The National Lampoon Olympics officially starts today but that hasn’t stopped Britain’s population of Chevy Chase-esque gaffe merchants from already giving us all something to tut about
The National Lampoon Olympics officially starts today but that hasn’t stopped Britain’s population of Chevy Chase-esque gaffe merchants from already giving us all something to tut about – which, let’s be honest, we all absolutely love. Brits love a good old fashioned tut.
When I do something predictably clumsy during my day, such as spill some coffee on myself, or trip over my laptop wire, I immediately tut and scrunch my face up until it looks like one of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s dilapidated pecks. But when doing so, deep down I get a strange enjoyment from having something to moan and despair about. I suspect this is the case with everyone in Britain; complaining is in our blood.
So it is no surprise to me, then, that with the Olympic games on our shores, we are surpassing ourselves in committing predictable acts of buffoonery that make this country great.
In the spirit of ‘save the best for last’, the women’s football was first on the bill for the Olympic schedule. And what better way for the United Kingdom of Great Gaffes to kick things off? Let’s humiliate the terrifying and dangerous state of North Korea by showing South Korea’s flag instead of theirs. Of all the countries to piss off, it had to be North Korea. Why not just annoy a little pushover country, like Luxembourg? What the hell would they do about it?
It is ok though, because if North Korea decided to do anything about it and do some damage, or if the IRA or Al-Qaeda felt like causing some havoc, the safety at the games will be second to none, won’t it? No, that has been a disaster thus far. The whole thing so far has been doused in the delectably British substance of Orwellian drear.
We have even managed to transform the Olympic torch relay, the proudest build up event of them all and a wonderful, everlasting memory for anyone who witnesses it, into a mouldy, grimacing pool of tedium, the ceremonial equivalent of an annoying Uncle with one of those party-blower things at Christmas. It has been sleuthing around the country for roughly 400 years now, and won’t stop until it has been scraped against everybody’s faces to a sufficient amount, when all of us are broken shadows of our selves, rolling around tumultuously screaming “I hate the Olympics! I hate the Olympics!”
And as for that Hunt, Jeremy – well the less said about that calamatous bell-ringer the better.
All of this has happened, and the athletes haven’t even had the chance to come up with a disappointing medal haul yet. We’re so keen to commit athletic disappointment during the games that we have even entered a football team. How are they going to top all of this with their own special brand of shame and embarrassment? Ryan Giggs better get his party shirt on.
