Olympic-Gate 2008

I find it interesting that the Summer Olympic Games are on the same four year cycle as the U.S. Presidential election. I’ve often wondered if this is a mere coincidence or a more sinister plot. I think the powers that be decided to slide in a touch of American pride, i.e. the Olympic Games, prior to the nastiness of a general election. We unify for the Olympic Games and then detach for the general election. Walking a fine line between love and hate is certainly a wonderful exercise in confusion and something we experience every four years at precisely the same time. Throw in a leap year and we’ve definitely have something worthy of a conspiracy theory or at the very least, a political gate of some sort.



I follow sports a little more vigorously than politics yet nevertheless, I find myself drawn strangely to this election in much the same way as my newfound appreciation for synchronized diving. Well, you know, not really. I just can’t get into synchronized anything. It really is quite frustrating, tuning into a worldwide sporting event and having to watch two divers mock each other repeatedly, yet I point out the bad posture and the unsynchronized synchronization with the rest of the prime time viewership waiting on Michael Phelps to race. Don’t we all?



What has captured me during this political cycle, however, is the doom and gloom that surround our presidential election. It seems to me both parties are standing cliff side waiting on the other to push them into the sea (ala the lemmings and their ill-fated natural instincts bent on suicidal fortitude). How I love the oxymoron. The party lines this year are drawn deeper and stronger than ever before and the athletes, uh the politicians, are poised and ready to snap to attention and race towards November. The one question I have is simply; who has the dag-blasted baton?



It seems recently, in honor of the Olympic Games, our presidential candidates have invented a new sport in which there is but one rule; who can answer a question in the most round-about, dim-witted way without tipping off the constituent or looking like a tool in the process. Affectionately known as screw-balling, this new sport will seek Olympic accreditation for implementation in the London 2012 Games. Rumor has it; Barrack Obama will be our coach and biggest hope for a metal in this event. His main rival, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran is all ready talking smack but fear not, the United States is a heavy odds-on favorite and Obama is wasting no time sharpening his skills by attending every town hall meeting in all 57 states.



Perhaps I am politically jaded but as a majority of Americans are counting down the Bush presidency with gleeful undertones, I can’t help but point to the two presumptuous senators holding sticks of dynamite in one hand and a bunch of empty promises in the other. What happens when the clock strikes zero is a question worthy of asking if you don’t subscribe to the politics of screw-balling and you want honest answers to simple questions that will affect your vote.

From synchronized diving to synchronized implying, the politics of straight-talking change to believe in will be screw-balling to a city near you. How’s that for Olympic follow-up? Go Cubs! Just a thought.

The Games we used to Play

My senior year of high school was extended almost a month due to a very uncommon snowy winter in 1994. Not only did our local school system shut down for weeks on end, the entire city of Lexington ran out of road salt thus turning our major thoroughfares into winter wonderlands. This chain of events led to a graduation date somewhere in the middle of June, but at the time, I reveled in the unusual winter break. My buddies did too. Back then, I had a close-nit group of friends that fit my life like the snug of a familiar slipper worn just right around the edges. These were the guys I had spent my short life meeting somewhere along the way. Some early on, some later in high school, but regardless of time and place, we were a band of brothers making sure the winter didn’t pass without the right measure of good times and good memories.

For the most part, our days off were spent with a monopoly board, a green cigar, and perhaps a late afternoon snow man tipping contest. Even though these days were unscripted, they were spent together; a tribe of free spirits unwrinkled by responsibility and uncertain of the future. Regardless of the games we played, the talks we talked, the time we spent, spring effectively replaced winter, summer came and went, and our tribe was spread from coast to coast, from north to south by the first hint of autumn’s falling leaves and icy breezes.

My nostalgic moment in part stems from a recent viewing of Stand by Me on AMC in which the movie is presented with facts at the bottom of the screen. This was the first time I had watched the movie in a decade, at least, and I was wrought with memories of my childhood. Memories that parallel the coming of age we see in Gordie, Chris, Teddy, and Vern. Memories I am sure my friends share when they turn their minds back to those days, and memories I’m sure your friends share with you; no matter how old or young, distant or near. I watched that movie and remembered the proper retort to “Shut Up,” a retort I have shared with my 10-year-old daughter (I don’t shut up, I grow up, and when I look at you I throw up…blah) much to the dismay of my wife. I have caught numerous people with a quick simulated punch to the face and offered them “two for flinching.” I have reopened the debates concerning Goofy (If Donald’s a duck, Mickey’s a mouse, and Pluto’s a dog…then what in the world is Goofy?) as well as the most quoted line from the movie “Who would win in a fight, Superman or Mighty Mouse?” I watched that movie and remembered my coming of age so vividly that I was moved to open a file and start typing of gigantic snowmen, epic monopoly battles, stale cigars, lost electricity, and other wastes of time that become synonymous with childhood and so important to adulthood.

Our childhood friendships are very important to the lives we live as adults. While mine may resemble the camaraderie of the boys in Stand by Me, yours may be entirely different. The truth is simple, no matter how far we roam, we still visit our childhoods and remember similar events that helped create the man or woman we see in the mirror each day. The reflection, regardless of the age, still has the glimmer of youth and reckless abandonment you looked past so many years ago when your buddies were waiting for a ride to school, a trip to the ball park, or a night on the town.



I wonder sometimes how my pals are, the ones I don’t see regularly. I wonder if they also have similar nostalgic moments and find peace in knowing that no matter how far they tread, how long it has been, that our creed, whether spoken or not, was and is, anything, anywhere, anytime. Something tells me I’m not alone in this sentiment; that while our childhoods are only reviewable in reverse, that good memories need no reason to remind and good friends never leave the safety of the tribe. In the words of Chris Chambers…”Skin it.” Go Cubs! Just a thought.



“I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve (seventeen). Does anyone?”