Fortitude

I’ve made it a week. One week’s worth of Olympics. Can I keep it up? Am I strong enough? Have I trained hard enough? Am I ready to push into week two? Can I keep my momentum? Have I doped enough? Has my curling hat arrived yet? These are the questions I must ask myself. It all comes down to one thing: Do I have it in me?

I’m in the best television viewing shape of my life. I’m ready for this. I just have to get through the bobsledding (or bobsleigh if you prefer). It’s my toughest leg of the Olympics. It’s a fucking soap box derby on ice. What does one say about that? I’m trying to do my patriotic duty. (I consider my patriotic duties to entail voting, paying my taxes, showing up for jury duty, and watching the Olympics) Bobsledding will not break me! But what the fuck? It’s not a sport. Those sleds look ridiculous. There must be more efficient designs; I simply do not accept that the modified bat-mobile is the best option. And why bother with the unitards? Do you really need a skin tight suit to ride in those ice jalopies? There is the two-man and the four-man bobsled, can I suggest an additional race? I call it the “clown-man” wherein you cram as many untitarded people as possible into the sled, earning points for both speed and comic impact as the athletes de-sled (or de-sleigh if you prefer). Oh, there’s curling on. Yes!