The Games

I talked to someone today who has yet to watch any Olympic coverage. How is that possible?  Most people I know had been waiting all summer for the Games to begin.  During Friday evening's highly anticipated Opening Ceremonies of the XXX Olympiad, my sister and I were texting wildly back and forth.  Here's a snippet of a highlight in our conversation (nearly verbatim):

Me: I keep waiting for Mary Poppins to arrive.

Melissa: Ha! *then, on a teacher-brain note: I'm definitely using YouTube clips of this when I teach the Industrial Revolution.

Both of us at the same time a little while later: OMG! There's Mary Poppins!

Sara in the background: Hey, there's Harry Moppins!

(a repeat picture, lest you forget the depths of our love)

Here's the thing about the Olympics: watching makes me SO nervous.  I get butterflies in my stomach, I bite my nails, I can hardly sit still.  I feel like I'm the parent or sibling of a competitor ... or even the competitor herself.  It's a little ridiculous.  Finally, last night, when the men's gymnastics team started to crumble, I grabbed my laptop and quickly opened the yahoo.com article with the red disclaimer: "Spoiler alert!"  In the interest of staying pregnant for a few more weeks, I felt like it was my only option.  And after learning that the men weren't able to come back from their early demise, I was able to watch for the rest of the evening without the fear of going into labor as a result of my myriad nervous ticks.

Today when all of the Facebook chatter started about women's gymnastics, and people were up in arms over the spoiler alerts, I quickly navigated my way back to a news source that would allow me to find the standings.  Once again, I can watch tonight for enjoyment, without having to pace the room preoccupied with my concerns over the final scores.  In my research today, I also learned that Michael Phelps won another gold.  When I watch his relay race tonight in prime time and see the shots of his mom clenching her fists in the stands as he dives into the pool, I won't have a knot in the pit of my stomach.  How nice.

I haven't always been so open to spoiler alerts, especially during the much-anticipated Winter Games of 1994.  The EPFSC girls and parents had made plans to gather at the Chaska Community Center to watch Nancy Kerrigan go for gold weeks after her merciless beat down by Tonya Harding's white trash homies.  Even pre-internet, I learned before viewing that Nancy would be going home with silver.  Oh, the disappointment.  Stupid Oksana Baiul and her feathery dress and huge bangs and obnoxiousness.  (Because I think you all deserve to be entertained, I'll insert here that, years later, I learned that Steve had a pretty wicked crush on Nancy Kerrigan in the early nineties.  For the record, he also wanted her to win the gold.)

I'm not sure what has turned me toward the anti-climatic.  It really is so unlike me.  Be it my age, my pregnant state, or my dislike for being wide-awake and wired when prime time ends at 11:00 each night, I'm all about the spoiler alerts this summer (which doesn't mean I'm not watching until 11:00; it just means I can fall asleep more quickly at the end of the night's events).  I won't hate on you, NBC and other credible media outlets stationed in London.  You're inadvertently making my veiwing experiences more pleasant than ever.

Three cheers for Team USA!  May the odds be ever in your favor!