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99 times out of 100, I wouldn't take a second look at a game of water polo being played on my television. I probably wouldn't even stop flicking channels if I saw two chicks fencing. And if I saw a game of handball going on, I might stop long enough to say "what the fuck game is this?" before switching over to TNT for another episode of Law and Order.
But now is that special, 1% of the time when they slap a country next to each player's name, give out medals, and call it the Olympics. And that is a magical combination that makes me care about who wins a women's beach volleyball match between China and Greece (go Greece! WOOOO!)
And it isn't just the sport, either. While I hesitate to call myself unpatriotic, I do not usually react well to flag waving that isn't done by Steven Colbert. But last night, some American swimmer not named Michael Phelps was competing in a 400m medley heat, and when he qualified for the final, I was genuinely excited. The Olympics turns me into a flag-waving, French-hating, Arab-waterboarding American asshole.
And for two weeks every 2 years, it feels kind of good.
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