The gentle cycle

The Olympics have begun in Beijing but I must keep at bay the enervations of modern life. So I won’t be watching or rooting for. I won’t be giving up my pint of blood to save a sport.

If individuals want to challenge themselves physically, so be it. But don’t turn it into some state-of-the-art, human potential carnival. I’m sure most athletes are on anabolic steroids to shoot their puts and chuck their anachronistic javelins and jump their high poles. So how has the human body been pushed to its potential when a drug is making the athletes superhuman and not their own will power? If drugs are to be part of the games, then let’s embrace them. Drug up every athlete, implant them with cyborg bits that increase speed and stamina or splice their genes with leopards and monkeys and elephants and boars and gazelle creating hybrids, weird fauna of the sporting kind. Now that would be fun to watch and would really challenge our ideas of human potential.

And I’m sure the Olympians must embarrass their flabby viewing audience with sleek, muscular, and fit bodies just before the commercial for chips and soda.

People should compete, be it physically or cerebrally, but why on such a large scale and with so much pomp and opulence? Let’s drag sports down from its heights and let the air the rest of us breath fill its lungs.

Why spend all that money on athletic competition between countries when we need to clean up our skies, soil, and souls? Everything’s sloshing into and out of this sad bucket we call Earth. And it’s even got a hole, but that’s a profit in someone’s pocket instead of a heart-wrenching pain in everyone’s hearts.

And let the bastards call me unpatriotic if I disagree with their misguided allegiances. Half the uncivilized world was made to agree with Rome. And then the empire was sacked.

I just don’t get all woozy and xenophobic when it comes to de facto national sports, just like I don’t get all dreamy when it comes to the National Socialist German Workers Party.

All clubs and parties and enclaves and bands of roving yobs are built for one thing: assimilation and loss of identity. They are mindless blips on the eventual flatlining screen.

But then I want to belong to the literary world, which is a community. But it is at least an imaginative one.

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