Gymnastics Wrap-Up

While watching the gymnastics last night I thought about my mother who is a kindergarten teacher. She is always getting her kids to collect margarine containers and plastic bags and egg cartons so they can make crafty things like butterflies and letter holders. And I wondered, how would one construct a male gymnast?

I would probably get an old pair of tights and stuff them full of balled-up newspapers, then get some wool and tie off FREAKING HUGE BULGING sections to represent their gargantuan biceps. Then I would staple some strips of cooked fettuccini to the newspaper biceps to represent the FREAKING HUGE BULGING veins. Maybe a cornflake box for a chest, some toilet roll legs. I was just trying to figure what to use for the FREAKING HUGE BULGING crotch area (egg cartons?) when I realised it was probably not an appropriate activity for little kiddies.

Anyway, the gymnastics were a cracker this year, no? We have the Hamm Medal Cock-Up, The Khorkina Strop, The Khorkina Hissy Fit, Trouble In Ring County and The Alexi Nemov Rumpus. I won't rehash these stories, but will say that Sexy Alexi can come over and tell me to hush up anytime.

Now the great Nadia Comaneci has piped up to say the Gymnastics Overlords need to get the scoring dodginess sorted once and for all. But I say no! More controversy! More appeals! More tantrums!

It's compelling television to watch these inverted-pyramid blokes fuming on the sidelines, wringing their chalk-encrusted hands; it makes them look even more flooded with testosterone and loveliness.
As for the ladies, I think we must continue our quest to make women's gymnastics even more reminiscent of a small-town Junior Beauty Pageant. We have the miniscule girls, the cheesy smiles, the glitter-drenched hairdos, the sequined lycra, the tears and backstabbing, but with the added bonus of elaborate acrobatics. Bring it on!