Thursday, February 23, 2006

Sasha Cohen and the Story of my life

Sasha Cohen, choke artist extraordinaire. She and Bode Miller should have babies. They could name their kid Letdown and send him to the Olympics.

It’s not that Sasha was awful, she obviously pulled something through her sore groin but really, what happened to the glory days of the U.S. of A. when we would go and stomp the world’s ass at the Olympics? Gone are the days of the Yamaguchi’s (who I admit, fell in competition) and the Boitano’s. The mid-nineties brought us the semi-great Wylie’s and Kerrigan’s. The Kwan gave us hope and then a wide grinning, gape mouthed 15 year-old attention whore named Lipinski grabbed it away. The Kwan gave us more hope with her unprecedented World and National Titles, only to be ripped away by another wide-grinning, gape-mouthed teen with a Liza Minnelli/Dorothy Hamill haircut and a Russian with vascular disease.

I was a full supporter of the Kwan going into Torino '06 and I will be no matter where her ice skates take her. (VANCOUVER 2010…VIVA LA KWAN) but I decided to swing my support to Sasha, if only because she needs an ear operation and a new stylist.

I believed she would rock it out, land her jumps, and not pull another choke. I was disappointed again (your 1st 2 jumps? Really Sash?). I full on screamed YOU BLEW IT! In Billy Madison mode (side note: Why does Scott Hamilton have an orgasm every time someone goes into a jump and falls, I think he secretly loves it, or he just poops his pants. Either way, Dick Buttons must scoot over every time he does that) as she crashed her skinny ass on the ice. But hey, here’s a little 925 for trying. You were close, but no where near a cigar.

Arakawa deserved her gold. Even if she is a Yuka Sato and Midori Ito wannabe.

With Sasha’s falls on to cool hard reality I found a piece of my own (without a toe pick no less). Life is full of disappointments. It’s hard to live up to your own hype (ask Bode Miller as his new ad Bode on Losing should be filmed right about now).

Like the time I swore I could still do a heel stretch 5 years after leaving cheerleading. I almost came down with the Kwan/Cohen groin injury in the attempt. Or the time I swore to myself a guy was into me. He tried to get me to set him up with my friend. Or the time I picked up a glass of water and it turned out to be Sprite. Or the time I drank a beer that had been turned into an ashtray. Or the time I lost the thong contest….need I go on?

But here’s the rub. In the wake of the Brad/Jennifer breakup, the Mets almost 20 year slump and the sad performance of Sasha and Johnny Weir, I’ve learned we cannot accept other’s failures as our own. No matter how bad I am feeling right now, Sasha probably feels worse, and the Kwan is probably feeling even worse than here considering her skating career is over and she has to learn how to have a life now.

I didn’t fall and crush the hearts of little girls everywhere. I didn’t leave my wife for a big-lipped reformed lesbian. I haven’t sucked at a game for an entire 20 years. But sometimes, it feels like it. I think it’s more out of jealousy than anything. Because no matter how bad the failure is for them, it’s probably better than any high I will ever have. The world will never know my name. The world will never watch me on TV. The world will never care if I hurt my groin. No one will ever care if I get divorced (or married at this rate). No one will watch me try to climb back to glory praying for another Bill Buckner moment. And that’s disappointing. Just like Sasha Cohen.

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