I knew I’d reached a new low, or at least watched too much of NBC’s irresistible prime-time Olympics coverage, as I chatted with some friends on our morning Red Line commute.
The conversation at hand? Not which athlete turned in the best performance or which athletes are the best eye candy. We’d already discussed those to exhaustion.
Rather, Kristen, Justin and I–a pre-law, pre-med and journalism student, respectively–spent the better part of an hour discussing which Olympic commercials we like the best.
All parties agreed that Visa’s “missing something?” ad, in which the track stars forget the baton in the relay, is clever; ex-gymnast Dominique Dawes’ Chili’s ad is a sellout; and the McDonald’s commercial featuring pregnant women is kind of creepy.
What I’m wondering is how Athens has managed to turn intelligent, usually very socially active people into zombies interested only in watching random sporting events with frightening names like Men’s Running Target. (Um, what?) Even worse, three girls recently hovered around my fridge mesmerized by the nearly nude Vanity Fair shot of Michael Phelps taped to the freezer.
NBC has made not watching the Olympics impossible. When I set out to do something–in this case, obsess over obscure sports I pay attention to only every four years–I’m going to do it 100 percent. Just as athletes sacrifice their social lives for their sport, by golly, so will I, with the help of my roommate Paula.
Our nightly setup involves takeout dinner, beer (in honor of the athletes who sacrifice alcohol for rock-hard abs) and the remote–not that we change the channel, but because sometimes we need to turn up the volume to truly enjoy Paul Hamm’s high-pitched voice.
Most importantly, though, we bring our laptops. What’s so wonderful about the 2004 Olympics is how wireless Internet is now so mainstream. That is, mainstream enough for NBC to tempt me at the bottom of my TV screen with offers like: “Find out what music Justin Gatlin listens to” at nbcolympics.com.
For the record, he’s a fan of N.E.R.D.
Still, I don’t think I’m responsible enough to handle both TV and the Web at once. I’m ashamed to admit that the words “Bob Costas” and “biography” have actually been typed into my Google search bar.
I’ve also impressed (frightened?) other friends with my obscure Olympic-athlete trivia. For example, did you know that laid-back backstroker Aaron Peirsol has an older sister named … Erin? (And I thought my brother and I–Aaron and Ariel–had it bad.)
The only non-Olympic thing I did during the first week of the Games, other than work, was have dinner with my parents in Chicago, which posed a problem when I needed a ride back to Evanston between 7 and 11 p.m.–sacred Costas time! What was I to do?
“Duh,” said my mom, who despite being born during the Truman administration actually uses words like “duh.” “We’ll just take the portable TV.”
Thank God for batteries. We were able to make the drive to Evanston without missing a single Olympic moment.
Granted, the “Star Spangled Banner” sounded a little scratchy during swimmer Natalie Coughlin’s gold medal ceremony. And I couldn’t tell if Svetlana “the Russian diva” Khorkina was bobbling on the balance beam, or if her wobbles were a result of my terrible low-frequency beams–but I saw it.
Why do I love the Olympics so much? I guess it’s because I love how so many nations put politics aside to compete, because I truly do love sports and because I love Michael Phelps’ impossibly low swimming trunks.
OK, I confess. It’s mostly the swimming trunks.
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aalexovich@tribune.com
