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Short track speed skating is easily the greatest of all the sports the winter Olympics have to offer.
However, the first thing that we have to address are the catsuits worn by the athletes. It’s the elephant in the room, the resonant fact that simply cannot be ignored. Whenever we’re talking about speed skating—the strategy, the danger, the speed, the sheer ridiculousness of it– we’re also talking about how goddamn sexy the competitors are in those outfits. And yes, it is true, I’m not at all against sexually objectifying beautiful athletes I’ll never encounter. In fact, it’s pretty much the main reason I watch the Olympics these days. The human form– full of potential and ambition– performing stunning feats in it’s most perfect earthly manifestation? Yes, I’ll take two helpings please!
Make no mistake, this is the subtext to every speed skating viewing experience you have.
Beyond that there is the fact that the speed skaters, with their helmets and visors, armed with a razor sharp foot knife that’s about as long as a forearm, look like superheroes come to skate for truth and justice.
These people are weaponized, and the fact that it’s short track speed skating ( to say nothing of the positively insane short track speed skating relay) means that they’re CONSTANTLY wiping out.
It’s so unpredictable that luck is almost as important as skill. It’s a last-person-standing kind of sport, one that’s so cruelly constructed you’d think it was invented by a sadistic gym teacher.
No matter, the fact that a wipeout is almost a certainty, and that a wipeout is usually a tangle of kicking razor blades, a crash could have very dire consequence. And so when you see one of the athletes cross the finish line, know that they have just skated through death, and when they take off their helmet and throw back their head, elated and forever, know, too, that they are one of us, and that for a moment at least, we are all beautiful and immortal.
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Well Michael Murray you may enjoy watching sexy athletes court death (because?!) but give me a performance I can watch later via Robyn Doolittle’s tweeted emojis any day.
Or night.
Because we don’t have cable and I don’t want to watch sexy athletes court death, but I don’t want to watch English villagers disappearing one by one on TVO either.
We get it, TVO. English villages are full of old people and old people are murderers so do not move to an English village unless you’re old and want to murder people. The end.
But speed skating? Seriously? Speed skating?? What’s that – one emoji? Done. Well I’m sorry, Michael Murray, but that’s not a story. So not sorry. Figure skating, though, figure skating is a sportstory (yes, that is so a word!) that a reporter can emoji (yes, that’s a verb – I emoji therefore I amji) for people who can’t watch the Olympics BECAUSE OF THE COURTING DEATH THING, MICHAEL MURRAY!
And it’s just like being there on your couch watching Patrick Chan do his short or long or whatever – but faster. My emotions totally ran the gamut, but like in one second.
Don’t believe me? Here it is.
Ms. Doolittle called it, “Watching Patrick Chan: An Emoji Journey” – so right away a heads up that it might be a bumpy ride. Fortunately, I had a cup of mint tea right here beside my computer, just like I do now. Then there was a Canadian flag, which, you know, I’m actually a down-with-borders type but okay. Then a pair of ice skates (well duh, Robyn). But then, oh my Gord – a laughing emoji! Yay! Wait… what? A grimacing emoji!? Nooooooo! Not again! Too soon! Too soon! Oh sweet Jes – a crying emoji? Already? What the – SWEATING?! Oh now come the eff on – screaming? Really? We’re screaming now? In agony? Or maybe… Ah, never mind. Looks like we’re weeping buckets.
Okay. Well. Glad that’s over. <schhhlurp> Ah, mint tea. So refreshing. And just one more week…
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However, I was curious to see how it might actually unfold in the real world and so I went out to a bunch of Starbuck’s in the Toronto area and tried to engage the staff in conversations about race.
Starbucks
10 Dundas Street East
8:30 pm
Me: Hi.
Barista: Hi.
Me: Are you a fan of the TV show Empire?
Barista: Don’t think I know that one.
Me: Oh. Well, it has an all black cast. Not a single white person on it. After a few episodes you don’t even notice how weird that is. It says a lot about race, I think, and the gritty world of Hip Hop. Very topical considering Ferguson and everything.
Barista: You seem very authentically informed.
Me: Well, I’m a part of Black Twitter, so I feel pretty plugged in.
Barista: I see. What can I get you?
Me: Decaf green tea. Grande.
Barista: I bet you like being white, don’t you?
Me: I don’t really see race.
Starbucks
407 Yonge Street
11:30 am
Me: Hey, anyone interested in rapping about race?
Barista: (foams milk)
Me: (Turning around and facing the customers in the lineup behind me) Anyone?
Guy with an eye patch: This might not be “politically correct” or anything, but I hate the Irish.
Me: Really, the Irish? But they have Leprechauns!
Guy with an eye patch: Exactly, Leprechauns are just about the creepiest thing in the world.
Me: What happened, did you lose your eye to a Leprechaun?
Guy with an eye patch: No, I lost it in a fire. The Irish also cheat at cards, and on their husbands.
Girl in denim jacket: And I have to add that the Muzzies got no business taking over this country, if they want to live here, they should damn well dress like everyone else, am I right?
Me: Hey, this is great, now we’re really starting to get into the hard stuff! How about you, (pointing at a woman on her phone) what do you think?
Woman on her phone: (Gives me the finger)
Me: (To Barista) People are still very uncomfortable talking about race. It’s a real shame, because as painful as it is, we really have so much to learn from one another. We need to be brave.
Barista: You do know that the campaign isn’t taking place in Canada, right?
Starbucks
585 University Avenue
2:00 pm
Me: (To Barista) So, who is your favourite black actor or actress? Supermodels count.
Barista: Why are you asking me this?
Me: I’m trying to start a dialogue about race. I want to find out about your lived experience. Have you ever written a letter to a black celebrity, and if so, was it a hate letter or a love letter?
Barista: It’s never occurred to me to write a celebrity a letter.
Me: Any celebrity, or just black celebrities in particular?
Barista: Any celebrity.
Me: Weird. Not even Pam Grier??
Barista: Look, I got to keep the line moving here, are you going to take that cookie or not?
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It’s long been a dream of mine to play professional hockey, and this is a goal I’ve worked very hard to achieve. Unfortunately, I’ve never been quite good enough to make the grade, and as the years pass by my chances of making the NHL are rapidly diminishing. In an effort to remind the NHL GM’s and coaches who might still be looking for a character guy in the locker room, of just how committed I am to this dream, I am providing a short list of some of the things I’m willing to do to fulfill my dream of playing in the NHL.
I am perfectly willing to serve as a shutdown, 4th line centre, instead of the natural, 1st line scorer I am, if it gets me into the NHL faster.
I will continue with my figure skating lessons, trying to improve my balance and explosiveness on the ice in order to make me a better team player.
I would not hesitate to drop the gloves.
I will cut back on my shifts at David’s Tea in order to train more.
I would consent to wearing a suit and tie to and from the rink for every game.
I would kill a bird with a rock.
I would be willing to relocate.
If necessary, I would subordinate my natural leadership skills in order to better serve the team.
I will say no to hanging out with friends and going out to parties because I know I have to be up early the next morning to train.
I would have sex with Tom Hardy– even though I’m not gay or even remotely curious about what being gay might feel like– in order to prove how serious I am about playing in the NHL.
I would also have sex with Tom Hardy and Daniel Craig– even though I’m not gay or even remotely curious to know what it might feel like to be gay with two other stunning and sexy men– in order to prove how serious I am about playing in the NHL.
I would give up my participation in fantasy hockey in order to protect the integrity of the NHL and the great game of hockey.
I would take up hunting in order to better fit in with my peers.
I would consider giving up gluten.
I would also consider giving up Choir! Choir! Choir! in order to more fully dedicate myself to my dream of playing in the NHL.
