It’s all about participation, not to mention looking absolutely fabulous
The parodoxical and parodic Perfect Mike Hosking allows the riff-raff to share his Olympics fantasies.
I enjoy track and field, especially the 10,000m slum relocation.
Ilove the Olympics. I’m not an elite athlete but I am an elitist. So the determination of winners and losers with the empirical precision of millimetres and milliseconds is the perfect embodiment of the Olympic spirit.
Every Olympics has wrinkles and Rio is no exception. There are major concerns over the water quality, which is unsurprising if you choose Homebrand sparkling water rather than Antipodes.
And then there’s the Russian athletes who’ve been barred from Rio for taking banned substances which I assume to be instant coffee, non-kombucha health tonics or sauvignon blanc.
Like many middle New Zealanders I enjoy track and field, especially the 10,000m slum relocation. But my favourite event is the high jump. It’s so perfectly simple.
Whoever goes the highest gets the gold medal. It’s what the Auckland housing market would be if it were an Olympic event.
However, I confess that I’ve really never enjoyed the relay races. They seem so pointless. It’s probably got something to do with the pointlessness of me having to hand off the radio broadcasting baton to Leighton Smith every morning.
Had I chosen to be an Olympic athlete then, in addition to being the perfect choice for flag-bearer, I would have been a high diver. I want you to picture me, I really do, perfectly poised on a diving pedestal high above the hoi polloi.
My body glistens, drizzled with Ecoya Coconut & Elderflower body lotion. My hair is professionally dishevelled into a follicular homage to the Beijing Bird’s Nest stadium.
I’m safely tucked into my Speedos like a pair of quail eggs and a baby asparagus spear gently nestled into a feuille pastry basket at the French Cafe. I pause, pirouette and plunge. My downward tumble and twists defy gravity, just like how my daily homilies defy empathy, humanity and humility.
I extend from my tuck and see my own reflection rushing to meet me like an unrequited lover. I enter myself. I surface. The crowd cheers. It’s the gold medal, perfect 10s across the board.
Then I’m on the gold medal winner’s dais. I don’t invite the silver and bronze also-rans up to share the moment together. The New Zealand flag is raised. In my head it’s the Kyle Lockwood design that John Key wanted.
The national anthem plays. In my head it’s Spandau Ballet’s Gold.
‘‘Gold. Always believe in your soul. You’ve got the power to know, You’re indestructible.’’
Happy Olympics.