by Dr. Diz


DEL RIO, TX – It’s going on the middle of February, and I’m being barraged with all things Olympic. I’m down here on the border, trying my best to engage in the normal cross cultural exchange the area is known for, and I’m just getting blitzed with this crapola. The whole shebang is making me queasy.

Olympic mascots. Olympic television ads. Olympic medal and pins and patches. Olympic this. Olympics that. Maybe they’ll come up with an Olympic blow up doll with a perpetually surprised look on her face, so Ozzie Guillen and friends can have some club house companionship during the off season.

We’re back… Did you miss us?

The Olympic movement started at the turn of last century as a celebration of amateur sports, sportsmanship amongst competitors, and cooperation and friendship building amongst nations in an open and non-commercial environment. Looks like we screwed the pooch on that one.

Instead, the Olympics have gone down the road of my least favorite sport, futbol. Like futbol, they have become a giant marketing opportunity for the world wide soulless behemoths that are slowly but surely taking over our societies, with a side order of rampant jingoism to feed the masses red meat and pander to our collective tribal instincts. These captains of capitalism love, love, love the Olympics. It gives them a platform to continue their ceaseless efforts to homogenize the world and create a place where we all eat the same, dress the same, talk the same and act the same. And, like I said, throw em’ a little xenophobia and such to make them believe that they are still operating as individuals.

Become part of the collective. Resistance is futile.

And even better is that the message of these corporate parasites is subsidized by the taxpayers of whichever country that got flamboozled into hosting the thing. Reverse Robin Hood to the n-th degree. They may be capitalists, but they are not above feeding like pigs at the public trough whenever they get a chance.

Worse than the soul-sucking automatons who run this thing and line their pockets is, however, the stupid and rampant jingoistic ranting and raving the rabble are enticed to participate in. The proposition that my country is better than your country because I beat you in a sport that I could give a rat’s behind about brings to mind the phrase that White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel recently uttered (to describe some of our esteemed members of the U.S. Congress):

    ”F**king retarded.”

If North Korea wins a few medals, it would make them less nutty?

As a U.S. citizen, it’s downright embarrassing. We are the big kahuna’s, the bullies on the block. At least in the old days we had the big ol’ bad Soviet Union as a foil, but now we are the undisputed top dog. The chants of ‘USA, USA, and USA’… well, let’s just say they remind me of a funny-looking guy with a pencil thin mustache who convinced his countrymen that they were the so called master race.


Amerika, Amerika, uber alles, uber alles. We have all the money and all the advantages. Our idea of sportsmanship is to engage in neo-Nazi chanting and rub it in the faces of others. And we wonder why the rest of the world can’t stand us. It’s kind of like rooting for the Yankees.

So excuse me if I take a powder during this event. I don’t care about some high-tech sled, cross country skiing, shooting things while cross country skiing, sliding big rocks down the ice, or doing flips on a snowboard. I prefer to do my own skiing, thank you. I wish the dang NHL season would just continue. I don’t think we’re a better, or worse, country because of any medals we do or do not win in this crap.


I think I’ll head down to the rodeo with my buds Mexican Jerrill and Los Vatos Joe instead. And have myself a drink of some local product, instead of some watered-down, multi-national corporate spew like Budweiser. Resistance may be futile, but I’m goin’ down swingin’. Angry Ward, tomorrow.

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About Dr. Diz 50 Articles
Doc Diz resides in Fort Worth, Texas for the past 15 years. When not playing old boys rugby or skiing, he is known for sampling Maker's Mark for its medicinal qualities. A native of Connecticut, the Doc has managed to move around enough to have lived in all four US time zones, which has allowed him to get a little perspective from west of the Hudson where guns, drilling for oil and gas and Big Gulp soda pops are still legal.