Torino About to Melt
Maybe it’s the early May afternoon passing by the windows in this building on January 27, but I have no interest in the Winter Olympics, now 14 days and one Super Bowl away.
Can we be walking around Suck’s Lake in shorts watching kids fish and lovers snuggle and still expect to foam at the mouth that evening about the U.S.’s chances in luge?
I suppose if I skied or skeletoned (basically sliding on ice atop a shiny hot plate at 70 mph) or rolled a Frosty up in my front yard, I might be inclined to watch.
Or maybe if I lived in Colorado or Lucerne.
As it is now, the biggest news about Torino has been Bode Miller’s confession that he sometimes races under the influence, or at least that his BAC the morning after renders him Otis-like. Of course, Otis only let himself into the Mayberry hoosegow; Miller is letting himself through slalom gates at femur snapping speeds.
I’ll probably watch a little, just to see some snow, ice and well-coiffed and turned out European sophisticates in Spandex and fur.
Meanwhile, pass the sun tan lotion.