Take your time….
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Around midday yesterday in a crowded staff room, all eyes fixed on the flat screen, R announced that it was unfair. It was probably the swimmer with the best slippery swimsuit who won. “It’s not natural” she hissed. Now, R is rumoured to be trapped in the certainty of fundamentalism, of the Christian variety. “Then what we need is nude swimming” I countered. As she blushed I wondered which naked gender she had suddenly visualised.
She’s right of course. A few hundredths of a second separating competitors from a million dollars all because of an immune system pushed to the limit, a headache, a dodgy prawn. Every finalist should get a medal, all the same, an Olympic Medal, a you-got-there medal. No flags, no anthems, just applause. The winner gets the bunch of flowers.
Suspend nationalism, corporate anything, sponsorship, empty seats of rich stay-at-homes and all that would be left would be friendships, understanding and the chance of some peace. Perish the thought.
As for those sour IOC officials, what’s the problem? How can they manage to not be grinning from ear to ear? Scrambled eggs a little runny? A pea under the mattress?
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