Alright, so I sit down, get comfy, you know, ready for the Olympics. Big screen, snacks, the whole nine yards. I’m all geared up to see some amazing feats of human strength and skill. I’m talking edge-of-your-seat stuff. That’s what I sign up for.
But then, inevitably, they start showing some events, and I just find myself… well, blinking a lot. My brain kind of stalls, trying to figure out what I’m watching and why it’s on the biggest sporting stage in the world. It’s a whole process, this viewing experience. You start excited, then confused, then maybe a bit amused, and sometimes just plain baffled.
My Highly Scientific Olympic Event Filtering System
Over the years, I’ve developed this unspoken system. It’s not written down anywhere, just a gut feeling I’ve honed. It kicks in when certain events pop up on the screen. My first reaction is usually a “Huh?” followed by a deep sigh. I grab the remote, finger hovering over the channel button. It’s a well-practiced move.
Let’s talk about some of these, shall we? It’s not like I hate them, but I just don’t get them in the Olympics.
- Race Walking: Okay, I’ve tried this. Secretly, in my backyard, so the neighbors wouldn’t call someone. It’s hard, no doubt. My hips felt weird for an hour. But watching it? It just looks… painful and a bit silly. Like everyone’s late for a very important meeting but they’re not allowed to run. The rules about keeping one foot on the ground at all times, I get it, that’s the challenge. But it’s a challenge to watch, for me at least.
- Solo Synchronized Swimming: Now, this one really used to bake my noodle. Solo. Synchronized. How? Are you synchronizing with the music? With your past self? I remember seeing it and just being utterly perplexed. I mean, the athleticism is there, holding your breath, the movements. But “solo synchronized” just sounded like a joke someone made that accidentally became real. They call it artistic swimming now, which makes a bit more sense, but the solo part in a synchronized sport always got me.
- Dressage (Equestrian): Look, those horses are magnificent. Truly. They’re incredible athletes. But sometimes, I watch the rider, and I think, “Are you doing much more than just sitting there really, really well?” I know, I know, it’s all about subtle cues and years of training. But from my couch, it sometimes looks like the horse is doing all the heavy lifting, literally dancing, while the rider just enjoys the show from the best seat in the house. I once sat on a donkey at a fair. It mostly just stood there. Not quite the same, I suppose.
And that’s my process. I watch, I ponder, I sometimes rant a little to whoever is in the room (or just to myself, if I’m honest). It’s not about disrespecting the athletes; they’ve trained for years, and that’s commendable. It’s just, for some events, I struggle to see the “Olympic-level spectator sport” aspect that gets my heart pumping like, say, a 100-meter sprint final or a crazy gymnastics routine.
I actually had a chat with my nephew about this the other day. He was watching with me, saw one of these more… niche events, and asked why it was in the Olympics. I found myself just shrugging. I told him, “Kid, some things are just a bit odd, and you just gotta roll with it or change the channel.” That’s pretty much my philosophy after all these years of dedicated Olympic viewing. My “practice” has taught me patience, and a quick hand on the remote. You sift through the stuff that makes you scratch your head to get to the pure gold. And there’s always plenty of that, thankfully.
