It’s time once again for America to sit down in front of its collective television (made in Japan), crack open its collective beer (brewed in Germany), and wave its tiny American flags (hand-crafted in China)—the Olympics are here! Yes, twenty-four hours a day of such scintillating amateur sports as Ping-Pong, synchronized swimming and full-contact Yahtzee.

The Olympics are my own personal nightmare.

I don’t know exactly what it is about them that makes me so unhappy. I know part of it stems from the fact that during the 1992 Summer Olympics I ate some bad pizza and threw up all over our patio (a fact that I, to this day, blame on a particularly heated weightlifting event.)

It could also be because of Mr. Kenik, my arch nemesis and middle school gym teacher. Most horrible things, including the sinking of the Titanic and Christina Aguilera’s career, can be traced back to him somehow. But at least some of my hatred of the Olympics is directly his fault, as is the explosion of the Hindenburg, but we won’t get into that.

All through elementary and middle school Mr. Kenik, whose name translates into "Rudy, Destroyer of Young Uncoordinated Souls" in several different languages, forced us to put on, for the entertainment of our parents, teachers, and any sadists who happened to wander in off the streets, a Junior Olympics.

The Junior Olympics were, in essence, the Bataan Death March of gymnastics, in which we had to come up with our own three-move routine, which would then be critiqued, through loud guffaws, knee-smacks and pointing, by Mr. Kenik and the crowd.

My routine never varied: sit down cross-legged (which, according to Mr. Kenik, is considered a gymnastic move), do a somersault, and end in a tripod.

For those of you who are naïve, unscathed newcomers to the world of the Junior Olympics, a tripod is simply a headstand in which you don’t extend your legs to the sky, but rather allow them to flail uselessly around you as you crush your skull into the gym floor.

I am the undisputed master of the tripod. Every once in awhile, usually after a trip to the bar (because beer promotes stability), I practice, just to make sure I can still do it. The tripod is the only even slightly athletic skill I have, and it hasn’t done me a bit of good in life. ("Miss Shable, while your tripod is truly radical, I’m afraid it doesn’t really qualify you to be the pope.")

But I think the main thing I despise about the Olympics is that they turn my friends into zombies for two weeks. I know people who have never watched, participated in, or even been within 500 feet of a sport while it was being played who can sit for hours in front of the television, simply engrossed in a hammer throw.

Their houses could be on fire, and they would just sit there, glassy-eyed, mouths ajar, mumbling "must… know… winner… of… equestrian jumping competition."

To these people I say look around you! There are hundreds of Olympic-quality events happening right here on campus!

Take, for example, the team 500-Meter-Walk-As-Slow-As-You-Can-While Holding-Hands-With-Your-Partner-Through-Convo,-Thus-Preventing-Those-Behind-You From-Reaching-the-Tray-Return-Before-Their-Next-Classes,-or-Even-The-Next-School-Year event.

And what about the old standby, the Empty Bottle Toss From the Top of Kilhefner event?

There is no reason for us to be glued to our televisions when there are is a world of sports occurring all around us. Therefore, I encourage you to do as I do, and boycott the Olympics!

At least until they make the tripod an event. Then, I’m so there.