Beijing Beef

I am nothing if not a huge Olympics fan. I can remember watching every Olympics back to 1988 in Seoul when the roid-racing Ben Johnson blew everyone away with a 9.79 in the 100m dash. He was disqualified after testing positive for stanozolol three days later. But I was in love -- not with Ben Johnson, but with the Olympics.

So naturally I was stoked for this year's games in Beijing. I've been able to watch a lot of the events because this month I've got a great schedule. Overall, I have been really happy with the way things have gone, but I do have a couple of beefs with Beijing.

1) Chinese gymnasts being replaced with prepubescent cyborgs. Olympic policy is that the athletes must turn 16 during the year of competition, and if you've seen these Chinese girls, you know that such cannot possibly be the case. The girls produced Chinese passports "proving" their legal age, but the world smells a rat. Just a few days ago, I found an article, published earlier this year, on the Chinese government's OWN NEWS WEBSITE stating that gymnast He Kexin was 13 years old. That article has since been removed from the site. Basically, the Chinese government just told the world, "These aren't the droids you're looking for."

2) I am in absolute awe of Michael Phelps. To do what he has done, with all the pressure on him, is phenomenal in the truest sense of the word. I love sports because I love finding out who will wilt under the pressure and who will come through. He reminds me of Michael Jordan: the perfect combination of talent and the will to dominate.

So where's the beef? Well, I heard a few people say this past week that it "would be good for swimming and for Michael Phelps" if he lost. Uh, no. This is an example of when people just say things to get attention but have no clue what they're talking about. How, exactly, would it be good for swimming? The more Phelps does, the more attention he brings to the sport. Losing his bid for eight golds would have brought less attention, not more. His story is now everlasting, and will capture the imagination of more children and get them in the pool because people will still be talking about it for years and decades to come.

And what of this nonsense that it "would be good for Phelps" if he lost? It's true that defeat early in an athlete's career can provide motivation for later greatness. But Phelps already did that -- four years ago in Athens, the first time he tried for 8 golds in one Olympics. Beijing represented the last attempt at something of this magnitude, so what purpose would defeat have served? To fire him up to nail down 4/4 golds next time? I don't buy it. Go come up with some other weightless argument, maybe something about how it's actually good for America to get fatter, or how Lucky Charms are neither lucky nor charms.

3) The Opening Ceremonies were great, until I found out that some of the fireworks may have been about as authentic as Panda Express. Also, the cute little girl who sang the song was lip-synching; apparently the real singer wasn't attractive enough for TV, and was relegated to singing off camera. That sends a great message, don't you think? "Kids, you may have loads of talent on the inside, but it's what's outside that counts." Imagine the backlash if this happened in America. . . .

Arm Amputation Recommended for Wunderkind Yankee Pitcher

Joba Chamberlain, New York Yankee pitching phenom, received some sobering news Tuesday evening regarding his recent shoulder injury.

Chamberlain, 22, left Monday night's game against the Texas Rangers in the 6th inning complaining of shoulder pain. After an MRI in Arlington, Chamberlain flew to Alabama to be examined by 

the world-famous orthopedic surgeon and noted arm injury expert Dr. James Andrews. After conducting a thorough examination and additional imaging studies, Dr. Andrews concluded that the only appropriate treatment would be amputation.

"Joba's pitching shoulder is damaged beyond hope. He's done irreparable harm to it by throwing that famed 100-mph gas of his. Thing is, if I just take the right arm, he might learn to throw lefty and then ruin that shoulder, too. So I've decided to just go ahead and cut off both of them."

Upon hearing the news, Chamberlain immediately inquired as to how long it would take for his arms to grow back so he could pitch again.

"I didn't even know what to say," said a mystified Dr. Andrews.

Chamberlain has drawn heavy criticism this year for his excessive celebrations and head-hunting pitching style. Many in the media are already wondering if this injury represents some sort of karma.

"I've seen him pump his meaty little fists after striking out some no-name in the second inning," commented a Boston Globe sportswriter who wished not to be identified. "I guess that won't be happening anymore."

Prior to Dr. Andrews' bombshell, many figured Chamberlain would simply miss a start or two; most anticipated he would be back in time for a potential Yankee playoff run. But no one could have foreseen this.

"First Phil Hughes and Ian Kennedy (two other highly acclaimed New York pitchers) stink up the joint, and now our one good starter has to have his arms cut off," quipped Brian Cashman, the team's general manager. "Fortunately for us, we're the Yankees. We'll get some more arms from small-market teams strapped for cash." When asked which pitchers he was considering acquiring, Cashman clarified, "No, I mean arms as in actual arms. We don't want the whole pitcher, we just want everything from the shoulder to the fingertips."

Chamberlain has a 2.63 ERA and a 4-3 record this season.

What Not To Do With a Pacifier

This is my daughter, Madeline, getting her game face on. Note: her hair is actually light brown, not red.  Anyway, we're getting ready to follow game 4 in the post-Manny Red Sox era. The first three games have been wins, and we've got high hopes for tonight.  


The Red Sox are not the topic of this post, however. The topic is my daughter's growing dexterity. She's figured out how to take her pacifier out of her mouth and how to put it back in. The other day, she was doing this very thing while also playing with her stuffed hippo. I noticed a rather objectionable behavior, and said the following:

"Madeline, pacifier doesn't go in hippo's bum."

Malerie, sitting nearby, started choking with laughter and very nearly spat her milk out all over the place.

Who says parenthood isn't exciting?

Casting Change in "Twilight" Drives Stake Through Hearts of Women Everywhere

Females across the nation are in mourning in the wake of today's announcement of a casting change for the role of "Edward" in the upcoming movie Twilight. The movie, based on the eponymous book by author Stephanie Meyer, features the heartthrob Edward as perhaps the only vampire whom most women wouldn't fight if he asked to drink their blood. Hunky Edward was set to be played by the little-known yet devastatingly handsome Robert Pattinson. . .at least until today. According to producers, that role has now been given to Christopher Mintz-Plasse, best known for his work as "McLovin" in Superbad.

When asked why they made such a drastic decision so late in the process -- much of the shooting had already been completed -- director Christopher Wren says, "If we want to market our movie to people besides women age 16-45, we need something in there besides a dreamy vampire. We need a dreamy vampire who wears glasses, farts a lot, and is socially awkward. We need McLovin."

"I'm at a total loss," comments crazed Twilight fan Brenda Gowdry of Sioux City, Iowa. "I read all of Ms. Meyer's books fantasizing about the day Edward would take me away to his lair and give me passionate, toothy kisses. Edward makes me swoon. McLovin makes me barf."

Other fans remain convinced that the casting change was done out of spite. "I just know my boyfriend is behind this," claims 17-year-old Jane Theyer. "He complains that ever since Edward came into my life, I've made unreasonable demands of him. Whatever. I even offered to pay for those incisor implants and for the set of 30 satin capes, and he still balked."

Yet not everyone sees the switch as a negative. Mintz-Plasse, for example, describes himself as "stoked to the max" to don the cape and fangs. "I plan on bringing my own natural charm to the role," he says, yet also admits he knows little about the character. "As long as Edward's one of those vampires that acts like an idiot and gets drunk in public a lot, I've got it made."

The movie is due out December 12.

The Bus Thing That Ever Happened To Me

I finished my work at the hospital earlier than anticipated this morning, leaving me in a quandary over how to get back home. Malerie was at church with the car and had her cell phone off. What to do? Walk? That would take like 5 hours and I'd most likely keel over on the way. Ask my attending for a ride home? Probably frowned-upon, especially since he lives in the opposite direction. Then a thought occurred to me--with my phat monthly income of $0, I could probably spring for a taxi.

So I checked into cab fares, and I fully intend to report my findings to the Better Business Bureau. Have you seen the racket these cabbies have going? $35 for a 12-mile ride?? For that kind of coin I ought to be going by helicopter, or at least one of those crappy stretch-Geo "limos."

My last option was none other than The Working Man's Champion, The People's Choice--the city bus. Always an adventure in sounds and smells, the bus offers many people the one thing they desperately need. And what might that be? Conveyance? No. Shelter? Wrong again. What many bus riders are really looking for is a captive audience. Go ride one sometime if you don't believe me. You'll feel like an actual captive.

Upstairs in the hospital, I planned out my route online, hoping I wouldn't get to hear about a co-passenger's intestinal complaint again (this actually happened). And then I remembered February 2003.

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In February 2003, I was a missionary living in Costa Rica. Another missionary and I had been travelling down near the Panamanian border and were due to return to San José, a healthy seven hours away. As the bus approached, my companion informed me that he had forgotten to buy tickets, which meant we would be riding standby. Rapture. We would be able to sit as long as no other passenger boarded with a ticket for our seat. The first three hours, mercifully, we were able to sit down.

That changed all too soon, as I suddenly found myself standing, packed into the back of the bus like a sardine. Despite my efforts to be a good soldier, I soon started noticing how uncomfortably hot the bus was becoming, what with the wall-to-wall people. Costa Ricans are under the impression that exposure to any sort of cool air causes serious illness, so opening the windows on that inferno bus was out of the question. I even tried to sneakily crack one open an inch or two and steal some air, but the other passengers balked.

After standing in the heat for two hours, I started feeling nauseous. What could I do? There certainly weren't any sickness bags to be found. Thanks to my shenanigans with the window, the other passengers had edged me to the center of the aisle, so I had no easy way to open the window if the worst should happen. Like any good missionary, I cast my eyes to the heavens...

...and saw the emergency exit. Perhaps I could somehow pop open that hatch and release my burden? But nauseous or not, I didn't want my head getting lopped off by a low hanging branch. I thought about just exploding all over the place--that would serve these people right for not giving me window privileges. But then I would have to stand in my own vomit for two more hours.

It soon became apparent that I would need to act, and fast. Desperately, I lunged toward the nearest window, landing, arms extended, on the laps of a seated man and his young daughter. Still laying across their knees, I forced open the window and tossed a surprise into the night. Relief was instant, but also temporary. 30 seconds later, I did it again.

Missionaries are there to answer questions, but I'm almost positive those two poor souls didn't board that bus wondering, "I wonder what it feels like to have someone wretch while in physical contact with me?" But maybe they were.

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Perhaps now you can understand my aversion to buses. Fortunately for me and the other passengers, today's trip home was much less eventful. It cost a total of $2.25, so I can buy more motion sickness bags. Plus, the driver looked just like this guy:













Maybe next time, I'll get Mini-Me or even Mr. Bigglesworth.