I wake up every morning with my back achier than the day before. I'm developing a widow's peak that rivals Dracula and Pat Riley. I've started to really enjoy "60 Minutes." But none of this makes me feel as old as I feel while watching the Olympics.
First off, all the athletes are so young. Actually, they're not that young - they're normal athlete prime age, but I'm so old, they seem so young. The other day I saw a commercial during speed skating that showed one of the U.S.'s most respected skaters in home movie footage from when he was a small child. It was adorable footage of a tiny little guy, all bundled up in the snow, wearing tiny little ice skates and falling on his tiny little ass over and over. I guess the commercial is showing that at everyone at one point, even the greatest athletes in the world, could do amazing impressions of a baby giraffe. What you're supposed to pay attention to is the small child growing into a gold medal winning Olympian. All I could pay attention to is the date displayed on the screen in the lower left corner. The date was DEC. 17, 1993 - On that date, this Olympian was figuring out how to not fall while standing at the same time I was trying to figure out how I was going to scrounge up enough money to put gas in my car and get a pack of cigarettes. Writing that made me feel older than I did before because I just remembered that gas was 96 cents a gallon back then. And people stilled smoked.
Another way I feel old is, since these Olympics are in Russia, the announcers will bring up the 1984 Los Angeles Summer Games because Russia boycotted these Olympics. They will talk about how long ago it was and that most people won't even remember these games because they were so long ago. You know who remembers these "so long ago" Olympics? Me - Old Man Schwartz - because I was there at these long ago Olympics. They talk about them as if they took place in Julius Caesar's Colosseum instead of Carson Palmer's Colosseum. My family and I drive from Dallas, Texas in a big blue van all the way to Sunny LA so we could attend the Olympics. Although, if you asked me and my brothers we traveled over 1000 miles in Friendly Chevrolet's finest so we could go to Disneyland. I have very fond and defined memories of my first trip to LA and now Bob "One Eye" Costas is speaking about that time as if Moses was on Israel's curling team.
All that makes me feel pretty old, but the oldest I'll feel is whenever the Moguls skiing is on TV. This is the event where the young skiers race downhill over little snowy humps that look like what Frosty the Snowman's sister's chest might have looked like at her Bat-Mitzvah. How do I know Frosty's family was Jewish? Their last name is Snowman. When we watch these events, we're supposed to notice the beauty and grace of the world's greatest athlete's balance and concentration but all I think about is how my knees would explode after the first hump. These spring chickens go over these young snow woman's boobs and are still able to flip 30 feet in the air and land on their feet without even a grimace. I just watch it and immediately have to ice down my whole body.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go yell at some kids to get off my lawn.
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