The Real Sprinters of Olympia

Oh the tales from the 100m starting line. (you know mos that introductory camera pan on all the players just before they race, as they warm up and focus on the race ahead... the flexing, stretching and feather fluffing)

Olympics' Queen B* - "I told ya'll... Whowwww bitch I'm fierce"

Am I the only one who enjoyed the show that was put on by the world’s finest 100m sprinters just before that Olympic final last night? I promise you, it’s like those boys were on script and the assistant director had just clapped the clapper board. It reminded me of an intro sequence to some F-grade telenovella about the lives and loves of Caribbean sprinters that I’ve never seen. Think Sunset Beach, Miami Sands et al.

It began with the delicious Yohan Blake, who gave us his “ladies-lov-me” poses as he licked the black off his own lips. You could’ve sworn that he was getting ready to sprint towards the coach’s son (who, for this telenovella’s sake, is the love interest). We then moved on to receive a cringe-worthy “I’m too sexy for this track, this gold or this silver” dance from Justin Gatlin (this was a killer).  

Hayi ke, without fail, your boy B* (Usain Bolt) was the nights biggest performer, before and after the actual race (like this is even news). I love this man’s confidence; he really does have that “Making-It-Rain-on-Them-Hoes” savoir faire. You know maan! That “If I beat you once, I beat you twice” je ne sais quois. Asafa Powell is not much of a show off I gathered, but coming in at number 8 (or last) out of the bunch I also wouldn’t be. That being said, I’d still tap that. (Oh don’t judge me, you know you would too)

One man whose performance was very subtle and unnoticeable, even after the race, was America’s hot-mess deluxe, eye candy supreme, Ryan Bailey (wipes brow). After a little conversation with a friend of mine this morning (@onefumi), we’ve come up with a few situations we’d like to find ourselves stuck in (with these few of course), and they have nothing to do with athletics. Or do they? I don’t know. You figure that out.

In closing, I’d like to disclaim that I know nothing about the 100m sprint, its rules, the protocol followed or its antics, but that I’m merely commentating on them in my own personal capacity as a person who found himself with no plans for the evening, on a couch, in front of a television set.

No expert opinion.

That being said all views expressed in this post are that of my own (and hopefully a few other wack heads out there).

I pray none of the sprinters’, Bolt fans’ or peanut gallerinas’ egos are hurt by the views expressed in this post. 

So the next time you sit down to catch a sporting event on TV, grab a bottle of wine and a paper cup and say this of me… Sizo would’ve been the best companion to watch this with. (Ya dig!)