SOS loves watching the Olympics. He is the quintessential spectator (he asks me to play Wii so he can watch) and really gets fired up for the underdog or the athlete who achieves something truly outstanding.
Of course, I think if you make the Olympic team (except maybe the Jamaican bob-sledding team) you have a superhuman athletic ability. The level of perfection, the absolute control over mind and body and the punishing practice schedules of these athletes simply amaze me (and it ooks me out a little).
The differences are measured in centimeters, in milli-seconds and toe position. Listening to the commentators — “ooh, a toe went off the mat and this athlete has stumbled in her pursuit of the gold” — can make you want to scream. When was the last time a “toe fault” deprived you of a career-crowning accolade? And it didn’t matter which toe — big toe or pinky toe. In this type of precise competition, one would think that there would be no detail left unparsed when docking an athlete points on a performance.
But I digress.
Because it is the Olympics fortnight, we let SOS stay up later than usual to watch parts of it. The combination of days at camp running around and late nights spectating with an intense concentration inevitably leads to a bit of a tired-boy tantrum on about day 10. (It also happens during the winter games.)
Day 10 arrives. POB is already in her jammies and reading a book and I am trying to archive photos in date order. So, we are ill-prepared for the bi-ennial ritual.
I walk into his room amid the tears and lamentations (biblical, really). “Dude, listen to me!! Listen to me!! This is awesome!! This is an Olympic-quality tantrum!! Mommy, come here QUICK!!”
POB runs in: “OMG, [SOS] you have surged past everyone in your class!!”
I say to him, “The winner from the United States of America, [full name of SOS]. Please stand as the national anthem of the gold medal winner is played.”
SOS looks at us like we are crazy.
“Dude, STAND UP. WITH YOUR HAND OVER YOUR HEART. OTHERWISE YOU MAY BE DISQUALIFIED!!!!”
He has medals from camp lying around, so I put one around his neck (without throttling him). We all stand with our hands over our hearts and belt out the Star Spangled Banner, changing some of the words to reference just how he is torturing us.
As we finished the anthem, I guide him to the bathroom to wash up.
I bet he fell asleep before his head hit his pillow.