I DON’T KNOW how many sour-pussed Olympics-haters we have in our country. I don’t know what percentage of Americans is unmoved by the work put in, the opening ceremonies, the personal stories, the pride in being host, and the struggle for individual and team glory. I don’t know how many sneer at the whole panorama. I only know this: I’m one of them.
For starters, the process of choosing host cities is as dirty as John Walker’s socks. People dive over each other to bribe these officials, and if there’s anything more ironic than giving suitcases full of money to European socialists, I’d like to know what it is. If you haven’t noticed, The Great Honor is never given to places like Burundi or Latvia, because there are no Four Seasons hotels in Burundi or Latvia. Arise, ye prisoners of starvation. (The only hard part of a stay at a Four Seasons is that that’s how long it takes you to pay for it.)
