8:00 am – I awaken to a familiar twang of a random pain in my body. My wife reckons I stuffed my back demonstrating butterfly technique at the pub on Sunday arvo. I correct her, proper butterfly technique, get it right darl.
8:30 am – surprisingly my rig has failed to bounce back after a shower so I decide to take the day off. You can’t expect a high octane man-machine like this to operate without a few hiccups.
9:00 am – I have found myself in a bind. Thanks to a basic level of physical exertion last night I cannot get off the throne until the painkillers have kicked in properly. I decide to spend my time wisely by jumping on Facebook.
9:05 am – I turn my rage to women’s soccer. It appears some people have kept the receipts when I told anyone who would listen that the Matilda’s are pretenders and their loss to Germany was a disgrace to Australia. I don’t back down, beating Zambia was a fluke.
9:10 – 10:30 am – I can’t sit around arguing about the changes I would make as Matilda’s coach, as I can finally lift my frame off the toilet and put the right fuel in my body for a productive day.
10:35 am – as I slop mouthful after mouthful of leftover pad thai into the general area between my mouth and my t-shirt, I turn my analysis to a supposed success story – gold in the canoe slalom K1.
11:15 am – after baiting as many commenters as I could someone finally bites and asks what I would know. Um, participation in a short leg of the Avon Descent in 2002 champ. How dare he question my expertise. My point is simple – athletes have to yearn for more than just gold medals, they must yearn for true greatness like I enjoyed before my vessel capsized.
12:30 pm – I’m in a real mood to talk about how much I hate France. It has been a passionate topic of mine lately. So I catch up with a WFH mate and decide a few froffs will cure what ails us.
1:00 pm – his living room has quickly turned into a hotbed of anti-French sentiment. Everything from the opening ceremony to the weather. No detail is spared, we wonder why no one is paying us for this kind of insight?
1:30 pm – talking about how fat & slow the athletes are has really worked up an appetite. We decide to continue the analysis over some more coldies and a parma.
2:00 pm – I don’t know about you but the mix of 6 lunch pints and the pain meds has got me feeling real spritely. I won over the front bar with comments about China so I wasn’t going to waste having them in the palm of my hand.
2:05 pm – an ill-fated attempt to demonstrate how to demonstrate proper fencing technique has upset the shonky knee I tell people was a footy injury from way back. It’s actually an injury from when my scumbag cousins implemented the tip-and-run rule at backyard cricket that I protested loudly. That and weight gain, the doc reckons.
2:30 pm – the life of an athlete, ay! Sore knee and back in one day. I’m feeling pretty crook so my mate takes me home and I’m just praying I don’t have to drop the kids off at the pool again. The wife will have to rescue me again if that’s the case.
3:30 pm – few more high performance pain meds and wake up from an hour kip on the couch after what I’d describe as a category 2 shart situation. Nature’s alarm clock ay. I decide not to risk moving so conduct semi regular sniff tests to assess the damage. We good-ish.
4:00 pm – finally, the wife is home to hear my live commentary on the events. I make sure to go extra hard on these so-called Olympians because I get the unsettling feeling that she’s looking at some of these toned men in a way she hasn’t looked at me in a while.
5:00 pm – it appears my passionate yelling has boiled over and I suspect the extra push has lead to a breach of the containment zone.
5:15 pm – my colonic musk lingers slightly in the air to the sounds of why break dancing shouldn’t be an Olympic sport. Life is good.