I love the Olympics. Ever since I was a little girl, I've watched the Olympics. The only one I missed was the 1988 one in Seoul (I really wanted to see this one) because I was a freshman in college without a TV. Here are some of my thoughts:
- The athletes don't walk in in a nice orderly way. This bothers me and not just because I'm anal that way. I find that watching older opening cermonies, the athletes had such dignity. It's missing in this present day and age.
- There are too many commercial breaks. I think more so than before. And, what's up with all the Obama commercials? Yuck. I turn the channel during those.
- Michael Phelps is an awesome athlete. I love how he searches for his mother in the stands. She is so proud of her son. You can tell that is a very loving relationship. Just tonight I saw him give his sister the bouquet he received for winning the gold in…well, I can't remember.
- I always have found it difficult when USA goes against South Korea. Please don't flame me. Korea is my native land. Fortunately, I was able to root wholeheartedly for Park Tae Hwan. I just wish I could've seen that medal ceremony. I, once, sang the Korean national anthem during an international day assembly when I was in the 4th grade. To this day, I cringe thinking about it because I can't carry a tune to save my life.
- My son is handy to have around. He's got a computer for a brain so whenever I can't figure out the country of a particular person or team (because I refuse to wear my glasses unless I'm driving) he tells me. And, it's not because he's good at figuring out the abbreviations of the countries, it's because he's an expert at country flags. One of the many blessings of autism.
- I can't stand the suspense! I want to check results for all the events before watching so I will know whether to be cheering wildy or not. Isn't that just beside the point? Oh, well.
- I love all the great human interest stories in the Olympics.
So, in closing, (as my Irish priest put it) three cheers for the USA and one for South Korea.
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