my personal ticket to sporting immortality

now playing: jimmie spheeris, “i am the mercury”

maybe i shouldn’t be sharing this, but this is my thought for today:

if sweating were an olympic sport, i’d be tiger woods, michael jordan and lance fucking armstrong all rolled into one.

people would be sick of the sight of me up there on the podium, saluting and singing the national anthem with the obligatory huge rings in the pits of my warmup suit…every four years, it’d be the same old same old. other countries would stop sending athletes to compete, concentrating instead on other sports in which they stood an actual fighting chance. i would so dominate the sport that i would actually discourage others from taking it up.

in fact, i might be singularly responsible for its death as a competitive medium, because no one could possibly hope to unseat me from the throne. every now and then i might see pete errich from shame manage to register a blip, a distant dot, on my radar…but for the most part my rear view mirror would be devoid of anyone remotely capable of challenging my prowess.

i’m really starting to hate summer. i don’t mind the outdoors, when it’s seasonable, but that really boils down to a couple of weeks in the spring and a couple of weeks in the fall – to the extent that spring or fall really even exist anymore as a viable entity.

in between those two periods, you can find me either in the shower or beside the air conditioner. that’s where i’ll be.

cue adam duritz and the boys….”iiiiii ammmm the swwweattt king…”

 

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