Olympic Fever

Okay, I’ll admit it. I never thought it would happen, but apparently no one is immune. Despite my best efforts, I’ve caught Olympic fever.

I wrote a column in the summer of 2008 about my love/hate relationship with the Olympics. My parents made me watch the Olympics as a child. Maybe they thought I would be inspired to learn a sport (no such luck. Too bad there’s no Olympic reading team.)

When I grew old enough to develop my own television viewing habits, the Olympics were nothing more than a nuisance to me. After all, who wants two weeks of their favorite program pre-empted due to curling? (Those of you who follow “The Office” and can’t wait for the birth of Pam’s baby are probably nodding your heads right now.)

Now that I’m a good twenty years older than most of the participants (oh, okay, twenty-five), you’d think I’d have zero interest whatsoever in the Olympic Games. Yet, for some reason, I’m captivated.

Even before the official opening ceremony, the drama of the 2010 Winter Games unfolded with the tragic death of Georgian Luger Nodar Kumaritashvili during a practice run. I’m thankful that my family and I were in a car headed to NJ when that particular video hit the airwaves. We arrived at my parent’s home late Friday night only to find them, (yup, you guessed it…) glued to the opening ceremonies.
Although we missed watching the various teams walk into Olympic stadium, we arrived in time to catch most of the pageantry and splendor. The music, the dancing, the slam poetry (ok, that’s where you lost me. I went to bed in the middle of that slam poet’s bizarre, beatnik rant.) My children stayed up until the very end, relaying the details of the torch lighting malfunction. (And was that an example of the whole “Too many cooks spoil the soup?” Next time, keep it simple.)

Since then, I’ve tuned in to keep tabs on Lindsey Vonn’s shin, Johnny Weir’s costumes and Apollo Ohno’s soul patch (could someone please get that boy a razor? And lose the headband. You look like Bret Michaels from “Rock of Love”). My friends and I debate which is more bizarre: the biathlon or curling? (I think those harlequin pants worn by the Norwegian curling team pretty much seals the deal. Any chance the sport had for “coolness” has been completely blown.)

And speaking of the biathlon…I have new respect for the sport since my husband explained its origins (it began as military training for the Norwegians. Okay, you’ve redeemed yourselves for those pants). My children watched in fascination as the cross country skiers whipped out their rifles (“Guns! Cool!”), while my husband explained how challenging it is for the athletes to calm their heart rates enough to keep a steady hand on the rifle. Personally, I think the sport would be much more exciting if the athletes had to shoot each other (with paintball rifles, of course.) Imagine the biathlon winner skiing across the finish line, trailed by competitors splattered with paint like human spin art.

We debate the merits of Ice Dancing versus Pairs Skating (I keep waiting for the ice dancers to toss each other or jump or something…what gives?) Luge versus Skeleton (both sports are for crazy people, but you’ve got to be really insane to go down headfirst.) I hold my breath each time a skier pushes out of the gate to attempt some form of Alpine Skiing (sorry, I can’t keep them all straight. Downhill? Slalom? Giant Slalom? Super G? Super Combined? Arrgh! My brain can’t process it all.) Given the conditions at Vancouver this year, you’d think they’d give a medal for most spectacular wipeout.

I must admit that I, the Ice Queen, who prides herself on never shedding a tear during movies like “My Sister’s Keeper” or “The Notebook” squeezed out a few tears as I watched Men’s Moguls skier Alexandre Bilodeau become the first Canadian to win Olympic Gold on home soil. (And seeing his brother Frederic, cheering in the crowd…sniff sniff.)

There will be more thrills and spills between now and Sunday’s closing ceremonies. Hopefully the torch will be extinguished more easily than it was lit. The athletes will return home, Vancouver will return to normal and NBC will return to its regularly scheduled programming. I have to admit, I’ll miss the spectacle of the Olympics; the anticipation, the celebration, the heartbreak. I’ll have to fill the void with cheap reality television and ridiculous, mythology-based dramas.

But hey…London 2012 is just around the corner.