The Winter Olympics are kicking off this week in South Korea’s Pyongyang: figure skating, hockey, skiing, snowboarding, bobsledding, luging, and all the rest.
Rio de Janeiro in Brazil hosted the 2016 Summer Olympics. Rio wins the gold as the hotter spot for sport in at least two senses of that word: the higher temperature and the number of anticipated bedroom athletic events a.k.a meets between the sheets. For this year’s winter Olympics, the number of condoms distributed to athletes comes to 110,000, or about 39 condoms per athlete. Rio saw 450,000 condoms given to athletes, about 42 per athlete.
Rio de Janeiro in Brazil hosted the 2016 Summer Olympics. Rio wins the gold as the hotter spot for sport in at least two senses of that word: the higher temperature and the number of anticipated bedroom athletic events a.k.a meets between the sheets. For this year’s winter Olympics, the number of condoms distributed to athletes comes to 110,000, or about 39 condoms per athlete. Rio saw 450,000 condoms given to athletes, about 42 per athlete.
Both Olympics broke all previous records for the number of condoms distributed free to athletes.
Now a question:
What the hell?
First, if these athletes are employing this many camisinhas (that’s Brazilian slang for “little shirts”), how in the name of Zeus do they compete in the games? They’re in town for a couple of weeks. I’ll leave the math to you, but unless these competitors are using their sheep skins for water balloon fights, it’s a wonder any of them can roll out of bed in the morning, much less compete in an event.
Next, why is the International Olympics Committee supplying condoms in the first place? These “gifts” imply several conclusions.
One, the athletes are too stupid to pack their own love socks.
Second, the athletes, who have trained for years, often at public expense, are too short of cash to afford their own Kondoms. (That’s German; I figured I might as well educate myself while writing about something so inane.) Poor devils. All that sacrifice, and they can’t afford a love glove.
Finally, some supplier of johnny bags is making a killing every couple of years.
According to online sources, some athletes collect these Frenchies as mementos. (Frenchies, short for French letters, is slang from Britain and Australia; I’m trying my best to be international.) “No, I didn’t win a gold or silver,” the grizzled figure skater will one day proclaim to his grandchildren, waving his glyceride pouch in their faces. “But I came home with this baby.”
Despite the fact that these Greek shields are free—Greek shield is my own invention, a bow of the head to the original Olympics—one athlete I found online complained about the fact that he actually had to walk and pick up his his preservatios. (That’s Italian; I apologize for being so Western with my terminology, but I don’t know how to render Chinese here). Okay, the guy was a Swiss swimmer, but even swimmers need to stretch their legs from time to time.
And maybe the swimmer has a point. Maybe in the next Olympics the Committee could prepare a condon (Spanish) gift basket. You know, buy a nice piece of wicker, adorn it with a doily, make a bed of chocolate in the basket, throw in some pens and a toothbrush and paste, and then sprinkle poshies on top.
My wife used to love the Olympics, so much so that she induced me to go to Atlanta for an Olympic contest, where we watched the American baseball team massacre the Netherlands. It was the dumbest sporting event I ever watched, and I have watched five year olds playing soccer.
By now you can tell I am not a fan. With that one exception, I haven’t watched the Olympics, on television or anywhere else, since 1976, when the cheating by the Soviet-bloc judges in events like boxing and diving was so blatant that I gave it up. The amateurism is gone. The various sports make neurotics out of many of the athletes. Their lives lack the balance touted by the Ancient Greeks. There are ongoing drug scandals and sexual abuse.
Now, given what I have learned about goalies—I’m not talking soccer—I find the event even more ludicrous than ever.
Sometimes ours is an embarrassing age.
This is one of those times.
Now a question:
What the hell?
First, if these athletes are employing this many camisinhas (that’s Brazilian slang for “little shirts”), how in the name of Zeus do they compete in the games? They’re in town for a couple of weeks. I’ll leave the math to you, but unless these competitors are using their sheep skins for water balloon fights, it’s a wonder any of them can roll out of bed in the morning, much less compete in an event.
Next, why is the International Olympics Committee supplying condoms in the first place? These “gifts” imply several conclusions.
One, the athletes are too stupid to pack their own love socks.
Second, the athletes, who have trained for years, often at public expense, are too short of cash to afford their own Kondoms. (That’s German; I figured I might as well educate myself while writing about something so inane.) Poor devils. All that sacrifice, and they can’t afford a love glove.
Finally, some supplier of johnny bags is making a killing every couple of years.
According to online sources, some athletes collect these Frenchies as mementos. (Frenchies, short for French letters, is slang from Britain and Australia; I’m trying my best to be international.) “No, I didn’t win a gold or silver,” the grizzled figure skater will one day proclaim to his grandchildren, waving his glyceride pouch in their faces. “But I came home with this baby.”
Despite the fact that these Greek shields are free—Greek shield is my own invention, a bow of the head to the original Olympics—one athlete I found online complained about the fact that he actually had to walk and pick up his his preservatios. (That’s Italian; I apologize for being so Western with my terminology, but I don’t know how to render Chinese here). Okay, the guy was a Swiss swimmer, but even swimmers need to stretch their legs from time to time.
And maybe the swimmer has a point. Maybe in the next Olympics the Committee could prepare a condon (Spanish) gift basket. You know, buy a nice piece of wicker, adorn it with a doily, make a bed of chocolate in the basket, throw in some pens and a toothbrush and paste, and then sprinkle poshies on top.
My wife used to love the Olympics, so much so that she induced me to go to Atlanta for an Olympic contest, where we watched the American baseball team massacre the Netherlands. It was the dumbest sporting event I ever watched, and I have watched five year olds playing soccer.
By now you can tell I am not a fan. With that one exception, I haven’t watched the Olympics, on television or anywhere else, since 1976, when the cheating by the Soviet-bloc judges in events like boxing and diving was so blatant that I gave it up. The amateurism is gone. The various sports make neurotics out of many of the athletes. Their lives lack the balance touted by the Ancient Greeks. There are ongoing drug scandals and sexual abuse.
Now, given what I have learned about goalies—I’m not talking soccer—I find the event even more ludicrous than ever.
Sometimes ours is an embarrassing age.
This is one of those times.