One Year More

In two days I will attend a high school production of Les Miserables.  Every time I think about that, I hear "One day more..." in my head.  Usually in the voice of Lin-Manuel Miranda from Carpool Karaoke.  So, yesterday, as I watched NBC excitedly announce, in every possible news program, that Tokyo 2020 begins in just one year, I repeatedly heard "One year more..." in my head.  From Lin-Manuel Miranda.  Which is both really weird and really stupid.  But what can I say, I am an amateur Olympic and youth sports blogger talking about a high school production of a Broadway musical.  It seems fairly obvious that I am going to say something stupid.  Plus, with a layoff of about a year and a half, I am bound to be out of practice.

With all the "One year more" going through my head, I have decided I need to get back into practice.  The Winter Olympics is fun, with sports I don't see a lot on cold, slick surfaces, people skiing and shooting, and a reasonable amount of coverage that one can almost keep up with if one focuses, ignores all family obligations and devoutly follows Guideline1 of the Guidelines for Watching the Olympics.  It is possible to keep up with the Winter Olympic and write about it.  The Summer Olympics is a DISASTER.  No one can keep up, regardless of how well he or she fends off the advances of their partner.  I know.  I have tried.  I have sacrificed, for you.  I have not just ignored my wife during the Summer Olympics, I have actively shunned her.  That is how dedicated I am.  Even with that, I can't keep up, and in the end I am nothing more than a blabbering idiot, huddled in the corner trying to figure out why Ryan Lochte can't just be honest about his drunken idiocy and the color of his hair.  If I don't properly prepare, real damage could be done to someone, or something, or everyone.

In addition to the reminders of one year more, the World Swimming Championships are currently on television.  To give you an idea of how nuts I am, I spent almost 8 hours at a swim meet last Saturday in 100 degree temperatures.  I'm not even exaggerating.  It was 100 degrees (or maybe 99).  I spent 3 days watching the weather people on the news tell me not to spend too much time outside on Saturday, then I spent 8 hours at a swim meet and 3 more at an outdoor swimming banquet.  Sunday morning I woke up and I...watched swimming.  Really.  I voluntarily watched swimming on TV the day after spending almost 8 hours at a swim meet.  I may have a problem.

To give you an idea of how much I have failed you, I didn't write about it.  I didn't tweet about it.  I posted nothing on Facebook or Instagram or any other social media site I have never heard of.  I kept it all to myself.  In non-Olympic years, I have become a me person.  Me-me-me-me-me.  Just like Beaker on the Muppets.  I watched Katie Ledecky lose and said nothing to no one.

Wait, you did WHAT!!!  YOU WATCHED WHAT!!!

I watched Katie Ledecky lose and...oh, my God!...Katie Ledecky lost?  I am not properly prepared for this and real damage is happening to everyone.  Katie Ledecky doesn't lose.  The sun rises in the East, you can't avoid taxes, and Katie Ledecky wins.  The only other sure thing in the world is...well, nothing.  There's Katie Ledecky and if we don't have her, we have nothing.  I find myself aimlessly walking in circles babbling "Here comes Diggins!" trying to re-find my Olympic equilibrium as I try, and fail, to comprehend those three words...Katie.  Ledecky.  Lost.

We love sports because - oh, shut up!  We don't love watching Katie Ledecky lose!  We love watching Katie Ledecky crush the hopes and dreams of distance swimming girls in all the lands.  We love to watch American swimmers win an incomprehensible number of medals.  This is wrong.  Just wrong.

However, I am finding my groove.  Despite the shock.  Despite the longful flashbacks to those dreamy days of Jesse Diggins.  Despite the slow acceptance that Michael Phelps will not return to make the world right.  Despite the small pieces of evidence that Katie Ledecky might in fact be human like the rest of us (OK, not like the rest of us, but human nonetheless).  Each night I am watching the World Swimming Championships.  Each night I am frightened a little more that the US Olympic dominance in the pool may be a little less than we are used to.  Each night I fall a little more in love with the sleeve-tattooed, blonde God named Caeleb Dressel.

I am only now realizing that yelling "Here Comes Diggins!" into my blog, dropping the mic and disappearing for 18 months is a disservice not only to my 6 loyal readers, but to myself.  I am not ready for Tokyo 2020.  Who is the Hungarian wonderkid that broke Michael Phelps's world record in the 200 IM?  How does the US not win, much less medal, in the Men's 100 back?  What do you mean Chase Kalisz didn't win the 200 IM?  How does Katie Ledecky lose?  When did swimmers start protesting during medal ceremonies?  What do you mean Lily King was disqualified?  Why are the finals on in the morning?  What is going on?  Where is Jesse Diggins?  WE NEED YOU!  WE NEED HERE COMES DIGGINS!

But Jesse Diggins is not coming, at least not for another 30 months.  We need to move on from Jesse Diggins.  We need to figure out this whole Olympics in Asia, blogger in America thing.  We need to recover from our Michael Phelps hangover and figure out how to become dominant again.  We need to rise from the ashes, like a phoenix and find new life!  WE NEED TO...

Yeah, that got a little too dramatic.

We need to get back on the bike and ride again.  And so, we climb on, we remember Jesse Diggins, but we leave her behind.  We find our voice and we speak again.  In short, we are back, getting ready for Tokyo 2020.  One year more.

But first, yeah, I have another swim meet on Saturday.