Going for Gold 2022
It was quite the surprise to find out in reading Indy’s “Local Athlete Races on Sled Team,” that one of the Olympian bobsledders was from Newport Beach. What wasn’t reported, but rumored, was that as a boy he sunk more bobsleds in the bay than his father could afford. “Son. It’s not a boat. Quit thinking it is. Pay attention to these flash cards. Boat. Bobsled. Boat. Bobsled.” Kerplunk. Another bobsled into the brink. Only dad’s advice didn’t sink in. The boy was sent to Lake Placid Boarding School where he eventually got back on track.
As a boy, I use to dream of winning the gold. What American doesn’t? Well, DACA kids, that’s who. I couldn’t imagine a better thing to do. You work once every four years for two weeks. You win. You get multi-million dollar sponsorship deals. Go on vacation. Do it again in the next four years. Win the gold. And on and on until the world finds out that you were doing inappropriate triple axels in the Olympic Village women’s dormitories. And now you have to give back all those multi-million dollar deals to lawyers who bill eight years for every four. Better to dream of being a lawyer, if you want to keep the gold.
My wife and I watched a lot of the Olympics. I asked her one night, “What’s your favorite event?” She answered, “Curling.” I was amazed. “That’s so boring. You can’t be serious.” She gave me the skunk eye. “Curling is sexy. It’s about real men, caring men, who lift a broom, sweep like mad to help around the house. What woman wouldn’t want that?” I hesitated. Then let fly, “Well, a woman who doesn’t want a room with one clean track and the rest untouched and dirty. You’re better off with me where the dirt is uniformly spread out.” Kerplunk. I got hit with a Swiffer Sweeper. I eventually came around. But should this happen again and I don’t make the next Olympics, CSI should match dirty footprints to my wife’s. Kerplunk. “Don’t tell readers that.”
My wife and I are now in therapy. The therapist is helping us find common ground to build on. My wife and I found out that we agree on the worst Olympic sporting events. We don’t like the two-man bobsled and the four-man bobsled events. Neither of us could imagine having all those back seat drivers. “Go faster. You’re going to hit the wall. You’re over-steering. You’re under-steering.” And if that’s not annoying enough, they just sit there all 6 foot plus, 250 lbs. of them doing nothing, just along for the ride. The only good in it is that the driver didn’t have to bring childproof seats to the games because these mooks have outgrown them.
The thought made my wife and I chuckle. It looked like we were on the mend for the next Olympics. We ended the therapy session on what Olympic event was our favorite. We bonded on the luge. The therapist helped us visualize picking people in our past, who had done us wrong. We would picture putting these nincompoops in a luge, lying down, with arms tucked under, facing first, without helmets hurtling down the track at 70 miles per hour. Ahh, all’s well that ends badly. Can’t wait to go for gold in 2022. Count us in.
Crantz tells the Indy that Team Crantz is back.
