Published: August 14, 2008 12:26 am            

The Swag Olympics

The Olympic Games provide a spectacular event of world-wide importance and interest and, in the true spirit of the games, it is a time for all the nations of the world to put forward their very best athletes in friendly competition. Who would have imagined a decade or so ago that we would be watching cyclists racing around and through the Great Wall of China?

Once upon a time, back in Aurora, Colo., my wife and I belonged to a goofy social group called “SWAG (Scientific Wild-A—ed Guess). The group consisted of 12 middle-aged couples who got together once a quarter for outrageous outings. Each quarter, three couples would secretly plan the activities and then send out the date, place, time, cost, clues to the theme, and how to dress to the other couples.

Since the summer Olympics were on stage during our turn to plan, my committee decided to put on a “geriatrics Olympics” for our over-the-hill gang. Our house served as the Olympic Village where everyone met for hors d’oeuvres and libations and to be issued special Olympic T-shirts (they had five squares instead of rings on them). Then it was off to the park for the different events. I won’t say that we were a strange looking band, but there was a police car that parked nearby and observed us for quite a while. I think he was trying to decide if he should check my Bronco punch since alcohol was prohibited in the park.

I don’t remember all of the events but I do remember you had to be a really good sport to participate. One involved a male and a female squeezing a beach ball between them at the hips and running a course laid out with traffic cones. My favorite event required one to tie pantyhose around one’s waist with one pantyhose leg hanging down between one’s legs. A potato was placed in the toe of the pantyhose leg and the idea was to gyrate one’s hips so as to make the potato swing forward and bounce a beach ball down through some more traffic cones.

We provided medals for each event which consisted of beer cans hung on red, white, and blue ribbons. As I recall, Coors was the gold medal, Coors Lite was the silver, and Falstaff was the bronze. After each event, the three top finishers had to stand on the park bench and receive their medals while the National Anthem was sung. Actually the anthem was a recording made by the three women on my committee and it sounded like a trio of Rosanne Barrs. About the third time we played it, the cop finally had enough of our foolishness and left the scene.

Later, we carpooled to a large sports bar/restaurant where everyone was prompted to give us a standing ovation when we came in with our medals dangling around our necks like Mark Spitz or Mary Lou Rettin. It really felt good to be treated like celebrity athletes even if it was all fantasy.

Speaking of fantasies, I can’t help but think back to my salad days when I played several of the Olympic sports at a high level — two-man and six-man volleyball in particular. I can modestly say that in those days my body was a temple. Now it’s more like an amusement park. It’s my own fault that I have grown so out of shape as I aged. I mean, how can you feel fit as a fiddle when you are shaped like a cello? My philosophy on exercising is, “no pain, no pain.” Actually, I try to avoid exercise because it makes the ice jump out of my glass. The only time I do sit-ups is when my wife sadistically puts the TV remote between my feet. As a result of all this sloth, when I do run, you could time me with a calendar.

I have mentioned that both my wife and I are avid sports enthusiasts — not participants, just observers. We did start to play tennis together one time while we were in therapy — it was called mixed-up doubles. Actually, while I did have some athletic prowess at one time, my poor wife had none. In gym class, she was the only kid to strike out in kickball. However, I must say that, if they ever make jumping to conclusions an Olympic event, she would take the senior division. She also might be good in senior softball since she leads the league in sacrifices. Oh, I only kid my wife. I don’t need any more people coming up to her and saying, “Oh, are you the poor soul he always picks on all the time?”

I close with a couple observations about to of my favorite Olympic athletes — swimmers Michael Phelps and Dara Torres. Both of these athletes are absolute physical specimens who work out so much that even their muscle shirts have stretch marks. They both have some very unique credentials.

Michael is still not quite 23 years old, but this will be his third Olympics. In 2000, he set the record for the 200-meter butterfly at age 15 and has set 24 more world records since that time. In 2004, he won six gold medals at the Athens Games. In 2007, he won seven gold medals at the world championships in Melbourne. The odds are that he will win eight more gold medals at Beijing.

Dara Torres is 41 years old and the mother of a two-year old child. She has qualified for the fifth Olympics berth since 1988 — something no other swimmer has ever done. She has won a total of nine medals in those five Olympics.

Let me close with this question. If swimming all the time is so good for the physique, how come whales look so goofy?

See ya later…

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Dick Platt is a Daily Sun columnist. His column appears on Thursdays.

        

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