Down and Out in Beijing

I joined the Olympics as a spectator. I caught what became a Fever. Soon, implanted in my head: BOM-BOM, BOM-BOM. Yes, I felt Phelps phenomenon. I was gay for Gay. Kobe, LeBron, together, No way.

I’ll watch what I can, I said, but then I felt nauseous, so I flushed with fluids . My fever lasted only a little longer than the 100 meter dash (9.96 seconds – Lighting Bolt!)

And just as quick as I got it, my fever is gone.

I became disappointed that the most exciting thing about these Summer Games was the achievement of a swimmer savant receiving more medals in one Games than anyone ever has—we won’t mention your DUI as long as you don’t mention anything larger in context to what it is you do: swim, down and back.

I realized, too, feverous in my obsession, I was like all other Americans, watching only Americans. We almost forget to realize that there are other countries in these Games, that there are other countries in this World. We’ve forgotten that there are other People living in other Places. We care only to broadcast U.S. The only colors we wish to watch on T.V. are red, white, and blue. And the only sports that we can watch are those that capture our attention in the time span of a few lengths of the pool. Further, the ones we dominate.

When I walked in on Bob Costas, Michael Phelps and Mark Spitz tri-copulating was I cured once and for all of my Olympic Fever. Gone was the sweltering inner temperature. No longer did my head pound the anthem BOM-BOM, BOM-BOM. I was done with these Games before they were over. I finished first.