Olympic Dreams

The XXX Olympics are almost over now so here are a few of my musings about them and Olympics in general. For me, the only redeeming social value of the opening exercises was the torch at the end. So what that it can't be seen from outside the arena. Wah, wah, give it up. The last Olympics in China will forever be the standard by which all other opening ceremonies will be measured...and they will come up short. There were outstanding examples of true Olympic sportsmanship, especially the kid that traded his name bib with the guy from South Africa with no feet. The runner from Granada who won gold is the epitome of class. Not so much for the gringa vaulter who should have won gold but landed on her butt and didn't have the class to congratulate the winner. She was embarrassing. Ussain Bolt is not human. The biggest drawback of the Olympics is the fact that I'm so distracted by shiny objects. Every night when I came home from work with every intention to do the million things I need to do in order to be ready for seminary next week I'd park my fat butt in front of the TV to watch "just a couple minutes". Blink, blink. It's midnight and time to go to bed. Those poor, poor seminary students. Another good thing is that I /we watch things we'd absolutely never pay to see unless we are related to a participant. Ping pong, badminton, gymnastics, track, water polo, rowing and anything else in the water, volley ball, etc. OK, maybe beach volleyball. Rhythmic gymnastics is as much a sport as poker or checkers or breathing. Probably the very best is that there are winners and losers. You don't, as an editorial writer in the Tucson paper suggested, get a medal for participating. I'm as happy as the rest of us gringos that we won the most medals, but I'm a bit happier for those countries that one their first. Especially Guatemala. Way to walk fast buddy! You should have won gold because the Chinese guy was JOGGING! I'm just saying...

Shakespeare Saved My Life

Back in the Paleozoic era when I was in high school, there was this thing called the draft. No, it wasn't a pleasant little breeze wafting along to keep you cool. Oh no, it was the way Uncle Sam maintained canon fodder for the rather unpopular war in Vietnam. They could actually force a young man like me into the army. That left us Mormon boys who wanted to go on a mission with a year of jeopardy since we were draft able at 18 but had to be 19 to serve a mission. We had four choices after graduation, go to Vietnam, go to college, go to Canada, or go to jail. I had seen both Canada and jail and wasn't much impressed with either one but really couldn't afford college since my dad had died that Spring and my grades, though adequate, were less than stellar. My seminary teacher, Brother Empty, rode to my rescue. He had seen my performance as Nick Bottom, the weaver, in Shakespeare's "A Mid-Summer Night's Dream" and wangled a drama scholarship for me at Ricks College in the frozen tundra of Rexburg, Idaho. That scholarship, coupled with $115 a month from Social Security allowed me to major in draft-evasion and minor in girls until I got my call to the Guatemala-El Salvador Mission. The scholarship was for $200 a semester which covered tuition and most of my fees and books. While in Guatemala, they came up with the lottery system for the draft. They put all 366 possible birthdates in a big fish bowl then pulled them out one at a time. When they drew the one with your birth date on it, that became your draft number. They drafted numbers 100 to 150 each year. My number was 256. They would draft women and children before me. Don't get me wrong, I'm no grand peace nick. I wound up joining the Air Force later and served for more than twenty years. I just wanted to serve as a missionary first. Thanks to Mr. Shakespeare and Brother Empty I was able to do just that.