I’m not really a sports person, but when the Olympics are on, I feel obligated to watch every single second of them. This means I form personal attachments to athletes like Ian Thorpe (from, like, eight years ago, but I can’t let go.) I have figured out that my love of The Thorpedo is still affecting my feelings for Michael Phelps.
Both of these people are swimmers. You know that. They had a rivalry a while ago before Thorpe retired, although it seems to me like maybe Phelps shouldn’t have been born yet back then. I was absolutely on The Thorpedo’s side. I loved his pointy face and poky hair. I loved his accent.
Last night when Phelps destroyed Thorpe’s world record by like a million seconds, I got really angry, and this made me realize that it isn’t just that Phelps has to eat 10,000 calories a day to maintain his weight that makes me dislike him. It isn’t his friendship with the bicep-kissing Grevers. It is still The Thorpedo. It will always be The Thorpedo. I really like saying The Thorpedo.