Son Of Guy With Metal Things For Feet

In reading, or re-reading, my earlier epic on the guy who ran in the Olympics with metal things for feet, I thought at times I might be too hard on the guy – and people who embrace the Olympic dream in general. Truth be told, I made a lot of heavily opinionated presumptions about the guy, and people who devote their early time on the planet to intense sports training. My opinions are often my downfall among many of my acquaintances, who end up holding me at arms-length after being exposed to them. Sometimes my wife falls into that group as well. But I’ll be G-D’ed if I am going to change at this stage of my life. And I will admit that I tend to take a bleak view of large swaths of the greater population in my proclamations, especially in light of how, just to recap, there were humungo blobs of people who just felt all glow-y and inspired by the athletic aspirations of this disabled “hero.” So, just to bring it all back into focus, even more than I ever gave a damn for, the guy was South African Olympian Oscar Pistorius. Old Oscar ran on prosthetic feet that I accurately described as being akin to the leaf springs from a 1967 Pontiac Firebird. Others less accurately described them as being like blades, and he was apparently dubbed the “Blade Runner.” Blades, leaf springs, cake frosting spreaders – whatever. He had no feet, and wanted to run so intensely, that he and some other sports-focused prosthetic engineer cooked up these things. And to recap again, my opinionated rant concluded that the guy was a fucking nut job. And people who get so into sports that they consider this a healthy endeavor are also fucking nut jobs. And I did all of this before our hero Oscar MURDERED HIS GIRLFRIEND. Seems he thought she was an intruder. And he stabbed her repeatedly. I have seen photos of his girlfriend, who was also a model. Her name was Reeva Steenkamp. If he had not butchered her I may have thought of her – if ever - as the woman who hooked up with the guy with metal things for feet. I may have thought of her as a model – a hot one by the way – that hooked up with the metal feet guy, if I had known that much. Her motivation for hooking up with a guy who ran on leaf springs? I could go off on that tangent, and alienate some more people, but please: you do the math. Again, as sure as I am not an athlete, if embracing that lifestyle as normal would be required to be an athlete, I am also sure that I, if a woman with a chassis like Reeva was an intruder in my bedroom, would seriously try to avoid stabbing her until it was absolutely necessary. But, in a nut shell, I went out on a limb and gave my two cents on the Olympic afterglow for the blade runner and said what I thought: something is off with this shit. I ain’t down with it. And so, if I annoyed anyone by saying that I could see this particular emperor’s cock, sorry. But, between me and Bob Costas, I think I nailed it a tad better.