I done caught the Olympic fever.

I love me some Olympics. The pageantry, the focus and determination of the athletes, the John Williams soundtrack.

More the pageantry and the John Williams soundtrack, to be honest. Athletes doing well isn’t as interesting to me as athletes doing poorly–and/or throwing fits.

That Swedish wrestler guy threw a classic one.

Oh–and Mark Spitz threw a magnificent one. It’s gained a lot of attention, mostly from folks who didn’t know he shaved off the ’stache. And from folks like me who didn’t know he was still alive.

I love the geopolitics, Bush sitting with Putin while Russian tanks invade Georgia…. The lack of Juan Antonio Samaranch is always pleasant, too.

I even like the rough and tumble involving the nine-year-olds China is attempting to pass off as sixteen-year-old gymnasts.

Can’t quite get behind synchronized diving, though. The Olympic motto is Citius, Altius, Fortius–faster, higher, stronger. Nothing in there about jumping off a platform and doing identical mid-air twisties.

And I don’t much care for the noodle-men pictograms they’re using to represent the various events. The one for rhythmic gymnastics, for instance:

To me, that doesn’t represent rhythmic gymnastics. It says “somehow my left leg has come detached, but fortunately I found this length of rope with which to tie it back on.”