Last week I hard some local radio guys talking about the city of Boston sending in a bid to the USOC to host the Olympics in 2024. My first thought was that I was fairly certain the Special Olympics had already been held in Boston, but sure, why not take it on again. It was then that I realized they were talking about the Jim McKay, Bob Costas, NBC Olympics, where every athlete has a back story in which they are competing for a lost loved one, or for having overcome some affliction such as depression or their own virginity. Yes, those games. The ones that bring the whole world together on the largest athletic stage, so we can all lock arms in unison, sing each other’s anthems and cheer on one another’s teams. Yes, cuz in Boston, we’re real good at treating the other teams’ fans like family. A violent, dysfunctional one at that. Perhaps the USOC should, before they make their final decision, attend a Bruins home game vs. Montreal, when the men of that city descend upon Boston for what amounts to a bloodletting in the streets.
The reports indicated Boston’s bid was bolstered by their terrific response to the Marathon bombing. I knew there had to be a silver lining in there somewhere. The other bidders are now trailing us because none of their road races have been sneak-attacked and blown up? If being bombed is such a flashy item to the committee, why don’t we just forget all the United States’ bids and plop the games right in downtown Baghdad? Hell, the torch is already lit, the ground has been razed for construction and the marathon path through the market area is well worn from all the Iraqi’s fleeing.
How exactly did the Boston group impress the USOC I wonder. Did they roll one of those miniature cities out and take to it with a long pointer. “We had a breach here, and another one here, were taken by surprise right here, shit ourselves in this region here, they avoided us in here, four hours later we shot up the town down here, and then while we were looking up in this area and about to quit for the day, Joe Blow noticed his boat was bleeding and….. we pretty much handled it from that point.”
Don’t get me wrong, the first responders did a great job after the Marathon bombing, but in the end it was a guy in Watertown with a boat docked in his yard who ultimately found the terrorist. I’m pretty sure he didn’t spot the terrorist thug and shout, “Allrighty, bring on the Olympics!” In fact you could have spotted the police three clues at that point, 1- Water , 2 – Boat , 3-Town, and they would have been scouring the harbor and the lower Cape for weeks while Dzhokar slowly starved and bled out in the stern of a Starcraft.
In an attempt to impress the committee on the Los Angeles bid and in effect catch up to Boston, L.A. is now considering ways get their first responders and local police into action. One idea being tossed about is exhuming the remains of the late road kill Rodney King, placing said bones behind the wheel at a traffic light, dropping a concrete block on the gas pedal and then standing back to see if the dead Rodney can have the same lightning rod effect that the live one had.
Has anyone on the USOC ever been to Boston in the summer? If Bud Greenspan were still alive in ten years, most likely he’d have opted to stay home for the 2024 Boston games and narrate the action from the couch. “It is Saturday August 11th, the finals of the Olympic Marathon. The temperatures are in the high 90’s; steam is rising from the manhole covers in Boston as onlookers wonder if the entire city has simultaneously taken a steaming dump. For Olga Ritola of Finland, the heat, and the Boston dialect would prove to be too much.”
Olga- “ I got off to a good start, but was waylaid when ceiling tiles from the roof that was built by the same company that did the Big Dig came crumbling down on top of me. I regained my balance, but once again stumbled as lane 4 was occupied with large pot holes and much to my surprise, a toll. I ate clam chowder the night before, it was about then that the salty soup took its revenge. Despite full blown code red diarrhea and a twisted ankle, I soldiered my way back into second. A red faced man in the crowd wearing a Sox hat shouted to me that I was F-%$$# retarded. Taking his inspirational advice, I ran even faster. I was making the final turn when another spectator shouted “You’re wicked pissah.” I wasn’t sure if I was now leaking out front, so I felt around my crotch just long enough to cost myself precious seconds and finished out of medal contention. To this day I still don’t know what the man meant.”
If in the end Boston ends up with the bid, I’m sure I’ll be one of the suckers in line buying up tickets to this once in a lifetime event. The Summer Olympics offers up some great sports viewing. It will be nice to watch a professional basketball team actually win a home game in Boston, to view a boxing match without hearing the background noise of metal coins as they drop into a plastic bucket. We may even get to witness a ball room dance where the male isn’t stumbling up to his partner after five shots at the bar and saying, “Screw dancing honey, lets go out to my car you large titted freak.”
One man who will be happy with a Boston Olympics is New England Patriots owner Bob Kraft. Olympics tend to drive up the need for new venues, so Bob could finally be looking at his own shiny new soccer stadium. Of course that is ten years away. If Bob were really doing the math on this project, what he should do is forget about waiting on the Olympics and drop the stadium in the heart of Southie. If he gets any pushback from the people there, simply sway them over to his side by proclaiming, “It’s not a stadium, it’s going to be a 50,000 seat Irish bar.” And if the Olympics do come to Boston in the summah of 2024, we’ll all be better served packing into Kraft’s Irish Lager House and getting hammered while the rest of world figures out how to get around town for fourteen days.