Posted 8/01/12 (Wed)
I don’t get into the Olympics as much as I used to. I liked it when the college kids played, rather than the professionals. We were at a disadvantage, but that is what made the “Miracle on Ice” so wonderful. Also watching our college basketball men and women play, meant so much compared to watching today’s pros.
But sometimes I can’t help myself. Remember when Shirley and I did our ice-skating routine out on the stock dam? That was an Olympic highlight.
Last night was gymnastics. Girl’s gymnastics. Now, I realize these are little girls in their teens and they have been training for this their entire lives. But I mean, how hard can it be? The balance beam.
Shirley didn’t want to be involved. Mark it up to good sense. She said we didn’t have a balance beam and she didn’t think, at 300 pounds, I should be standing on anything other than terra firma. I marked that up to her being a critical judge.
But, being bigger than he, I won that argument. Out on the deck we went. Our deck is like four-feet off the ground, has a railing that is another four feet high and topped off with a two by six. Now, it looked to me like a balance beam about like a two by six. Oh, I was a little higher than those girls were, but that could be attributed to any number of things.
Shirley sat down at the judge’s table. I could see by the look on her face that I was going to have to put on a heck of a routine to impress her. I thought I would start with something simple. Jumping. I mean they just jump up and extend their legs and land back on the beam. No flipping over or anything.
I jumped. I didn’t spread my legs or anything. Just jumped. I suppose that wood had been weakened by the lack of rain this summer. Had to be something. When I landed lightly on the beam, it broke. It crashed into Shirley’s flowerpots and deposited me on those plastic tubs full of roses. They had been kind of pretty and I think all the roots and stuff growing in that tub must have weakened the tub. The roses were free! I guess roses don’t like being free. At least Shirley didn’t like them free.
She threw her judge’s pad at me and headed for the house. I dusted myself off. Three-hundred-pound guys look ridiculous with a rose over their ear. I straightened things up the best I could and went in to see my judge. I didn’t score very well.
When I started to move furniture around, Shirley asked, in a not so pleasant tone, “What the hell are you doing?”
Floor exercise. That’s the last thing I remember until this morning.