The Games

Today is always a very bittersweet day for me.
Opening ceremonies for the Olympic Games.

You see, back in 2004 I was supposed to compete in the games.

But because of lack of talent and overall ability, I never made it out
of my YMCA intermediate gymnastic class.
But believe you me, in August of 1996, I made a promise
to myself I was going to be at the 2004 games.
I remember calculating that I would be age sixteen, a little old,
nine-year-old me thought. But I legitimately remember believing it might
be for the best if I was going to compete in both gymnastics and track.
I would probably need the maturity of a sixteen-year-old to do that.

So while I always get chills and sometimes a little teary eyed
when the American athletes walk onto the field
(just like I do when the Husker football defense does the tunnel walk)
I also can't help but feel a little resentment.
I know that sounds unpatriotic, but I can't help it.
Especially when I hear their interviews and they all say,
"I always dreamed of getting here, and I knew it would just take a lot of hard work,
but if it happened for me, it could happen for anyone. You just have to want it."

Because that's a boldfaced lie.
I wanted it. And I worked at it.
I spent countless hours on my trampoline playing "1996 Olympic Gymnastic Team"
for five hours a day, every summer, for at least four years.
By ten-years-old I could land the one legged Kerri Strug Vault routine
better than Kerri Strug.
I had mastered a more believable Romanian accent than Dominique Moceanu had.

And don't even get me started on my track accomplishments.
I ran suicides in my driveway as an eight year old trying to build agility.
My dad had me on a weightlifting routine when I was nine.
Creatine supplements by ten.
I was listening to Tony Robbins inspirational tapes every night before bed
at age eleven.
So don't tell me about want.

But that's just life. We weren't all made to be Olympians.
I guess some of us were just made to watch the Olympic games from
the safety our own little garden level Chicago apartment, living underneath our Jewish owners,
sipping on Two Buck Chuck.
Just living the American dream.
One rent check a month.

Whoa.
Sorry about that, I didn't mean to just get that dark.
But I think it's pretty obvious how deep my desire was rooted to be an Olympic athlete.
You don't just get over something like that in a few (16) years...

What I'm really just trying to say is cheers to the games and all of the athletes involved.
Except for the Chinese gymnasts as I don't believe any of them
are actually old enough to read. Or talk. Or even walk for that matter.
That's probably why they just tumble around to get from one place to the other.

USA! USA! USA!