It’s almost that time of year. Time to don my red, white, and blue attire, and head to the nearest bar to cheer on the U.S. of A, baby. Independence Day II: Winter Version. The greatest show on ice. It’s almost time for the Winter Olympics and I could not be more pumped. I love sports, America, and getting drunk for any occasion, and because of this, the Winter Olympics is my jam. During the Summer Olympics, there are a million other things I could be doing, but in the frigid heart of February, this is it. It’s right after the Superbowl (RIP football), and before March Madness. Basically, it’s the only thing that’s going to keep me going during February.
However, not all sports are created equal. Last Olympics I wrote about all the events I believed I could medal in, and I’m doing it again this year. Once again, let me lay out some backstory so you guys fully understand the athletic prowess you’re dealing with. I played four years of extremely average high school hockey, and have not done any serious cardio since then. I also had hip surgery a couple months ago. However, I am a red-blooded American winning machine and I thrive on competition. Also, I had several beers for lunch and I’m feeling real confident. Here we go.
Sure, it’s one of the most competitive games in the Winter Olympics, but weren’t you reading? I’ve actually played this sport. Have I been on skates since I was 18? No. Was I any good in high school? Also no. But I don’t have to be great. I just have to fake it for long enough for the rest of the team to carry me to a medal. Given that the NHL isn’t allowing its players to play in the Olympics this year, the talent pool has shrunk significantly, and if there’s anything I’m great at, it’s overselling my abilities.
All I have to do is convince some coach that I’m a difference maker, despite being probably 2/3rds the size of everyone else on the ice. Then, I’ll get out there and immediately cheap shot the shit out of their star player. The benches will empty in a fight, I’ll get thrown out of the game, and team USA trades one out-of-shape kid for the opposing team’s lead scorer. Plus, the rest of the team rallies around the serious injuries I no doubt sustain while getting my ass pummeled out there, and they take us to the ship. That’s the kind of sacrifice I’m willing to make for my country.
Result: One silver medal and three weeks in South Korean hospital.
Whaaat the fuck is this? I’ve never heard or seen this event in my life, but as far as I can tell it’s the luge, but crazier and more dangerous. Right up my alley. Basically, you strap yourself to a sled, face down, and hurl yourself down a track to (most likely) your death. I have no reason to believe I’d be good at this, but also no reason to believe I’d be bad. I mean, the track is curved, right? It’s not like I really have to steer. I just have to be one of the people with the balls and/or lack of common sense to throw myself down an ice cliff at…eighty miles per hour?! Son of a bitch. Okay, that’s a little demoralizing, but I’m sure if I pregame enough I can make myself do it. Out of the, like, eleven people that even compete in this event, I’m willing to bet at least eight chicken out, leaving a medal for yours truly. I’ve saucered down some prettyyyy intense hills in my day, so I’m not too worried about this.
Result: A bronze medal to match the color of my pants.
Now, I know this is a sport that requires real physical ability, speed, and training. I also know that it’s fairly popular, so the competition will be fierce. However, I’ve watched enough of this event to know that it could easily come down to luck. Often, the guys in the front of the pack will wipe out while attempting to keep their lead, and the ensuing train wreck takes out most of the competition. All I have to do is keep my head up, stay in the back (as if I have a choice), and avoid the pileup. Either I take home a shocking upset victory or everyone has to wait ten minutes while I slowly finish up the race. Shame or glory, baby, that’s what the Olympics is all about.
Result: Last place or first place. Nothing in between.
I’ve done absolutely no research on the topic, but I’m pretty sure the front man on the sled doesn’t have to get out and push, right? He literally just sits in the sled the whole time? Perfect. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s fucking sitting. This sport was made for me. I can sit for hours. Hell, I’ve been sitting the whole time I’ve been writing this. I’m the MVP of sitting. Plus, steering? Hell, that’s my shit. I used to drift my shitty Volvo all over the mean streets of Los Gatos, and that skill has only been honed in the years since. I drove a delivery van in downtown Chicago for, like, eight months and only totaled it once. Can any of the current bobsledders say that? Didn’t think so. I’m a lock. I don’t want to get too cocky, but – you know what? I’ll say it. I want gold. Give me gold.
Result: Gold. Gold. Gold. Let’s get it.
Yup. The big jump. The one where exquisitely prepared and practiced athletes barely cheat death. I ain’t scared of a little air, baby. Nothing in the rules say you have to land this jump, ok? You just get marked wherever you hit the ground. I’m hella streamlined. I just have to stay on my feet for, like, eight seconds, and let gravity and physics do the rest. Will I die? Absolutely. But will someone hang a medal on my corpse? Also absolutely. I’ve lived a good life in my 26 years on this earth, and I’m ready to go out on top. I’ll soar like an eagle onto that podium, and my rag-doll landing will be replayed by every new channel for weeks. Fame and glory. That’s what I do it all for.
Result: Disqualified after I eat shit getting off the ski lift and twist my ankle.
Just a few weeks left. Time to start practicing. Do you think Spirit flies cheap to PyeongChang? .