There are dog people and there are cat people. There are diet soda people and regular soda people. There are summer Olympics people and winter Olympics people.
I am the first option out of all three of those examples.
And yet, what is it about the Olympics that is so addictive? It's like they put crack in the telecast. If I stumble across an event, even a winter Olympics event I normally don't give a crap about (seriously, who was the first person to say, "I know! We'll do this thing where we lay on a sled and see how fast we can go. And we'll call it the luge. And it will be awesome." ??), I cannot help but stay glued to the TV.
Tonight I learned a few things while watching the Olympics: 1) Seth Wescott is totally hot. 2) I really like Canadians. 3) Only the Chinese know how to not fall during pairs skating. 4) Bob Costas is the man.
I have flashbacks to my childhood when I was all about the Olympics, especially winter Olympics. When Nancy Kerrigan got the crap kicked out of her knee by Tonya Harding's thug husband, you couldn't pry me away from the TV with a crowbar. And then Tonya had her little meltdown on the ice as she was skating to music from "Jurassic Park." Jurassic freakin' Park!
I memorized how to say Kristi Yamaguchi. I counted the number of times Scott Hamilton did toe-touches during his routines. I watched "The Cutting Edge" a million and a half times. ("Toe pick.")
And then, in the summer of '96 in Atlanta, I forever fell in love with the summer games. All because of seven really short, really buff American little girls and an effing epic vault by Kerri Strug.
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