I’m not ashamed of it even though some might consider it a disorder of sorts. In fact, not only am I not ashamed; I even admit it openly. It does, after all, strike only every couple years, and it lasts just a few weeks. This time, it’s not too bad yet, though it could worsen.
What is it, you ask? Well, the nontechnical name is OISD. What is OISD? It is, as if you didn’t know, Olympics Induced Sleep Deprivation. When the Olympics are on, I almost always suffer from OISD.
You see, I love – not like, but love – the Olympics. Always have. Individual and team, well known and barely known, big ticket and no ticket, those I get and those that baffle me – I like almost all events. Sometimes I’m asked if I like the summer or winter games better; the answer is whichever comes sooner. I love the Olympics.
Now, don’t get me wrong; I am not naive about the Olympics. I know there are moral questions, such as whether the extreme training of some athletes is worth essentially robbing them of other parts of their lives. I’m as concerned as anyone about the use of performance enhancing drugs. I protest when judges are unfair, coaches are rude and athletes are pompous.
Even with those recognitions, though,