brought home gold in the half pipe.

Anyway, just a few more days until the games come to an end. At that point, it'll only be a month or so until baseball, which doesn't do a lot for me except that it also means fantasy baseball. Then at least I'll have my spreadsheets to keep me busy.

"My girl wants to party all the time, party all the time, party all the time..."

To Dalhausser or not to Dalhausser?

I'm off to the beach with the Darryls this weekend. I'm ready for some relaxation. New Orleans seems so long ago (not to mention a tad fuzzy in my memory). We'll be leaving tomorrow afternoon, which means I have just over twenty-four hours to make one of the biggest decisions of my life.

This is something I've been grappling with off and on for awhile now. It's a tough decision for a man to make. But this seems like the perfect time, as I'm going to be spending four days at the beach where no one knows me--save for my two longtime confidants. If I'm going to do it, it's now or never.

I've run the idea past my sister and a few close friends, and have gotten a wide range of responses. Then my sister inadvertently brought it up over dinner at Mom's one night, prompting a vehement "Noooooo!" from she who bore me. Later, Mom told me in no uncertain terms that I would be "out of the family" if I went through with it.

She wasn't laughing.

I suppose some background information is in order. Several months ago, I was watching a provocative program on television. It was called The Summer Olympics. Perhaps some of you saw it, as well. One athlete, in particular, stood out to me. And that athlete was Phil Dalhausser.

What was it about Dalhausser that entranced me so? Was it his forceful, sand-blasting kills? Was it his lithe, slender six-foot-nine-inch body? No. It was his cleanly shaven head. Think James Carville with a tan.

I had thought about making the hairy to smooth transition before, but Dalhausser's immaculate scalp brought the issue front and center again. I figure if I do it now, I can get a bit of a tan while at the beach so it's won't be pasty white. That all sounds swell, right? So what's the problem?

The problem is, this is a drastic step--a major life decision right up there with... um... well, surely I've made a major decision at some point in the past 36 years. And while I may talk a good game, I'm afraid that the sound of the clippers and the thought of my hair being sheared away like freshly cut grass will cause me to run home screaming and apologizing profusely to my precious follicles for ever allowing the thought to creep into my head.

As I said, I've received a wide range of opinions on the matter. My sister is all for it, because she "thinks it'll be funny." Thanks, sis. She also asked if I was going to get it "slick" like Mister Clean, or just cut it really short. Well, I don't know. What do most people do? Another friend asked, "What if you have dents in your head?" Well, that's a disturbing thought.

Meanwhile, I've been doing some research of my own. Turning to my beloved Wikipedia, I found these the following two statements:

"Incidents of cutting one's scalp with a razor blade are common, but generally are avoidable..." (Ouch. I'd never considered that. I'd hate to have to walk around with a tiny scrap of tissue stuck to my head.)

"Practical reasons include work safety or comfort, lice prevention, grooming simplicity and preparation for surgery." (Lice prevention. That can never be a bad thing.)

Finally, I've tried composing a mental pro and con list. On the pro side: I would save on shampoo and haircuts. Also, less drag if I ever were to join an over-35 swim team.

On the con side: What if it doesn't grow back? What if there are dents? And of course, I'd be out of the family. Though that sounds kinda cool. Sorta like being out of the "business," which makes me think of Sonny Corinthos and Jason Morgan.

And so, blog friends, it has all come down to this: To Dalhausser or not to Dalhausser? That is the question.

If you have opinions, advice, personal testimonials, or would like to adopt a blogger into your family, you know where to find me.

You have twenty-four hours.

"Cut off the mail, and I left on a light, and I locked up the house, and I hopped on a flight..."

Hard habit to break

Lately I've been wandering about the house in a state of disoriented malaise. OK, so that's not really anything out of the ordinary. But I've also been unable to go to sleep before 2 AM on weeknights. My body is rebelling. It stays up, expecting to see volleyball, or platform diving, or Michael Phelps' Mom. But instead all that's on are Will & Grace reruns or the Steve Wilkos Show. I like Steve, but that only lasts an hour. Then what.

I'm having withdrawals. And I think a huge part of the problem is the lack of anything decent on TV right now. The Democratic National Convention is OK, but it doesn't quench my gold medal thirst. Maybe if Hillary could have done a front handspring with full twist and stuck the landing. Or maybe if they invited Bela Karolyi to be a guest analyst. How sad is it that I know how to spell Karolyi without even looking it up anymore.

I've been having a recurring nightmare of a female gymnast who falls during her vault landing, but still receives perfect 10's. (Yes, I know they don't give 10's anymore, but it's a dream, go with it.) Each time, I wake up in a cold sweat calling out, "Bela!!!"

I miss the secure feeling of knowing that some Olympic event is on NBC, CNBC, MSNBC, or USA no matter what time of day or night it is. I miss cheering for the Americans, and sometimes cute German and Australian girls. (This means you Britta Steffen.) I even miss Jim Lampley's stoic, monotone delivery.

I've tried everything I know to get my fix. I searched for that hokey Olympic theme music (BUM BUM ba bum bum bum bum) on iTunes, sent Hope Solo a friend request on MySpace, and I'm seriously considering giving myself a Dalhausser. I even tried showering off each time I use the restroom just to be like the divers. Didn't help.

How bad has it gotten? Last night, I turned over to Jimmy Kimmel to see if he had any Olympians on.

Jimmy. Kimmel.

Clearly, these are desperate times. Thankfully, he didn't but Letterman did. Bryan Clay, the decathlon gold medalist, was on the Late Show. I watched him throw shot puts and javelins at a cab. Clay, not Letterman.

Tonight, Misty May and Kerri are on. Thank goodness, too. Google images just wasn't doing it for me anymore. Anyway, that should tide me over until tomorrow. And then, who knows. With an addiction like this, all I can do is take it one day, one hour, one Logan Tom-less moment at a time.

At least until college football starts Saturday.

"I guess I thought you'd be here forever. Another illusion I chose to create. You don't know what you got until it's gone. And I found out a little too late..."

Obligatory Olympics entry

I've never had much of a problem going along with the crowd. When I was four and some neighborhood kids were taking turns throwing bricks at a wall while one person stood against the wall and tried to dodge the bricks, with mortar stained hands I willingly participated. In 1987, I was rolling my jeans so tight and so often I'm surprised I don't have long term chronic circulation problems in my feet.

Tie dye, slap bracelets, talk to the hand, 90210 sideburns, the Rachel haircut, you name it. Whatever the crowd was doing, there I would be, following along and trying not to stand out. Just put a numeric neon green pager in my hand and prepare to be amazed by my upside down spelling abilities. So in the spirit of fitting in and going along with the blogging crowd, I now present my obligatory Olympics post.

I wasn't all that excited about the Olympics before they started. I figured I would watch Misty May and Kerri Walsh, maybe some of the basketball, and not a whole lot else. Then Jason Lezak happened. By the time he had smashed the French and I found myself standing up yelling "(non child friendly word) France" all alone in my bedroom, I was hooked.

The past ten days, my TV has been on something other than the Olympics and General Hospital for maybe two hours. I'm watching NBC, CNBC, MSNBC, and USA. Men's water polo, team handball, women's double skulls, you name it. Morning, afternoon, evening, and late night. I get very sad when I can't find Olympics on any channel.

A few other thoughts...

Why are they taking softball out of the Olympics? How is BMX a more popular sport than Jennie Finch, I mean, softball? A bunch of twenty-something-year-old guys riding around on dirt bikes? Please.

One sport I truly don't understand is the 3000 meter steeplechase. They run around, there's a hurdle every once in awhile, then once a lap they go completely off the track to jump a wall and land in one or two feet of water. It just seems all really bizarre, and I'm not sure what it determines. Maybe if there was a small flood or water heater disaster and you needed to jump out a window and run thru standing water--but not a lot of standing water, just a couple of steps--to safety, these would be the best people for the task?

Anytime I get a little fed up with Bob Costas, Jim Lampley, or Mary Carillo, I just remind myself, "Hey, at least it's not Joe Buck or Chris Berman."

Why is there no 100 meter doggie paddle?

Here's maybe the oddest fact I've learned during the Olympics: Georgia's men's volleyball team is made up of two Brazilians named Geor and Gia. Seriously? That's an onomatological phenomenon! That'd be like if the US team was made up of two Serbs named Bratislav United and Nikolai States.

But of course, our men's beach volleyball team are the dynamic duo of Todd Rogers and Phil Dalhausser, the latter of which George Bush affectionately nicknamed Big Fella. I can only imagine how that came about. I'm guessing it was after several failed attempts to pronounce Dalhausser.

I think if I were a diver, and I was way behind going into my last dive with no hope to medal, I'd have to try a cannonball. Oh come on, like you hadn't thought the same thing.

I love Dara Torres. And here's why. When I watch these teenagers and twentysomethings winning medals and representing their country, inevitably I begin to examine my life and how very little I've done with it. Of course, it doesn't help that as I'm watching, I'm lying on the couch trying to lick the last bit of icing out of a cupcake wrapper. But then I watch Dara Torres and I think, "Eh, I've still got time." She's like the Kenny Rogers of the Olympics.

I love Natalie Coughlin, too, but for entirely different reasons.

"When Brian Boitano was in the Olympics skating for the gold, he did two Salchows and a triple Lutz while wearing a blind fold..."