Forget the whales…SAVE THE CROTCH
I’m on the verge of real tears here, so you’ll have to forgive me if I choke up.
I can handle the football challenge system. Three point line…I love it. Restrictor plates on NASCAR cars…those boys were moving to fast anyway. But I am a neo-purist and nobody…especially not some “I haven’t seen a pair of panties in 20 years that didn’t make me puke” Olympic ninny is going to make me appreciate a ban on crotch shots.
Before we get into the crux of the issue here (I don’t think a pun was intended there), let’s take a look at the “sport” of Olympic Figure Skating.
The hardest part of a skater/performer’s job is to convince people that what they do is actually a sport. Sure, they train more than many athletes. Sure, what they do takes scads of skill. And sure I’ve never held a muscular woman above my head while I’m twirling in a twirly costume on a sheet of ice.
But…what these folks do is an exhibition and little more. I can justify this with one simple rule: If an event has subjective scoring (judges), it is a piece of performance art. If it has objective scoring (did the goon get the puck in goal), it is a sport. Simple as that.
Which brings me to the real point here.
The International Skaing Union (does this have anything to do with Jimmy Hoffa?) has put a ban on crotch shots. No splayed legs. No upside down, “hey I got quite a crotch on me” spin moves on top of your mail partner. No pelvic thrusts. And I have to assume they won’t be allowed to churn the butter either. The Union (damn it) calls it…get this…”undignified” and it will penalize skaters a tenth of a point for every display of the good stuff.
Undignified?
Undignified is the best man kissing the new bride with tongue.
Undignified is writing your name in the snow with your own urine…in a church parking lot.
Undignified is simulated masturbation with a penguin.
I don’t watch figure skating, sport dancing, or gymnastics on purpose…and if I do, I’m only there for the crotch. I only watch hot dog ski jumping because there’s a good chance somebody will end tearing themselves into two pieces.
How is it that I can see Dennis Franz’s ass on network television, but the Olympics are too pure to show panties?
I am not a dirty young man. I’m not there for the crotch itself. I am there for the principle of the crotch. It’s almost better if the skater gives the camera a look that says…I have the freedom to show you my crotch and I would, but I also want you to know that I have the freedom to keep my panties to myself.
The Olympics have to be–in some part–about freedom.
What’s next? Ankle-length denim skirts on tennis players? Full body-scarves for basketball players? And what about those tight-pants-no-underwear-wearing football players?
Freedom, ladies and gentleman, is showing your crotch at will.
