the Neolympics

There is no denying the eye-pulling effect of the Olympics. The best physical specimens from around the globe assemble to run, jump, cycle, swim, paddle, climb and dance to create a patriotic sense of worthiness. If our athletes seize gold, then we feel an extra pep and if our medal count is high on the table, we don’t mind pointing that out to our off-shore counterparts.

Thats fine. It has been that way since the first cluster of single-celled protozoa defeated the cyanobacteria clan, and I imagine there will be similar faux battles between non carbon life forms of the future - perhaps a processing sprint over 100 microns, or some form of made for TV robot-wars.

But my concern, as always, is for myself and the other mass of jelly-bellied, receders known as middle-aged men. How can we create a crucible of endeavor in the Olympic spirit, but for those whose once limber bodies are now a creaking wreck, and for whom, the challenge to crouch in the sprinter’s blocks seems trial-enough. Will the crowds adulate for our nose-haired, waxy-skinned bodies as we slow clap at before our triple-jump run-up? Negative.

I guess that’s why we have snooker, darts, poker and the competitive act of turning-up early to secure inside seating at the funeral service.

ps I just figured out how to allow others to leave comments. You can do this anonymously. I noticed in my web analytics that someone has accidentally landed on this website in the past 30 days. So if you are here leave a comment. or don’t.