I began to worry that I wasn't smart enough to watch the Olympics when one game in some obscure sport--beach volleyball, maybe, on an indoor beach--ended with an apparent winner. But the officials decided it was a tie and ordered a tie-breaker, which produced a seeming winner too. But then the officials ordered a second tie-breaker. They accepted that one and it was over. A victory for truth? Beats me.
Parts of the Games were beautiful; no one could argue that. Parts were grand fun as when tiny Croatia whipped the U.S. at some sport so unfamiliar to me I can't remember which it was. A friend solved one mystery: why did none of these handsome, muscular men have chest hair. Catches the wind, I was told, can slow you down some fraction if a second. Well, that's what she said.
Anyway, it's ending. It will be hard, I think, for the finale to match the opening when the Queen and James Bond exchanged hellos.
So there I was in front of the TV just now watching a baseball game and hearing words I've known for years--ball, strike, double play.
Familiarity is sweet sometimes.
No comments:
Post a Comment