GSTAAD—If the London Olympics do not go down in history as The Crying Games, I will perform a sex act on a Mae West hologram in Times Square as the clock strikes 12 on New Year’s Eve.
What’s most confusing is that winners cried much more than losers. Their tears made the place look like Niagara Falls at times.
What is happening to the Brits? Take the lightweight women’s double skulls. The event was won convincingly by two nice British girls, who broke down and cried so much they had to sweep the place for tears before the medal ceremony could take place. For three-fourths of the race two Greek girls—one of them very pretty—led bravely until the British boat passed them. Then, literally two yards away from the finish line, two Chinese robots nipped the Greeks for the silver. During the ceremony the two winners cried and cried, the two Chinese robots looked blank, and the two Greek girls laughed, waved, and looked happy. We Greeks are supposedly emotional human beings. The Brits are known to be phlegmatic and have a stiff upper lip. There’s something wrong with this picture.
I don’t know what makes grown men and women cry when they win something for which they’ve been training hard most of their lives. The last time I blubbed a bit was after I fought my last judo match one year ago. But no one saw it and I made sure they didn’t. The time before was at age eleven when I lost my first wrestling match at boarding school. Crying was supposed to be for sissies back then, but now sissies are in and tough guys are out. That’s a 1960s legacy I suppose, when Vietnam soldiers returned and then cried while Jane Fonda types abused them for following orders. It’s been downhill ever since. Can you imagine if Jesse Owens had cried in front of Hitler or had clowned around à la Bolt after winning the 100?
My favorite was the French judoka who cried when she lost for the final, then cried harder when she received the bronze. It was as if she was being paid to cry. Champion judokas in the land of cheese are paid a hell of a lot by sponsors—there are 600,000 practitioners in France—so maybe it was in her contract to open the waterworks as opportunities arose.
One who could be excused for crying was the beautiful Kayla Harrison, who won her gold medal in judo although her ex-coach is doing ten years in the Big House for sexually abusing her. Harrison is now coached by the great Jimmy Pedro, who fights for the same New York club I do.
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