Sunday, February 28, 2010


Inspired by the final day of the Olympics I’ve been inspired to see my gilded future in sequins and spandex.  I’ve noticed commentators in the field of sports aren’t necessarily the youngest kids on the block. I guess the guy thing allowing wise and sage to trump youth and beauty still reins where sports are concerned even though a pretty skirt somehow manages to show up in the locker rooms at the end of the Super Bowl. Having found an arena where age may not be a disqualifier a ray of light began to light a path to what I think could be a brilliant idea.
Now try to imagine this: just prior to the qualifying runs for the 2014 men’s short course speed skating competition in a studio somewhere on the Olympic grounds seated in a pair of Ralph Luaren leather chairs in front of a blazing fire in a stone fireplace sit Apollo Ohno and someone who could be me, one an expert in speed skating and the other a razor-tongued critic of style and panache. Cut to Ross “the intern” Mathews standing outside the Olympic rink, microphone in hand screeching out the names of several camera hungry Canadian and Danish media savvy contestants. Ross beckons the boys to his little square of red carpet chomping for an exclusive interview before they hit the ice. Throngs of fans and paparazzi push and shove, cameras in hand, from behind the stanchioned ropes.
“Jimmy, oh Jimmy can you come over here?” Ross’ high-pitched voice causes the ice inside the rink to crack in a million crazed fissures as his free hand rotates in furious circles of come hither.
“Jimmy, who are you wearing? Those lightening bolts are lighting my fire!”
“Oh, can I touch those biceps, those quads, those…”
And the banter continues as Apollo and I debate the sport, he from the viewpoint of the necessary technique and I from the aesthetics of costuming and body image. If they’re going to wear spandex then I think they’re fair game for package evaluation and comparative anatomy.
I don’t think there’s a sport out here that couldn’t be ogled and critiqued for its uniforms and adored for its presentation of the human form in near and far states of total perfection. The obvious targets of figure skating and swimming are no-brainers but give me football or a guy with an epee, not to mention gymnasts doing an iron cross and you’ve got a solid hour of great repartee. The commentary would be balanced between our sports expert’s knowledge of the sport, there’s going to be a need to educate those with too weak wrists and a long learning curve, and then the critical eyes of the rip-to-shreds vision of our fashionistas. Try to imagine guest critics like Joan Rivers, Issac Misrahi or Heidi Klum on one side and Troy Polamalu, David Beckham, Roger Federer and Nacho Figueras on the other. If you don’t recognize the names then google them and drool.
As the show gains in popularity the red carpet would grow. Fashion designers would begin lending out their couture designs in exchange for mention on the show, celebrities would be lining up to guest critique, a whole new audience would become couch potatoes glued to the world of sports they previously knew nothing about, and I would become Simon Cowell rich…filthy rich.
Well it’s just an idea.

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