I love sports. Sure, I’m a guy and that seems to be embedded in our DNA. So it is no surprise that I yielded to nature’s call of the wild and honed in on the sound of the crowd’s cheering, screaming, and sometimes cursing as if they were the cries of a wounded rabbit. I am drawn to my primal high definition wide screen TV and vicariously join the action of whatever sport happens to be playing out before me. I do this, of course, from the comfort of my well broken-in over-stuffed couch. I am not deterred by the elements for I have adapted and evolved through the eons to the constant 72-degree temperature of my climate constant air conditioned home. I am a well-tuned modern male sports junkie.
And so, it is not surprising that my sports senses are in sensory overload this week with the advent of the 2012 Summer Olympics. Not wanting to miss a trickle of sweat, a grunt, or a groan of any of the myriad sports events offered to me through the magic of television and live video streaming on the internet, I am using every technical device available to capture the moments. My DVR records every event, even those which happen as I sleep. In waking spare moments I can fast-forward through events and focus on the really exciting contests without missing a grunt, groan, or grimace.
Of course I am caught up in the medal count as each country racks up the laurels of medals. “Go USA!” is my call. I am totally into it. I am pitiful; I have to admit. But I am also observant. That is where the other male primal sense sneaks forward to the surface, as I watch the competition in the women’s sports. Now, I try to keep my attention focused on the competition being displayed before me. However, it has become difficult to focus entirely on the sport when the participants are wearing the smallest bikinis I have ever seen. I can almost smell the skin tight spandex in my living room. I try to focus on the ball; but, it is difficult. The women’s beach volleyball competition is a disaster for me.
As I watch these sports with my wife, from somewhere within me escapes a comment that has the word “hooters” inserted in it. Now, I don’t know where it came from. I suppose I said it because it was just my wife and I watching. And, it does not escape my attention that the volleyball team from Brazil is a very healthy team and very well endowed with all kinds of talent. However, it was the women’s water polo team that focused my attention on the wedgie. I suppose there was a competition, and I recall that the USA won. But, unfortunately, blazoned in my memory was the sight of the after-game celebration as the team romped at the edge of pool in congratulatory glee that the wedgie stole the show. Not all of the women of this sport were trim pixies, as you find in gymnastics. No, Rubenesque would be the descriptive word here; and the wedgies were quite severe.
I don't really want to go there, but I must admit the men’s sports also had their share of wedgie and skimpy attire--not that I noticed, understand. But, how can you not keep from creating a gold medal worthy wedgie when exerting the type of physical activity these young people expend--both men and women?
I suppose the Olympic Games are the only venue were the speedo is appropriate. I am not a fan of the speedo. Lord knows I would rather see them at the Olympic games than on the local beach where the forty year old beer belly stud squeezes into one. It is enough to keep a homophobe cringing in his seat. The men’s diving is a marvel of engineering. How these men keep those skimpy tads of cloth from striping right off upon entry into the water is a wonder.
Fortunately, the level of excellence in Olympic sports always rises above the sensual attire of the athlete. I shove my love of competition and sport to the forefront and ignore the other as a temporary distraction. In a quick two weeks this overflow of sports sensation will be satiated. I will begin to look forward to 2016 when a new Olympics will again sooth the sports beast within me. Perhaps by that time the wedgies of the women’s water polo and the speedos of the men’s diving will have had a chance to fade from my memory…I hope.