Hypochondriac Olympics

Someone on the radio the other day said that the Olympics is a thing you get excited about when you are 10 years old, but as you get older you get more cynical about the cheating and the rampant greed on display. It tells you all you need to know when you read that so-called athletes are being warned about what they should and should not ingest.

Athletes! Fitness! They are the sickest bunch of self-obsessed weirdos, aren't they? "I was feeling pretty good. A little bit of a twinge in my hamstring, but not bad considering..."

Not bad considering I've just about crippled myself with my training regime. Speak to me in ten years time about how much fun it is getting out of bed in the morning. The shattered joints, the damaged musculature.

And of course they carry a fucking pharmacy around with them: vitamins, supplements, painkillers, cold remedies. The poor sick little bastards have always got something wrong with them. A sniffle, a sore, a twinge, an injury, a toothache, a headache, a back spasm, a dislocation, a stomach upset, a paper cut.

The Olympic games stopped being fun when they allowed sponsorship and professionalism to take hold. People go on too long now, their careers drag on way past the point where anyone cares, and the sight of athletes wearing the likes of gold Nike running shoes is sickening.

As Roy always says, either they should compete naked, or at least barefoot, no logos, no sponsorship, no wages. And for crying out loud, stop glomping down the pharmaceuticals and energy foods and eat like normal people.