Here Comes the Five-Ring Circus

Mary Lou Retton ended up on cereal boxes, Nancy Kerrigan became a punchline ("Why me?"), Michael Phelps hawks Subway sandwiches and Mark Spitz just got old. Ex-Olympians are nothing if not pathetic. We meet them in their prime, watch them soar to unbelievable heights of athletic perfection, and then stare in awe as they plummet headlong into commercialism and old age, all the while feeling our own imperfect bodies degenerate more acutely in comparison. For these reasons and others, I look away from the whole shebang.

In the beginning they must have been something, but since their inception in 1896, the so-called "games" have degenerated into a gigantic opportunity for advertisers, and most especially the host city, to sell key rings, mouse pads, t-shirts, hoodies, flip-flops, laptops, caps, cups, mugs, restaurants, hotel rooms, country inns and second homes imprinted with this year's hottest logo. Lately, with the 2012 games about to begin in London, everyone and their brother is looking for a tie-in. Even St. Jude's Hospital for Children is not above this ploy, with a recent ad campaign wherein they picture children ill with cancer languishing in bed, and the accompanying sell line something like, "Little Natasha is dreaming of conquering the balance bars but right now she's battling cancer." Oh please.

Yeah, yeah, I know--I'm always complaining about something,  but usually with good reason; the pimping of our athletes, all dressed up in their sweatshop uniforms, seems like an appropriate occasion for whining. Besides, is beach volleyball anything more than fit women in teeny bikinis bobbing up and down with balls? And admit it--the opening ceremonies, tickets for which cost your basic arm and a leg, have gotten pretty out of control, with the parade of athletes more like the Miss World Pageant on steroids. One can only imagine how anyone can top the Chinese in Beijing four years ago, but I'll bet they're going to try. In fact, that's the one part I'll be sure to watch.