Here we go – found my train.
I’m almost embarrassed to admit that I haven’t been watching much of the Olympics this year. It’s not that I’m not duly impressed and awed by all of the athletic prowess out there – I absolutely am. Probably even more so because of how awful I am at winter sports in general. (Skiing, skating, sledding even…I’ve injured myself in all of them. At least I’m consistent?)
But, for some reason, these games haven’t grabbed me the way some of them have in the past. Maybe it’s because I’m sick of the snow. Or maybe, maybe it’s because I haven’t caught a whiff of as much scandal this year as I have before. Because, when I think about it, I realize that the last time I truly followed the games was 1994.
That was the year of Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding.
That was the year my uncle would call one or both of a them “a witch with a capital B” at Sunday dinners, and I would get the look from my mom before I even attempted to say the word out loud.
That was the year that I followed the sport for the drama.
This year…not so much.
Though, I suppose I could always pick up the tail end of hockey. At least there there’s always fight potential.
Priorities, you know.