The observation makes me feel like a real boob, but I’m watching the Olympics and wondering where all the breasts have gone.
The world’s greatest female athletes, resplendent in uniforms from ‘round the globe, are uniformly flat-chested.
Like most guys, I devote a good deal of my wakeful moments to considering breasts: are they fake? Are they real? Under what circumstances would I get a clothes-free peek at them?”
But never once have I looked at a pair of breasts and thought, “Well, that’s a lovely pair, but I’ll bet they would be impediments to her medaling in the 100 meter freestyle.”
I’m really enjoying the games.
The opening ceremonies were a delight and I got choked up, as I always do, at the parade of nations. It moves me to see so many people from different cultures so happy over something that doesn’t involve yet another my-God’s-better-than-your-God war.
And they were all beautiful. The men were handsome, the women radiant.
Then the games began and I noticed another similarity: The girls’ boobs were no bigger than the boys’.
It was that way with swimmers, gymnasts, kayakers, table tennis and volleyball players. None of these women I saw had breasts. They had rib cages.
Not to try and sneak in a subversive mention of a non-sanctioned commercial sponsor, but where the hell were all the Hooters?
I wondered if the shapelessness were a result of the constrictive uniforms, but that couldn’t be. Restricting breasts so severely as to make them appear non-existent would have to be painful. And you’d think the stressed breast would pop free like an aneurysm along some weakened seam.
It may be a stretch for me to even try and relate, but I shift in my seat and walk funny when my underwear’s too tight. There’s no way I can perform at Olympic levels with my goodies under the gun.
I can’t run, play frisbee or comfortable participate in a beer chugging contest when my undies are too tight. In fact, the only competition in which I could succeed under those circumstances is speed un-dressing and I’m not even sure that’s an Olympic event.
Maybe in 2016. We can hope.
Perhaps my reaction stems from constant exposure to our whole breast-obsessed society. When I turn on my TV, it’s a sure thing I’m going to be smacked right in the face with some massive hi-def cleavage within 15 seconds of the Toshiba gaining its glow.
And that “smacked right in the face with some massive hi-def cleavage” is a metaphor, so don’t call Comcast demanding an upgrade.
Huge breasts are everywhere. In regards to internationally recognized symbols, they’re right up there next to the Olympic rings. It’d make a dandy tee shirt.
So when I tuned into the an event called the female breast stroke and didn’t see any female breasts for 20 minutes I thought my picture needed adjusting.
I began wondering if organized swimming discriminated against women with large breasts in tight swim suits.
And, man, wouldn’t that be a role reversal of historic proportions.
But I have trouble arriving at that conclusion.
Natalie Gulbis is one of the most exquisitely endowed females on the planet and is also a champion golfer. Serena Williams has enormous breasts that haven’t hampered her success.
There’s lovely skater Katarina Witt . . .
Voluptuous champion speed skater Anni Friesinger . . .
Curvy skier Sarah Burke . . .
Mmmm . . .
What the hell were we talking about?
Oh, yes, we were agreeing big breasts don’t make women bad athletes.
Sure, big breasts make men stupid, but that’s a topic for another day.
What’s funny about this whole subject is I’m sure I’m giving you the wrong impression.
I don’t give a hoot about breasts.
I’m an ass man.
Or after this anatomical little discourse, it might be more accurate to punctuate it, “I’m an ass, man.”
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