That was the summer Phelps edged Cavic and I went wild-single-man down the Shore, the year the Phillies allowed me to feel feelings.
The year I drank Surge and stayed up late in high school to watch professional hockey players play in the Nagano games.
The year Kerri Strug taught me about perseverance and Dominique Moceanu taught me about mons pubis and family strife.
Anyway, already pumped about Sochi. But the medals, which were unveiled today, bother me. I get that each set has to be personalized to the host country, but can we get back to solid gold, silver and bronze spheres? Is that too much to ask? This thing looks like a snowflake in a gold bezel. And I’m pretty sure that center piece could shank a motherfucker. I just don’t like it, and now 2014 is going to be the year goofy Russians ruined achievement with something that looks like it was designed by the graphics guy from Game of Thrones.
Congrats on winning the slalom… you get this
Of course, nothing will ever be as bad as the travesties in Vancouver… the winter in which I met Ms. CB, who may never be forgiven for refusing to visit her brother in London while the actual games were going on last year and, instead, insisting we go “two weeks later, after the crowds die down.” Yeah, and after Phelps leaves town.
Hey, here I am in London, and here’s a picture that I took at the Aquatics Centre.
Oh sweet! Is that Michael Phelps and Douchebag Ryan Lochte battling for wold supremacy?
No. It’s a guy with no arms.
I’m going to hell a bitter man.