By Marla Boone
Contributing columnist
Can a person die of confusion? Gosh, I hope not. Confusion pretty rampantly reigns at my house but with the Olympics, it wasn’t so much rampant as it was the exclusive mind set.
Disclaimer- I did not see the opening ceremony because I was out of town, living in an eighteen-foot travel trailer that barely had hot water, much less Internet, television, and privacy. I realize that to some purists, having any hot water at all while camping is the very definition of obscene excess but I never claimed to be a purist. Hot showers are relaxing versus cold showers which are good only as cures for impure thoughts. If you don’t understand the previous sentence, you were never taught by nuns.
But out of the campground and back to Paris. Apparently, some people were very offended by the opening ceremonies. Some people are always very offended. It’s their go-to emotion. Since I didn’t see it, I, of course, upon my return to what passes for civilization, Googled it. Google had lots to say. The initial thing it said was that the artistic director of the ceremonies was attempting to channel the Greek god Dionysus. The first thing I thought was, well that’s appropriate since the Olympics began in Greece. The second thing I thought was, the opening ceremony has an artistic director? The significance of Marie Antoinette holding her lately departed head was too artistic for me to grasp.
Dionysus is the god of ritual madness. Isn’t that perfect? While I certainly admire the athletic skill of these hundreds of participants, if there is one phrase that defines the modern games it is ritual madness. We have a fine Louisiana boy, late of the Bayou Teche, pole vaulting for Sweden. We have a man boxing women. We have some sort of illegal turn that disqualifies swimmers. We have coaches explaining to the judges how to judge. We have some of the events taking place ten thousand miles away from the host city. We have triathletes swimming in the Seine. Have you ever seen the Seine? It is not, I assure you, filled with pristine water. And then we have that French pole vaulter. If you thought the Internet lit up about the opening ceremonies, it was a dim bulb indeed compared to the comments on the French pole vaulter who cleared the bar with every single part of his anatomy except one. It wasn’t his arm, it wasn’t his leg, it wasn’t his head.
The only thing more unbelievable than an athlete knocking down a pole vaulting bar with his private parts was the never-ending specter of Snoop Dogg. For reasons that passeth understanding, NBC decided Snoop Dogg’s presence and endless patois would be an asset to Olympic reporting. It is possible that NBC hired the opening ceremony artistic director to make this determination. It’s the only way to explain it.
Mr. Dogg, former member of the Rollin’ 20s Crips gang, a frequent guest of the state for cocaine possession, and accused murderer, has cheered us with the good news he has abandoned the gang style and has embraced the pimp style. Phew! Talk about upwardly mobile.
He is now so upward he was seen in full dressage habit, complete with helmet, cruising the equestrian events with fellow wild child Martha Stewart. It would be great if he identified with the whole horse instead of just the posterior end
Marla Boone resides in Covington and writes for Miami Valley Today.
