16 Days of Glory: Mary Decker eats it and lives on forever

We all had a favorite teacher in high school. Maybe yours was the nerdy algebra teacher with an affinity for Dungeons and Dragons, or the English Literature teacher half your junior class had a thing for, or perhaps the chemistry teacher that ran Mario Kart 64 tournaments in his lab at lunch and after school. While this last example is actually true in my case, the high school teacher I look back on as my favorite is surely Mr. Corbin.

I had Corbs for two classes in high school. Biology my sophomore year and biochemistry my second semester senior year. The man was a pretty damn good teacher and he certainly made things interesting for us, but what really set him apart from everyone else were his eccentricities.

The man was known to stop in mid-lecture to give five minutes of praise for what he called the greatest beverage on the planet, Iron City Light. He'd often pull his tin of Copenhagen out of his back pocket while making the rounds of our desks during the test and inhale the scent dramatically. Best of all, he'd simply "cancel" class during the first few days of March Madness so we could huddle around his television that looked to be from the Stone Age.

If you couldn't tell already, we didn't attend Corbs' class to learn, it was more about experiencing his overall goofiness. What really put him over the oddball threshold was his love for the 1984 Olympics and the official film from those Games, 16 Days of Glory, directed by Bud Greenspan.

We watched Carl Lewis dominate time and again, we saw Edwin Moses do his invincibility thing countless times, we saw Bud Greenspan set up dozens of clips all while NEVER, EVER TAKING THOSE GLASSES OFF THE TOP OF HIS STUPID HEAD, but we viewed one event more than any other.

Mary Decker getting tripped (skip ahead to 4:50 for the normal speed, 7:30 for the slow motion train wreck) and crying, whining, throwing a fit, getting her diaper changed, and most importantly quitting:



At least that's how Mr. Corbin saw it. You see, much like the great Walter Sobchek, Corbs was a veteran. He played and replayed Decker going down like a ton of bricks for us and always railed against her quitting on the side of the track and not getting up and "chasing that barefoot, little shit down," because as an American athlete, the last thing she should be doing is quitting.

Carl Lewis: WINNER.
Edwin Moses: WINNER.
Mary Lou Retton: WINNER.
Greg Louganis: GAY.
Mary Decker: QUITTER.

Besides pointing out Decker's obvious, un-American flaws, another reason behind showing the video was so he could make fun of Decker whining; let's be honest here, that's always a good time. Seriously, look at this:

Never not funny

So I guess my point in all of this is with the Olympics starting tomorrow, Mr. Corbin and his love for the Games are the first thing I think of. Through not teaching me a great deal of biology, he taught me so much more. He showed me the Olympics are all about the big moments and how athletes react to them, if they'll rise to the occasion or buckle under the pressure.

I'll tune in to see if Michael Phelps and his giant mouth of teeth can earn 8 gold medals, and I'll turn on the tube just in time to see USA Basketball suck it up again (I still say they're in trouble...move the ball, fellas,) and I might even make it a point to check out some of that team handball nonsense the Duke loves so much, especially if things get, um, interesting.

And if something awful or out of the ordinary happens, that will just be icing on the cake, making it all the more memorable.

Posted by McLane at 2:48 PM 3 comments  

Hold That Elevator!

Going down, right? That's great. I need to cut this day short, gotta get home and take care of some urgent business. This morning has NOT gone as planned.

You see, I had an extra large bran muffin and a tall coffee for breakfast this morning. It seems to have pushed things into high gear, my insides are red-lining at the moment.

The bran/coffee combo doesn't typically have this affect but when coupled with the 17 Cerveza Caguama I threw down last night while alternately feasting on dozens of habanero street tacos and that hooker's crack, my guts are ready to explode.

Oh no. Oh fuck.

A man can only hold off the bubbles and pressure for so long.

I hate that it had to go down like this, here in this packed elevator. I made the terrible mistake of releasing a scout before I walked in and now we're all paying for it. Well, not so much me. I've learned to embrace my special brand of funk. But you poor bastards. You're definitely paying for it. Especially that woman curled in the fetal position in the corner. Is she breathing?

Word to the wise, folks. Don't try and hold your breath, simply breath as you normally would. If you take a deep breath and hold it, the beast will work it's way down and gutrot will then ensue. Trust me, it's pretty potent stuff. My poor wife just about died on our honeymoon.

Can this thing move any faster? World's slowest elevator combined with man helplessly emitting lethal methane while almost shitting his pants is not a good combination. They should build these things with our colons and noses in mind. Man, this is ridiculous.

Is someone's nosehair burning? I'm sorry, I can't help it any longer. Once those first couple escaped, it was all over. Seriously, is she breathing over there?

Just a few more floors to go folks. I know it's unbearable at the moment but is the uncontrollable retching necessary? Let he who has not squeezed a gaseous demon through their keyster cast the first stone!

I need something to help me relax. Sphincter muscles can't take much more. Fading fast. FUCK!

This is the worst day ever. Not only have I ruined everyone's sinuses for life, but these suit pants will never be the same. Thank goodness we've at least reached the ground floor.

Here's my card. Send me your dry-cleaning bills, I'll take care of everything. It's Peirera. Mike Peirera.

I'm sorry. I really am.

Posted by McLane at 1:01 PM 0 comments