No Alliteration Thursday: Dear Nastia Liukin

Some family stuff has come up, and I’m going to be unable to do any new writing for the next few days, so I’m dusting off an oldie.

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DiggThisDear Nastia,

I am writing to you today to offer you my sincerest of congratulations. For you see, as an eligible gentleman, I entered this year’s Olympic Games looking for very little but perhaps a little entertainment. And yet, having watched your performances in both the team and individual competitions, I am proud to say you are a winner. A winner of what? Why the greatest prize in the world.

A marriage proposal.

Now, I know there are likely many reservations you are feeling about this no-doubt inspiring and flattering offer. Fortunately, I have taken the time to address these concerns for you so that you can see that this proposal is indeed all that it is cracked-up to be, and not one of those too-good-to-be-true scenarios one often imagines themselves to be in when proposed to be a gentleman of my caliber.

So… You watch gymnastics? Are you sure it’s a woman you’re looking to marry?

Indeed a fair point. One could argue that, appealing as it is to the feminine masses, gymnastics falls just barely in front of All-Nude, All-Male Wrestling on the list of heterosexual things to watch. And yet, when time came for NBC to broadcast your event, where was I? Right smack dab in front of the TV.

So why would a hetero-sexual man in his early twenties feel inclined to watch?

Was it the gyrating in spandex? Maybe for some creepers out there — well, a lot of creepers out there — but alas, in my case, no.

Was it the excellent work done by the NBC telecasters to paint a compelling story of the fierce rivalry with the Chinese team? No, though that did allow me to cheer more openly and be more invested emotionally in gymnastics than I ever would have reckoned I’d find myself.

So what then? Well, I really wanted to see somebody beat those “16-year-olds” from China, because as a camp counselor, there’s nothing I love more than the sight of a crying 12-year-old. It’s why I love the Little League World Series. Continue reading

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