The Tiger has been silenced. A new cub roars. PGA winner Rory McIlroy. Second major at 23. Youth be served. 1989 babies are talented. Northern Ireland proud. England’s elder invitee David Lynn runner-up. Brits rule.
Olympics left me lacking. Didn’t watch much. Too many obscure sports. London was the star. Imagined brilliantly. Hope you will compliment them now, Mitt.
Back home, weekend fare. Little Necks Nectar. Summer Supper- RecipeDetours.com.
Can’t enjoy the Olympics at night if you go online. Comcast. HuffPost. Spoilers everywhere. The thrill of victory? No. The agony of repeat.
What’s with all the hugging? Beach Volleyball, they hug when they win a point. They hug when they lose a point. Gymnastics girls. They hug after every jump, twist, vault and turn. Divers hug in the hot tub. Team spirit. I guess. At least swimmers don’t wear those unitards anymore. And they don’t hug as much.
Loved Danny Dickensian Boyle production. Like a laser beam into intimate history of the United Kingdom. Brilliant. Then, oy vey. Just starting the “M”‘s at 10:30 P.M. Three hours in. Commercials every ten minutes. I know, mAdBen, it’s your livelihood. But, geez. It’s all about NBC, not the athletes. Olympinoxious.
Zzzomney should have warned us about the snooze-a-thon to come. By the time the torch is lit, I’ll be snoring. DVR anyone?