Olympic Report 2008

Contents of my backpack today:

military style gas mask. two unshucked cobs of corn. four squash balls. pot.

Olympic Report:

Honestly, those people who tell me that the Olympics is just a bunch of nationalist bullshit are completely correct. Not only this, but for me the corruption, the bribery and lack of transparency that are sempiternal hallmarks of the games always leave a kind of unpleasant taint over the proceedings. And there’s more, of course. The clean up and gentrification of a city in preparation for the games is always done at the expense of the poor and the marginalized; these people are always displaced, often in a brutal manner, in order to project the grand illusion (for everyone knows it is not true but chooses to believe it anyhow) that there are no problems in said country.

All of this said, however, I still find myself watching the games and feeling somewhat sentimental about watching them. I suppose that it reminds me in some way of time I spent with my grandparents when I was a child, for I remember watching the Olympics with them and having them explain the various sports to me, each sport a small fascination in and of itself. Also, as a leap year baby, I feel a kind of kindred connection to the Olympics (although less so since the summer and winter games got split up). I won’t go so far as to say that I am a sucker-target as far as promoting the games goes, but in some way I do feel like the Olympics is my bastard twin and I have to love it, whether it be drunk or sober.

Also, as a person born in the region supposedly designated as Canada and thus privy to all of the benefits and miseries this dubious title carries with it, I have a special reason to cheer: Canada to this point has won absolutely no medals. This is my favourite part about the games and I am sincerely cheering with every sport I watch for the Canadian participants to choke out there under the bright lights and I am sincerely cheering for those Canadians to stand sobbing on the sidelines while the victorious participants watch their flags slowly rise to the rafters.

Canada, you see, is a nation that prides itself on its complete mediocrity. I mean, for god’s sake, our national restaurant is a donut chain. How much more bland can you get? We are a nation of overweight common-sense spewing bumpkins farting around in pick-up trucks and when we are not that we are a nation of people so disconnected from the place that we live and the culture that we live in that we spend all our time talking about how much better the place we came from was and cheering this other place when they come to play Canada in soccer matches.

Yes, goddamn, yes, I want Canada to not win a single medal. I want the reassurance that I am still in Canada as I watch all those 17th, and 39th, and 54th place finishes. I want the reassurance that the Canadians “gave their all” out there and that even being at the Olympics is an accomplishment in and of itself. For me there is a supreme satisfaction in knowing that despite the fact that Canada sends one of the largest contingents of any nation every single time, not one of these so-called athletes is worth spit on the world stage. It is as though we have chosen to amplify our suffering and humiliation to as extreme a level as we can. There is something holy about it. It is not just a shot at some gold medals, it is a grand psychic wrist cut—not for the purposes of suicide—but just to cause a little pain and to get a little attention.

But sadly there’s always one freak of nature who somehow manages to win a medal for the country and thus becomes the great national hero for all time. It is ever because of superior training or the investment of the nation that this medal is won (for Canada boasts none of these things). It is more likely than not a complete fluke. But it happens every time and, for me anyhow, completely ruins everything.