Thursday, August 2, 2012

Day 214: Feel Free To Turn The Channel Anytime, Partner

I love America, but damn if we can't be a whiny bunch of people. Sweet lord, if I hear, read, or have to witness another person complaining about Olympic coverage I'm going stick a javelin in my eye. For the love of the high jump, people, you have too many choices to seek out badminton, track and field, basketball, tennis, boxing, gymnastics and every other conceivable type of coverage. You're problem is definitely not a lack of coverage. Online. Apps. Internet radio stations. Multiple NBC affiliates. Web sites. Newspapers. And on and on. Count your damn blesses, yo. 

As far as quality goes, short of being teleported onto the same damn basketball court that the Dream Team is thrashing Angola or some other unfortunate scrubs on, what more do you want? Back in the day, your damn parents and grandparents might have gotten one camera angle delivered in black and white and all herky and jerky, and they were astonished such quality was humanly possible. You're bitching about having to live with tape-delayed coverage delivered in pristine HD? Talk a walk around the block, oh entitled one, and get a grip. You live in the grandest, more technologically advanced period in history. Revel in it. Stop complaining about what it owes you. 

We Americans, meanwhile, live in the most privileged, overstuffed nation in the world. We expect too much because we have too much. I'm having trouble picturing scads of town's folks living in some tiny country that you and I can't pronounce all gathered around the lone  television set in a 50-mile radiance spewing out a constant stream of tweets to their legions of Twitter followers focused on what a piece of sh*t their country's equivalent of Bob Costas is. If you don't like what's being shown, here's an idea: Buy a ticket and fly over the pond and watch the damn events you want to in person or turn the TV to one of the other 450 stations on the dial and stop moaning. Your mammy and pappy had maybe three channels to "surf," ingrate. 

Personally, I don't like gymnastics. What do I do when it's on? Go out in the garden and pick weeds until it's over. I do like track and field, so I watch what is shown and am thankful for it. Seriously, the Olympics last two weeks every four years. It brings together not only athletes but citizens from a couple hundred countries all to one location where they intertwine peacefully and happily. They participate in an event that stretches back centuries. At what other time does this occur? Isn't that enough? Isn't that plenty to just be grateful for? Isn't the fact that you're sitting on a big fat couch with cool air pumping out vents in the floor with a big bad bag of chips on your lap and beer between your legs while sitting in front of a billboard-sized TV enough to look upward and say, "Whatever forces are at world, thank you for letting me born in this country, where I can watch an insane assortment of television programs at any time of the day or night, record them for later if I choose, including multiple stations' worth of Olympics action. Thank you, oh sweet forces, for I am truly blessed." 


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