As the world looks on, an elite group of the best amateur (?) athletes on the planet are competing in Vancouver. Joined at chilly indoor and outdoor venues by families, coaches, host  volunteers, groupies, judges, officials and intrepid camera crews.

The rest of us watch the Winter Olympics sitting on our asses in the warm venues of homes, dorms and local pubs. Mostly we have little to no idea what we're watching.

Sure, some of us ski, ice skate, snowboard, even bobsled, but when was the last time you hopped onto a luge? Sadly, even fewer will try to do that now.

    
Luge                                                  Skeleton

The majority of us don't speed skate, ski jump, cross pipe, half pipe, skeleton (WTH? The sled goes head first?), ski-and-shoot or curl (WTF? There must be a curling lobby).

Curling

We only see these specialized, arcane, suicidal sports (?) at the Winter Olympics, we're clueless about the rules, the intricacies, the challenges, the judging.

Some involve terminology that might as well be Greek. Or bio-electrical engineering. We watch those athletes fly, flip, spin and whoosh by, but we don't really know what the announcers are talking about, nor do they seem able to tell us.

Okay, yeah, we understand ice hockey.

That's because years ago Canada talked us into taking an unending overflow of testosteronic stick-wielding maniacs off their hands. And creating American hockey teams for them, in order to prevent hoards of serial killers with false front teeth wreaking havoc on both continents.

Plus, real pro ice hockey stars play on the Olympic teams. Good for business, eh.

We all understand figure skating too. Well, wait. We're familiar with it. Most of us don't know a Salchow from an Axel from a Lutz.

        

And as we all know, figure skating has the most illogical, subjective, unfair, incomprehensible judging of any winter competition. 

Yet the lithe and dramatic skaters draw the highest viewing audience. It's competition, sure, but it's also entertainment. Spandexed, sequined, feathered, sleazy glamorous theater.

       

There are stars, stories, rumors, hissy fits, historic battles, even scandals. It's flamboyant, it's got music, outrageous costumes, almost inhuman, gravity-defying throws, jumps, twists, dips and feats of balance.

And of course, the ever-present possibility of instant humiliation.

Throughout all the Olympic events, we are fed personal back stories and intimate details about the athletes, especially the favorites and any new stars. We learn about their families, their hopes and dreams, their trials and tribulations.

We are primed to get goose bumps and great collective lumps in our throats over their exciting, tension-filled victories. And so we do.

Wow, China's first figure skating medals ever. The Russian pairs dynasty is dead, long live the new Chinese dynasty!

Hang on.

Yes, these are athletes, not nation builders. The Olympics aren't about world politics but pure athletic competition. Believe that, I have a Bridge to Nowhere to sell you.

North Korea chose to march separately from South Korea. Iran always refuses to march next to Israel, good thing Ireland was there this year.

China is making a calculated PR and economic move on Western culture through the Winter and Summer Olympics. Especially in the high ticket arenas of figure skating and gymnastics.

If Western corporations want endorsement contracts with the new Gold and Silver medal winning Chinese pairs skaters, what concessions will they have to make to the Chinese government?

The mind boggles.

China is already pulling ahead in world economy. What, we should hand over our lucrative sports commerce on a platter? But after all those moving personal stories, it's so hard not cheer individual success.

The perfect metaphor for worldwide Olympics viewing. We count each country's medals, who has the most. We cry foul at "politically motivated" judging. We're all supposed to be rooting for the athletes, hoping the best ones win.

We're not. We can't. Reality check. Flash of clarity. Drumroll.

Yes, we get goose bumps in Pavlovian response to well-manipulated media coverage. We cheer for those winners.Their almost super-human feats.

But deep down, most of us, who will never (and probably have never) be as fit or committed or gutsy as any Olympic athlete, are, if we're honest, a little jealous.

 

We love the winners but we identify with the losers more. We watch and wait breathlessly for some soul-soothing moments of Epic Fail. 

Of course we don't want to see anyone die or become gravely injured. Just give us a thrilling pinwheel, a spectacular wipe out, a hugely comic stumble, an ass-over-teacups tumble.

They can have the Thrill of Victory. We'll cheer them til we're hoarse. But we need to rubberneck at the Agony of Defeat.

We, The Home Viewing Audience, faced with the skills, drive and so many inhumanly near-perfect bodies in motion require some karmic balance.

We can't measure up. We don't understand. So we need to feel just a little less like what many of us surely are: uncomprehending, over-indulged, under-athletic sedentary Couch Spuds with Buds.

RATINGS COUNT TOWARD MY GOLD MEDAL!!! (AND YOURS)