To Luge or Not to Luge: Musings on the Ambiguous Athleticism of the Winter Olympics

Is anyone else wondering at exactly what point the athleticism is supposed to kick in with a “sport” like luging? Seriously, what particular athletic skill are we supposed to be admiring here? I mean, I’m no athlete myself, a regular layperson when it comes to sports (let alone an international circus act like the Olympics). But when you’re watching someone slide down a tube on what can only be described as a barely-there bobsled, the physicality (and safety) seems pretty minimal (and suspiciously similar to the kind of strategy a 5-year old would use on a playground slide).

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean any disrespect. Especially with the recent tragedy of 21-year old Georgian luger Nordar Kumaritashvili (and British luger Kazimierz Kay-Skrzypeski’s equally tragic death at the 1964 Innsbruk Games- I guess history really doesn’t teach us anything), I am certainly not trying to be irreverent for the sake of irreverence. Seth McFarlane’s my homie but I’m shocked to say that Sarah Palin might be right about this one: some things are just off limits. All jokes aside, I’m really just asking for someone to help me understand the athletic prowess (if any) behind a practice known to some as glorified tobogganing (I think tobogganing is safer though).

Another bone I have to pick with the Winter Olympics: what is up with the impossibly narrow lanes in speed skating? I mean if we all pitched in to fund wider racing lanes, wouldn’t this whole Ohno-being-an-asshole-vs. South Korea debacle cease to exist? Not that wider lanes would eliminate the drama though – I mean, have you seen a Korean soap lately? Drama for your mama AND your mama-in-law (there’s always an in-law catfight at some point). I mean, how is skating THAT close to someone, so close that you’re quite literally AT his heels, even allowed? You almost can’t even scrounge up empathy for the poor Olympic medal hopefuls who end up biting the ice chip dust and sliding into the foam walls mid-race. How can you feel bad for someone who has voluntarily entered a race in which the rules require you to pursue your opponent’s spandex-covered bottom with your nose while slicing away at the ice rink on razor-sharp skates?

I guess even extreme sports have feelings. They need some kind of validation other than the dumbfounded look us normal folk give when we are told that extreme sports are defined by the very risk of death itself. The question remains: Is it worth it? I don't know if the Kumaritashvili family would agree anymore.