I am sure that you will be surprised to learn that I am very competitive.
I will take a minute for you to stop chuckling.
…Anyhoods, I’m competitive. With me there is no such thing as a friendly game.
I am ashamed admit that I have ruined a New Year’s Eve celebration by accusing the opposing team of cheating during Cranium (a game, that I’d only just that night started playing again after a 5 year hiatus following a very bitter win over some other friends in another state over their gamesmanship) and yelling about the game being the cause of all of the wrongs in the world.
In 1994 I was banned from playing Taboo with my family after I threw the buzzer at my mother and it hit her squarely in the forehead and made the buzzing sound of doom as she – narrowly –resisted killing me.
I believe that the way one play’s Monopoly is a litmus taste by which you can measure how they play the game of life (and not that silly game with the pink and blue cars). To be clear, I don’t play to Monopolize, I play so that you can’t.
The last time I played kickball, I sent a boy on the opposing team home in tears (he should not have taunted my kicking power without accounting for my superior stratagem and my speed. Ah, to be seven again.).
I don’t believe in flag football.
I don’t believe that everybody wins. If everybody won, there’d be no need for trophies.
I dunno, maybe it’s because I’m an Aries. Maybe it’s because I like to see people crumpled in defeat. Who knows… what I do know is that my competitive nature is really gratified by sport and there is no greater collection of sport than the Olympics.
I am an Olympics nerd. This weekend alone, I watched 20 hours of Olympics.
RHS: That’s distressing hunny.
BPD: I love it!
RHS: Hunny, that’s what the kids call overkill.
BPD: That’s what you said about the cheese.
RHS: And hunny, you had an eczema flair up after you ate that half pound of cheese.
BPD: Ah ha! Olympics doesn’t give me eczema.
The Olympics takes precedence over all other TV watching. I like to think of what I do is athletic Olympic watching.
I cried when Shen Xue and Zaho Hongbo finally won gold after skating together for 18 years.
I was on my feet when Shaun White won gold and unveiled the new Double McTwist 1260.
I cheered when Canada got its first gold medal on home turf.
And I introduced RHS to the wonder that is curling.
I love it.
And aside from cheering and crying and criticizing the the judges scores what I really love about the Olympics is imagining the internal monologue of the athletes.
Biathlon: We’re skiing with guns!
Alpine Skiing: Uhm, guys, why are they skiing with guns?
Cross-Country: Dudes, we are not sticking around long enough to find out.
Ski Jumping: Flying Squirrel! Flying Squirrel!
Speed Skating: We’re prepared to throw our skates at them in a pinch.
Skeleton & Luge: Puh-lease we’re hurtling down ice-y tubes of doom on our back and stomach. We don’t even flinch at guns.
Snowboard Cross: Ice-y tubes of doom – awesome! Do y’all race four at a time like we do?
Bobsled: Hey, we’ve got tubes too!
Snowboard Halfpipe: Whatever brah, it’s not like they’re doing awesome aerials with the guns.
Hockey: Body check!
Ice-Dancing: The brutes.
Figure Skating: Biathlon has guns and Ice-Dancing has Twizzles. If those two sports got married and had a kid it’d be Johnny Weir.
Curling: Yeahyeahyeah, Johnny Weir. We’ve got the bigger stones.
I love it.
And also, those commercials that Morgan Freeman narrates make me cry.