I Think I Needed Sub-Titles!

Well, the 2012 Summer Olympics are over and Big Ben is still standing.  London enjoyed fantastic weather and the British were wonderful hosts, from all reports.  I settled down in my recliner with knitting in hand last evening to watch the closing ceremonies but I'm afraid that I didn't get much knitting done.  I was too busy texting back and forth with my brother as we watched the action on our TVs.  Who in the world came up with that stuff?

Normally I'm a big fan of British humor.  I roar at episodes of The IT Crowd.  I like Mr. Bean and any Monty Python routine has me in stitches.  My mom and I loved watching Are You Being Served.  But from the minute the newspaper-covered cars, trucks, buses, and people came out into the arena, they lost me.

My brother said, "I just want to see The Who."

My sister-in-law told us that she figured the directors were just "forward-thinking."  My response was "forward-thinking, my arse."   (My brother tends to bring out the worst in me sometimes.)

The "Stomp" people were fun.  I told my brother that I thought I might incorporate some of their routines into my Monday evening "take out the trash" rituals.  Wouldn't THAT just give the neighbors something to talk about?

Then they came out with a group called The Pet Shop Boys.  They were wearing cones on their heads and looked a lot like the Wicked Witch of the West.

My brother texted me, "It's like I just woke up from a deep sleep and must have missed a lot."

When Annie Lennox came riding out on the ghost ship surrounded by dancing zombies, I texted him back, "All we need now is Captain Jack Sparrow."

Then some lady came out in a leotard and started singing some song I'd never heard before.  The leotard looked like it was covered with blotches of fungus.

I fired off a text to my brother.  "I must have been sleeping as well.  I have no idea who half these people are.  I can see why the Queen decided not to show up."

John Lennon sang on the big screen.  I recognized him.  And then....yay, a Monty Python routine with skating nuns, Victoria's Secret angels, men fired out of cannons, and Eric Idle leading a sing-along.  Good stuff.

Whoops, "Fungus Girl" was back along with guys with stuff on their heads that looked like big donuts.  The Spice Girls made an appearance still looking pretty good.

I found myself wondering what people in other countries around the world were thinking watching this.  If this was their only exposure to British culture, they surely had to be scratching their heads.  The Scots were probably thinking, "Aye, trust the Brits to muck things up."

I could just hear some father in India saying, "Honey, call the travel agency and cancel our tickets to England.  We're not taking the kids THERE this year.  We'll go back to Thailand."

And the clincher?  After spending four hours feeling like I'd fallen down the rabbit hole, the torch was extinguished and the announcer came on to say that the Who would be performing in one hour, after some new TV show premiered.  Say what?  We don't even get to see the Who?

My brother and I sent each other a text.  "Good grief!  Good night!"  Neither of us were staying up.  I'll fire up Pandora or Spotify some other time and enjoy the rousing sounds of the Who.

Match Point....No,Wait!

When the Commander came down for breakfast this morning, he suggested that I might want to go turn on the TV and watch the tennis match that was about to begin.

"They were really hyping it up on the news a few minutes ago," he said.  "Apparently it is going to be THE match to watch.  It's being played at Wimbledon."

"I would have thought that the Wimbledon matches were already over since they started at the end of June," I mused aloud.

"They're just playing the matches at Wimbledon.  These are for the Olympics," he patiently explained.  "I guess the British didn't feel a need to build a new set of courts since they happened to have a spare set of courts sitting around that are pretty famous."

"Oh, duh....of course," I laughed.

I dutifully poured myself a bowl of cereal and headed downstairs.

By the time I had made it down there, Serena Williams had already won 4 sets and was heading for a fifth set victory.

"Wow, you should have seen this return!" I called up to the Commander.  "Serena just returned a volley right to one ball's width of the back line and of course, Sharapova missed it.  What a return!"

"Hey, Sharapova was ahead on this set but now Serena has rallied and they are 40-all," I yelled.  "I think we might be coming up on the set point."

The Commander came downstairs and walked into his computer room.  As I continued to describe the action, he interrupted me.

"I don't need a blow-by-blow commentary," he dryly pointed out.

"I wonder how many sets they have to play before they do a 'match point'?  I thought it was six but it must be more," I thought aloud.

I turned off the TV.  "I'm thinking it's a given that Williams is going to win the gold medal so I'm not going to watch any more," I told the Commander.  I think I heard a sigh of relief.

I REALLY need to be watching tennis at the home of my daughter-in-law's parents.  They are tennis players and they explain things to me when I watch.  It's like having my own personal expert commentator sitting beside me.  Otherwise I spend more time trying to remember the scoring rules from the last time I played (cough, cough....1970's), comparing the tennis outfits, rolling my eyes at the grunts and bird-like squeaks the players are making these days, and checking out hairdos in the crowd.