Be it resolved the Olympics should be limited to discus and Greco-Roman wrestling.

Post Super Bowl letdown wouldn’t be quite so painful if we weren’t staring right into the hungry jaws of the Winter Olympics. Oh the humanity! Why must we now endure two full weeks of this stuff displacing quality reality shows from prime time and sludging up the DVR with an utterly predictable parade of stage-mothered and fathered figure skaters, wacked out half-pipers, and gritty dreamers from the snow free tropics and sub-Vatican sized former Soviet satellites? You know it’s going to be more of the usual Cinderella stories, last hurrahs, and miraculous recoveries from career ending injuries. And must we once again be regaled with those familiar tales of family devotion and personal sacrifice about contestants who, in lieu of attending the funeral, dedicate their short programs or preliminary heats to the deceased? Even if you were authorized to fast forward through the di-saccharide crystals (I’m not) you’re stuck watching the events themselves which are basically one form or another of sliding on frozen water which is slippery to begin with. And aren’t these things really activities rather than sports? How about testing some relevant winter skills like climbing out of a mile deep crevasse, outrunning an avalanche with a pre-handicapped head start, or putting a rear wheel drive Camaro into a controlled skid on black ice? One might well ask why no aerial wolf strafing. But no, it’s all that silly stuff, like curling (gimmee a break), luge (how do we know these guys are even awake when they’re racing), ladies’ ice jumping (tenaciously still referred to as figure skating), and the silliest of all, ice hockey (three halves-what’s that about). And will someone please explain the excitement about bronze and silver medals. Aren’t these people technically losers?