PUCKING AROUND

Yesterday Big Bore and I were discussing what event we would enter if we were physically fit and bold enough to be a Winter Olympian. He said he’d always wanted to be on the luge or the bobsled--low to the ground and faster than a speeding bullet. I wouldn’t mind trying the bobsled provided I was seated in the middle of my teammates so I could hunker down low, close my eyes, scream, say my prayers, and throw up all at the same time.

Ski jumping won’t work, either. Propelling into orbit without a parachute doesn’t appeal to my better senses. And speed skating won’t crack it because I’d get dizzy going in all those circles. Same with figure skating. One spin and I’d be a goner. The mere idea of BB and I being partners in ice dancing is hilarious. We can’t even stay in sync with each other shuffling on the living room floor in our stocking feet.

I think I would be better suited for the women’s ice hockey team. Not the goalie but maybe a forward. The uniforms are heavily padded and hide all the flabby body parts, and there’s a stick to lean on when I’d get tired. There’s lots of other players on the ice at one time, so no one in the crowd would be focused just on me. I could muck up and maybe no one would notice.

Big Bore thinks ice hockey would be right for him, too. When I asked him what position he’d want to play, he said he’d like to be the hockey puck.

“That’s not a position, goofus!” I said.

“I know, but I think it’d be fun to just skate real fast and then hurl my body into the net. A human hockey puck.”

"But the players would be whacking you with their sticks!"

"Oh, there wouldn't be any sticks."

I don’t imagine the International Olympic Committee is ready to sanction this idea, but if overweight middle-aged men replace pucks in the 2014 winter games stick-less ice hockey competition, remember where you heard about it first.