Bi-Curious?
Ooh, is it time for the Winter Olympics again?
Thank you, poverty, for ensuring that I will not be afflicted by more than one channel of non sequitur sports and inane human-interest stories about the people behind the packaged competition.
Not that I as an unrepentant Minnesotan am totally averse to some snowy citius-altius-fortius. It's just that my interest in this particular collection of sports tends to be inflamed in direct proportion to their eccentricity, if not downright insanity.
Curling, for instance, is just plain odd as a concept. But I'm too familiar with it by virtue of a northerly upbringing to be overly critical. Now, luge and skeleton (pick your poison, indeed) are well up there in their extremity quotient; you have to wonder about the mental state of the first luger in a way that you wouldn't about the creator of curling. (Abundant winter, beer, and cabin fever explain a lot, believe me.)
But there is no contest on the craziest winter sport: the biathlon.
Take a loaded rifle into the woods. (Wait, it gets better.) Cross-country ski for thousands of yards. Every so often, drop to the ground and try to pick off some tiny metal target paddles. Repeat ad libitum until someone ends up with a medal.
This has got to be, of any winter sport, the one with the greatest real-world utility. If nothing else, knowing there's a population of spandex-clad crack-shot skiers keeps those shifty Canadians honest and on their side of the border.
Don't think we're not watching...
Thank you, poverty, for ensuring that I will not be afflicted by more than one channel of non sequitur sports and inane human-interest stories about the people behind the packaged competition.
Not that I as an unrepentant Minnesotan am totally averse to some snowy citius-altius-fortius. It's just that my interest in this particular collection of sports tends to be inflamed in direct proportion to their eccentricity, if not downright insanity.
Curling, for instance, is just plain odd as a concept. But I'm too familiar with it by virtue of a northerly upbringing to be overly critical. Now, luge and skeleton (pick your poison, indeed) are well up there in their extremity quotient; you have to wonder about the mental state of the first luger in a way that you wouldn't about the creator of curling. (Abundant winter, beer, and cabin fever explain a lot, believe me.)
But there is no contest on the craziest winter sport: the biathlon.
Take a loaded rifle into the woods. (Wait, it gets better.) Cross-country ski for thousands of yards. Every so often, drop to the ground and try to pick off some tiny metal target paddles. Repeat ad libitum until someone ends up with a medal.
This has got to be, of any winter sport, the one with the greatest real-world utility. If nothing else, knowing there's a population of spandex-clad crack-shot skiers keeps those shifty Canadians honest and on their side of the border.
Don't think we're not watching...
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