Whenever the Olympics come back around, I always hear Jerry Seinfeld’s voice in my head asking, “So what’s the deal with nations competing against each other for precious metals? Isn’t nationalism supposed to be unfashionably fascist?”
It’s all very strange. The globalists who insist on running the world from boardrooms and government cathedrals have nothing but contempt for national pride. It makes you wonder: If the “open borders” crowd continues to get its way and jumbles Western populations so thoroughly (note that countries such as Russia, China, and Japan are cleverly sidestepping this whole mass-migration mess) that England ends up looking indistinguishable from Pakistan and Germany resembles Turkey, will there be any nations left to compete in the Olympics? Or will the whole thing devolve into some mindless inanity in which “Team United Nations” plays “Team United Nations” in every event and in every single game?
The whole thing is a depressing mess. I really used to get into the Olympics. Like so many other Americans, I dedicated substantial time and energy to learning the rules of exotic sports that I didn’t even know people played (and secretly wondered, “Could I maybe do that and become a world champion?”). I joined others in crowding near hastily set-up television screens in otherwise dark bars so we could remind each other of all the dizzying historic facts we had only recently learned on TV.
“Well, akshually, so-and-so was a beloved curler and largely responsible for inventing the yipsy-dipsy-twiddle-flip-turn-and-release,” I’m sure I said at least once. Who hasn’t yelled at a screen in front of strangers, “He can’t do that!” or “Did you see what those cheating Russians just did?” I have always taken immense pleasure in discovering a sport, learning all its arcane rules over a few beers, and then transforming into an expert commentator capable of explaining the esoteric minutiae that make this sport I just discovered one of the finest sports ever invented.
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