Up on Mount Olympus, the gods and goddesses are are in a state. Who can blame them? What has become of their precious Olympic Games? Back in, oh let's say 776 B.C., the games began to honor the most powerful Greek god, Zeus. This first display of physical fitness and mental discipline was a single event, a 192 meter race, won by a cook. As far as I know, this man had no corporate sponsor, no commercial endorsements or an addiction to Twitter. Isn't it amazing that thousands of years later we know this guy's name...Coroebus...and I'm betting he didn't even have an agent.
Although Hera knows a thing about drugging (poor Zeus and the sleeping potion), but she is gravely concerned about Olympic athletes doping. You know, do as I say, not as I do. Even Ares, the bloodthirsty coward and the greedy Hades agree that the games have gotten out of hand. I'm expecting a lightening bolt from Zeus at any moment.
The opening ceremony was more spectacle than spectacular. What was this guy thinking? It brought me to a boil slogging through Danny Boyle's interpretation of English history. Ho-hum...Didn't the Brits watch their penal colony's Olympic opening? Seems the "criminal" Aussies know how to keep a crowd entertain. All this tedium was followed by Bob Costas and Matt Lauer poking fun at small countries and "minor" sports. Arrrgh...I was just trying to stay awake to see Paul McCartney, who sang sadly off-key and honored the crowed with only ONE song. (Even Appollo, the god of music, was plugging his ears.) If I'd bought a ticket, I demand a refund. As it was, I was just out a few hours sleep.
It is only day five and I'm already heartily sick of druggy Michael Phelps, crying gymnasts and inept commentators. I don't want any more shots of rabid parents and overzealous coaches. There is nothing amateur about the Olympics, except maybe Ryan Seacrest.
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