And it burns, burns, burns, that ring of fire
The Olympics are here! Four years ago, I freaked out about getting into RPS, much less Olympic RPS. Since then, I've done a lot of embarrassing things, so I've gotten past the freaking and have just come to accept that I should never rule anything out, because if I do I will inevitably fall for it. So, please expect some craziness between now and the end of August.
Anyway. It also means I need to dump a bunch of links I've been keeping in tabs!
I'm not even going to bother trying to put up all the stuff I've seen from The SwimRoom. Go to www.swimroom.com, register, and browse through at your own leisure. NBC has a lot of material on their Olympics site that's worth looking at, from videos to picture galleries to articles. Let's start off with some pictures.
Pictures: Guess the swimmer by the abs
Exactly what it sounds like! There are some very nice abs going on there, although some were (by reason of tattoo, suits, or jewelry) fairly obvious. Now, some photo gallery collections. I haven't had time to go through and save my favorites for reposting, but there is pretty much a lot of dorky cuteness-- almost more than can be born.
Pictures: Aaron Peirsol through the years.
Photo gallery of Aaron Peirsol through the years. All of these just slayed me, although I think the pumpkin was my favorite. He looks so proud of his pumpkin.
Pictures: Michael Phelps through the years
Photo galley of Michael Phelps through the years. Is-- is he playing with a My Little Pony in one of them? And he wears hats! And rompers. And his ears stick out and he is adorkable. Although some of these remind me of that "Michael's first leg shaving" picture in the Amazing Pace biography book, and I feel like "To Catch A Predator" is about to kick down my door.
Pictures: Ian Crocker through the years
Ian Crocker was a very cute baby. Man.
Article on Phelps' low profile in the games.
"Michael kind of goes unnoticed," Phelps' teammate Amanda Beard said Thursday. "Obviously, people know who he is, but he kind of walks around like most of the other athletes here. A lot of people might know his name, so he has good recognition that way, but as far as putting a face to it, maybe not as much as somebody like LeBron James or Kobe Bryantor Roger Federer."
That trio of millionaires is swarmed by other athletes wanting autographs and photos. Phelps, on the other hand, said he gets asked for "a few pictures here and there, but nothing major."
Helping divert some of the attention from Phelps is teammate Dara Torres, a 41-year-old mother competing in her fifth Olympics, a record for an American swimmer.
"It doesn't bother me at all," he said.
Beard, who posed nude for an anti-fur campaign poster unveiled this week, cheekily suggested how Phelps could put himself out there more.
"Come on, Michael," she said. "Get naked!"
Not likely.
Listen to Amanda, Michael! She has wisdom to share! Sure her Playboy spread was a little freaky, but you cannot deny that she makes a good suggestion!
The 23-year-old, six-time gold medalist has been killing time before opening his bid Saturday night by teaming with rival Ryan Lochte to play two-on-two games of spades in his room.
"You have to get good cards, but you also have to play cards at the right time," Phelps said, describing the game as a combination of chance and skill. "We've won the last two, so we're starting on a hot streak. We're hopefully going to get over .500."
...was that a euphemism? I can't tell.
Phelps will skip Friday night's Opening Ceremony, as he always does to stay off his feet, and watch the spectacle on TV.
Then he and Lochte will put their friendship aside long enough to swim preliminaries of the 400-meter individual medley Saturday night. They'll come back for the finals Sunday morning, giving Americans the first of eight prime-time television appearances by Phelps. The duo swam a memorable 400 IM final at the U.S. trials in June, when Phelps won in 4 minutes, 5.25 seconds, Lochte finished second and both went under world-record time.
"I'm just ready for it to be here," Phelps said.
So is his coach Bob Bowman.
"I'm looking forward to the 400 IM because I can't wait for this thing to get started," he said. "That's my favorite race anyway. That was the best, most exciting race at trials."
Lochte and Ian Crocker are considered the swimmers with the best shot of foiling Phelps' gold-medal rush.
"He loves to be pushed," Bowman said. "It's so hard when you sort of separate yourself from everyone else to go to the well and just do it on your own. He said if Ryan hadn't been there (at trials), he wouldn't have gone 4:05."
I figured he'd skip the Opening Ceremony, but I'm looking forward to watching it on television. Always fun to see what the hell each country drags out for the first big night. The paper today was full of articles about how China was seeding the clouds to fight rain, or something.
Facebook pictures of the Olympic Swimming team.
Beware the type of comments that usually perpetuate ohnotheydidnt. Facebook still kind of weirds me out, the way it's easy for folks to get their hands on your picture. Some of these are spectacularly bad shots, some are extremely funny, and some of rather nice. I like that it covers the whole team, not just the main players. (She says, as she writes a post that is exactly the opposite.)
Picture post from Ohnotheydidnt, mostly featuring the pornstache.
Oh my God, Michael, the pornstache, what the hell? I mean, at least I know it'll be gone by tonight or tomorrow, but that is not fashionable. Did you learn nothing when you were trying to copy Ian Thorpe's metrosexualism? A little chin scruff is fine; actually trimming into a Fu Manchu means you've gone too far. (The guys on my swim teams did have Ugly Facial Hair contests, so I can't rule that out as an instigator, but he has been a repeat offender on this too many times now.)
I can't even blame Ian Thorpe, because while he did do the mullet, at least Ian never did the Fu Manchu. In fact, I'm hoping Thorpe will bitchslap some sense into him; I'm sure they'll have him doing commentary duties at some point. Set him on the right path, Ian; you know he listens to everything you say with crazy stalker-like fervor.
The Ready-room in swimming.
A very interesting article about the room the swimmers hang out in before their races; and what people have done in the past to try and psyche each other out. Man, I think you could get a lot of inspiration out of this.
Immediately before they race in the 50-meter pool at the Olympic aquatics arena, the Water Cube, the swimmers will be required to spend up to 30 minutes at rest in the ready room. It is like a television studio green room, except instead of hospitality, there is usually a strong whiff of hostility.
“It’s probably the most stressful moment of the Olympics,” said John Naber, a five-time medalist at the 1976 Montreal Games. “There’s no place to hide. No place to run.”
No place for quickies-- unless you use your imagination.
The ready room in Beijing may not be much bigger than a walk-in closet. In days gone by, it was not even a room at all, but rather a hallway with benches situated a few steps from the pool deck. It was created to assure meet organizers that swimmers would be on time for their races.
“It is a place that makes the organizers relax and the performers uneasy,” Naber said.
It is one of the few ways the biggest swimming competition resembles an age-group meet, where 9- and 10-year-olds are frequently seen walking hand in hand toward the blocks.
At the Olympics, any physical contact between competitors in the room is usually calculated.
Man, seriously, calculated physical contact! How does this not make your mind immediately start wondering?
One of the greatest intimidators was de Varona’s 1964 teammate Don Schollander. He used to sit in the ready area and tie his suit, then look at his competitors’ suits and raise his eyebrows, a simple gesture that caused many a nervous Ned to focus on his drawstrings instead of the coming race.
Before the semifinals of the 100-meter freestyle at the 1964 Games, Schollander was observing the Frenchman Alain Gottvalles, who held the world record. Gottvalles had spent the lead-up to the race bragging about how he could drink a bottle of wine and smoke half a pack of cigarettes every day and still break records.
None of that bravado was evident to Schollander as he studied Gottvalles, who struck him as nervous. Schollander kept inching closer to Gottvalles until he was standing above him.
Gottvalles slid down the bench, and Schollander followed him. He got up and headed to the bathroom, and Schollander followed him to the urinal and stood behind him, like swimming’s answer to the Grim Reaper. The next night, Schollander won the gold and Gottvalles was fifth.
Basically, to win a medal, you have to be willing to stalk people on both a physical and emotional level. Well, I'm glad we've got that straight.
Article about how Ian Thorpe hangs out in Beijing and does his thing.
I think he's there for commentator stuff and to inspire people. Very nice.
Yesterday's symposium on the nature of champions served to remind Thorpe that people can have short memories. Chang Hsin-kang, the emeritus president of Hong Kong University who also served on the panel, referred to Thorpe as "Mr Phelps".
Snork. "We agreed to take my name," he muttered angrily under his breath.
Article about Ian Thorpe dating… uh, someone?
Thorpe told Australia's Sunday Telegraph: "There is (someone special in my life), but they don't live in this country."
Interesting choice of pronoun.
"He described the relationship as a 'newbie' and said it was going well. Thorpe, who is preparing to travel to the Beijing Olympics to honour sponsorship commitments, has previously been linked to a bevy of women...The 25-year-old's sexuality has also been the subject of speculation, with persistent claims the gold-medallist is gay. However, Thorpe has denied this, saying that the subject was nobody's business."
Interesting choice of pronoun indeed, champ. Well, good luck on that.
2.7 Seconds.
Lastly, here's the article text that went with the oiled up picture post from a while back. You can read the entire article at the above link, but I snipped out a few paragraphs on the Lochte-Phelps rivalry/friendship. (The magazine itself does have a couple pictures that weren't included in the original post, including one of them playing tennis.)
Considering how different Phelps and Lochte are, it would be easy to imagine them as bitter rivals. After all, the 200 individual medley, an event in which Phelps was once unbeatable, is quickly becoming a heated competition between the two swimmers. Phelps - who is 6-foot-4 and 195 pounds of long, lean, stick-figure limbs - owns the world record in the event, but he barely held off Lochte for the gold in Athens. Then, this past November, Lochte defeated Phelps in the 200 IM short-course championships in Atlanta. And while Phelps was trying to work out of his rut as recently as April, Lochte swam extremely well at an Olympic warm-up in Manchester, England, winning the event over top international swimmers. Yet the competition hasn't created a rift between the two.
"I think it's good for the sport that we're pushing each other," says Lochte, who is two inches shorter and more compact and muscular than Phelps. "Most of the things you hear about rivalries, it's people who hate each other. But that's totally not us."
In fact, they've been close since they first met at the 2004 U.S. Olympic Trials. They even vacationed together for a week in Beijing after last year's world championships. Though Lochte trains in Gainesville and Phelps works out in Ann Arbor, Michigan, they're constantly in touch. Like teenage girls, they send daily text messages; they also gab on the phone a few times a week about mutual interests like hip-hop, video games, and expensive cars. Their conversations are rarely, if ever, about swimming.
"With us," Lochte says, "it's all shits and giggles."
"He's hysterical," Phelps says. They even have a running text message gag: "Young Jeezy says 'jeah.'" Sometimes, they'll just shorten the missive to "jeah." (Young Jeezy, for the unacquainted, is a rapper who does, in fact, say "jeah.") "That's just us acting stupid," Phelps says. "I think he brings that side out in me."
"They're always texting. They're always joking," says Peter Carlisle, an agent whom the two share. "They're totally comfortable around one another. For a couple of guys who have a lot of serious stuff to think about, you wouldn't know it when they're together."
"Ryan is the best thing to ever happen to Michael," says USA Swimming head coach Mark Schubert. "Because even though Michael isn't the type to rest on his laurels, he can't since Ryan is right there. Ryan is continuing to improve, and Ryan is so close to him in all the events they both swim."
Despite Phelps's recent poor showings, his natural abilities, coupled with Lochte's improving strokes, have Schubert predicting that the Olympic 200 IM will be a classic - the Ben Johnson vs. Carl Lewis contest of 2008. But hopefully without the steroids and international scandal.
I didn't even do all the youtube links. Ah, well, that can wait. I'm sure there'll be more to see shortly anyway. Maybe this deserves more excerpts from the Scaly Dick WIP.
***
"Show me your dick," was the first thing Aaron said to him at BWI, before he even got in the car.
"Jesus," Michael muttered, and nearly gave himself whiplash, looking around to make sure no one heard. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Helping." Ian had a carry-on suitcase and a dufflebag that Michael assumed belonged to Aaron; otherwise it looked like Ian was planning on a long-term stay, and that was ominous. Michael had sort of hoped Ian would have a plan to fix his dick by the end of the day, after which he would thank Ian and then never mention it again for the rest of his life. "Well, I came because you called. Aaron came because he wanted to see it for himself."
"Brendan had a clinic he couldn't get out of right away, but I promised I'd take a lot of pictures." Aaron said. "Seriously, whip it out."
"Shut up," Michael said distractedly. "Who else?"
"Just me and Aaron and Brendan," Ian said. "Unless you called--"
"No," Michael said.
"Then just us," Ian said. "Stop worrying, we're not going to blab about it."
"Ah," Aaron said, and both Michael and Ian turned to stare at him. Aaron shrugged, looking a little guilty but not at all sorry. "Maybe. Not? I figured you might need other help. And support. In this difficult time for you."
"Who?" Michael said hollowly.
"Show me your dick," Ryan said as he jogged up, dufflebag slung over his shoulder. "Also, please tell me this isn't fatal or some shit like that, because I really want to start laughing. Also, I can't believe you didn't text me about this. I thought we were friends, dude."
Michael leaned his head down on the steering wheel and contemplated death, both his own and that of everyone else in the near vicinity.
After he'd nearly driven off the road for the third time--
("I want to see," Ryan complained, and Michael yelped, "Fuck, don't touch that!" and Ian shouted "Truck! Truck!" and Aaron said, "Ryan has a point, you know.")
--Ian made him pull over onto the shoulder, and there was a Chinese fire drill while Ian got into the driver's seat and the rest of them scuffled over who got shotgun. There was some more crotch grabbing, and a few terrifying seconds where Michael thought Aaron and Ryan were going to succeed in making him drop his pants on the side of I-195, but after giving out promises and threats and a lot of hard elbowing, they were off again.
Michael grunted directions to Ian, ignored Ryan and Aaron, and turned his iPod up as loud as he could make it. Ryan and Aaron whispered together in the back seat. His Blackberry vibrated, and he picked it up to see who had texted him.
lets stop 4 lunch. show us in the bathroom.
He turned around to glare at Ryan. "Don't text me while we're in the car."
Ryan grinned. "Is it prehensile now? Like, in a tentacle way? Can you pick things up with it?"
***
"So, like, does this give you the ability to command sea creatures to do your bidding?" Ryan gestured vaguely at Michael. "If you, like, shake your dick at them?"
The alcohol must have been cushioning his system, because instead of unleashing righteous beat-downs of incredible proportion on Ryan, Michael just blinked and took another swig. "I. I dunno." He stared down at his crotch uncertainly. "Do you think I could?"
Two hours, a ridiculous amount of money, and four signed t-shirts for the security guard's kids later, they were all somehow being let into the Baltimore Aquarium at one in the morning. The original plan had been to break in, but even under the influence they could all figure out that that was probably not destined for success, and it wasn't like anyone wanted to deal with the inevitable Troy McClure fishfucker rumors that would follow. Not to mention Bob.
"This is the worst idea ever," Michael said. He swayed a little, and grabbed the corner of an educational sea turtle display for balance.
"The dolphins are over on Pier 4," Ian said. He and the others were crowded around the You Are Here directory.
"No way, he should start with the giant octopus," Aaron said. "I mean, what's cooler than that?"
"Sharks, you dumbasses," Ryan said impatiently. "Mike, c'mon, pick something so we can figure this out."
"This is the worst idea ever," Michael repeated.
"How about the electric eels?" Aaron grinned. "You can be just like Ursula instead of Ariel." He started to hum Under the Sea again.
"Fuck you," Michael said for the five hundred and nineteenth time since he'd woken up with scales on his dick.
"Besides," Ian said, "I'm pretty sure the eels in The Little Mermaid were morays."
"You guys suck," Michael said bitterly.
"Oh, come on," Aaron said, "Like there's any other logical response to a freakish scientific anomaly like this besides giving you tons and tons of shit about it? Okay, let's try the dolphins."
He and Ian marched Michael between them all the way there, Ryan complaining loudly about not seeing sharks for most of it.
***
We're having renovation done, and this means I work while it sounds like the house is coming down around my ears. I fully expect it to drive us all insane, although I suppose we could see it as a point of pride to have a portapotty right in the front yard now. Apart from the machinery and general banging, the workers also play their own stereo outside. Usually they tend towards the typical pop/rock stations, as well as the Hispanic stations (with the exception of an inexplicable but intriguing foray into classical opera one afternoon) but today, my ears pricked to the dulcet tones of none other than "Dragostea Din Tei" blaring outside the house.
I'm afraid to look outside-- either for fear the construction workers will all be dancing in chorus on the scaffolding, or, far more disappointingly, that they won't be.
Anyway. It also means I need to dump a bunch of links I've been keeping in tabs!
I'm not even going to bother trying to put up all the stuff I've seen from The SwimRoom. Go to www.swimroom.com, register, and browse through at your own leisure. NBC has a lot of material on their Olympics site that's worth looking at, from videos to picture galleries to articles. Let's start off with some pictures.
Pictures: Guess the swimmer by the abs
Exactly what it sounds like! There are some very nice abs going on there, although some were (by reason of tattoo, suits, or jewelry) fairly obvious. Now, some photo gallery collections. I haven't had time to go through and save my favorites for reposting, but there is pretty much a lot of dorky cuteness-- almost more than can be born.
Pictures: Aaron Peirsol through the years.
Photo gallery of Aaron Peirsol through the years. All of these just slayed me, although I think the pumpkin was my favorite. He looks so proud of his pumpkin.
Pictures: Michael Phelps through the years
Photo galley of Michael Phelps through the years. Is-- is he playing with a My Little Pony in one of them? And he wears hats! And rompers. And his ears stick out and he is adorkable. Although some of these remind me of that "Michael's first leg shaving" picture in the Amazing Pace biography book, and I feel like "To Catch A Predator" is about to kick down my door.
Pictures: Ian Crocker through the years
Ian Crocker was a very cute baby. Man.
Article on Phelps' low profile in the games.
"Michael kind of goes unnoticed," Phelps' teammate Amanda Beard said Thursday. "Obviously, people know who he is, but he kind of walks around like most of the other athletes here. A lot of people might know his name, so he has good recognition that way, but as far as putting a face to it, maybe not as much as somebody like LeBron James or Kobe Bryantor Roger Federer."
That trio of millionaires is swarmed by other athletes wanting autographs and photos. Phelps, on the other hand, said he gets asked for "a few pictures here and there, but nothing major."
Helping divert some of the attention from Phelps is teammate Dara Torres, a 41-year-old mother competing in her fifth Olympics, a record for an American swimmer.
"It doesn't bother me at all," he said.
Beard, who posed nude for an anti-fur campaign poster unveiled this week, cheekily suggested how Phelps could put himself out there more.
"Come on, Michael," she said. "Get naked!"
Not likely.
Listen to Amanda, Michael! She has wisdom to share! Sure her Playboy spread was a little freaky, but you cannot deny that she makes a good suggestion!
The 23-year-old, six-time gold medalist has been killing time before opening his bid Saturday night by teaming with rival Ryan Lochte to play two-on-two games of spades in his room.
"You have to get good cards, but you also have to play cards at the right time," Phelps said, describing the game as a combination of chance and skill. "We've won the last two, so we're starting on a hot streak. We're hopefully going to get over .500."
...was that a euphemism? I can't tell.
Phelps will skip Friday night's Opening Ceremony, as he always does to stay off his feet, and watch the spectacle on TV.
Then he and Lochte will put their friendship aside long enough to swim preliminaries of the 400-meter individual medley Saturday night. They'll come back for the finals Sunday morning, giving Americans the first of eight prime-time television appearances by Phelps. The duo swam a memorable 400 IM final at the U.S. trials in June, when Phelps won in 4 minutes, 5.25 seconds, Lochte finished second and both went under world-record time.
"I'm just ready for it to be here," Phelps said.
So is his coach Bob Bowman.
"I'm looking forward to the 400 IM because I can't wait for this thing to get started," he said. "That's my favorite race anyway. That was the best, most exciting race at trials."
Lochte and Ian Crocker are considered the swimmers with the best shot of foiling Phelps' gold-medal rush.
"He loves to be pushed," Bowman said. "It's so hard when you sort of separate yourself from everyone else to go to the well and just do it on your own. He said if Ryan hadn't been there (at trials), he wouldn't have gone 4:05."
I figured he'd skip the Opening Ceremony, but I'm looking forward to watching it on television. Always fun to see what the hell each country drags out for the first big night. The paper today was full of articles about how China was seeding the clouds to fight rain, or something.
Facebook pictures of the Olympic Swimming team.
Beware the type of comments that usually perpetuate ohnotheydidnt. Facebook still kind of weirds me out, the way it's easy for folks to get their hands on your picture. Some of these are spectacularly bad shots, some are extremely funny, and some of rather nice. I like that it covers the whole team, not just the main players. (She says, as she writes a post that is exactly the opposite.)
Picture post from Ohnotheydidnt, mostly featuring the pornstache.
Oh my God, Michael, the pornstache, what the hell? I mean, at least I know it'll be gone by tonight or tomorrow, but that is not fashionable. Did you learn nothing when you were trying to copy Ian Thorpe's metrosexualism? A little chin scruff is fine; actually trimming into a Fu Manchu means you've gone too far. (The guys on my swim teams did have Ugly Facial Hair contests, so I can't rule that out as an instigator, but he has been a repeat offender on this too many times now.)
I can't even blame Ian Thorpe, because while he did do the mullet, at least Ian never did the Fu Manchu. In fact, I'm hoping Thorpe will bitchslap some sense into him; I'm sure they'll have him doing commentary duties at some point. Set him on the right path, Ian; you know he listens to everything you say with crazy stalker-like fervor.
The Ready-room in swimming.
A very interesting article about the room the swimmers hang out in before their races; and what people have done in the past to try and psyche each other out. Man, I think you could get a lot of inspiration out of this.
Immediately before they race in the 50-meter pool at the Olympic aquatics arena, the Water Cube, the swimmers will be required to spend up to 30 minutes at rest in the ready room. It is like a television studio green room, except instead of hospitality, there is usually a strong whiff of hostility.
“It’s probably the most stressful moment of the Olympics,” said John Naber, a five-time medalist at the 1976 Montreal Games. “There’s no place to hide. No place to run.”
No place for quickies-- unless you use your imagination.
The ready room in Beijing may not be much bigger than a walk-in closet. In days gone by, it was not even a room at all, but rather a hallway with benches situated a few steps from the pool deck. It was created to assure meet organizers that swimmers would be on time for their races.
“It is a place that makes the organizers relax and the performers uneasy,” Naber said.
It is one of the few ways the biggest swimming competition resembles an age-group meet, where 9- and 10-year-olds are frequently seen walking hand in hand toward the blocks.
At the Olympics, any physical contact between competitors in the room is usually calculated.
Man, seriously, calculated physical contact! How does this not make your mind immediately start wondering?
One of the greatest intimidators was de Varona’s 1964 teammate Don Schollander. He used to sit in the ready area and tie his suit, then look at his competitors’ suits and raise his eyebrows, a simple gesture that caused many a nervous Ned to focus on his drawstrings instead of the coming race.
Before the semifinals of the 100-meter freestyle at the 1964 Games, Schollander was observing the Frenchman Alain Gottvalles, who held the world record. Gottvalles had spent the lead-up to the race bragging about how he could drink a bottle of wine and smoke half a pack of cigarettes every day and still break records.
None of that bravado was evident to Schollander as he studied Gottvalles, who struck him as nervous. Schollander kept inching closer to Gottvalles until he was standing above him.
Gottvalles slid down the bench, and Schollander followed him. He got up and headed to the bathroom, and Schollander followed him to the urinal and stood behind him, like swimming’s answer to the Grim Reaper. The next night, Schollander won the gold and Gottvalles was fifth.
Basically, to win a medal, you have to be willing to stalk people on both a physical and emotional level. Well, I'm glad we've got that straight.
Article about how Ian Thorpe hangs out in Beijing and does his thing.
I think he's there for commentator stuff and to inspire people. Very nice.
Yesterday's symposium on the nature of champions served to remind Thorpe that people can have short memories. Chang Hsin-kang, the emeritus president of Hong Kong University who also served on the panel, referred to Thorpe as "Mr Phelps".
Snork. "We agreed to take my name," he muttered angrily under his breath.
Article about Ian Thorpe dating… uh, someone?
Thorpe told Australia's Sunday Telegraph: "There is (someone special in my life), but they don't live in this country."
Interesting choice of pronoun.
"He described the relationship as a 'newbie' and said it was going well. Thorpe, who is preparing to travel to the Beijing Olympics to honour sponsorship commitments, has previously been linked to a bevy of women...The 25-year-old's sexuality has also been the subject of speculation, with persistent claims the gold-medallist is gay. However, Thorpe has denied this, saying that the subject was nobody's business."
Interesting choice of pronoun indeed, champ. Well, good luck on that.
2.7 Seconds.
Lastly, here's the article text that went with the oiled up picture post from a while back. You can read the entire article at the above link, but I snipped out a few paragraphs on the Lochte-Phelps rivalry/friendship. (The magazine itself does have a couple pictures that weren't included in the original post, including one of them playing tennis.)
Considering how different Phelps and Lochte are, it would be easy to imagine them as bitter rivals. After all, the 200 individual medley, an event in which Phelps was once unbeatable, is quickly becoming a heated competition between the two swimmers. Phelps - who is 6-foot-4 and 195 pounds of long, lean, stick-figure limbs - owns the world record in the event, but he barely held off Lochte for the gold in Athens. Then, this past November, Lochte defeated Phelps in the 200 IM short-course championships in Atlanta. And while Phelps was trying to work out of his rut as recently as April, Lochte swam extremely well at an Olympic warm-up in Manchester, England, winning the event over top international swimmers. Yet the competition hasn't created a rift between the two.
"I think it's good for the sport that we're pushing each other," says Lochte, who is two inches shorter and more compact and muscular than Phelps. "Most of the things you hear about rivalries, it's people who hate each other. But that's totally not us."
In fact, they've been close since they first met at the 2004 U.S. Olympic Trials. They even vacationed together for a week in Beijing after last year's world championships. Though Lochte trains in Gainesville and Phelps works out in Ann Arbor, Michigan, they're constantly in touch. Like teenage girls, they send daily text messages; they also gab on the phone a few times a week about mutual interests like hip-hop, video games, and expensive cars. Their conversations are rarely, if ever, about swimming.
"With us," Lochte says, "it's all shits and giggles."
"He's hysterical," Phelps says. They even have a running text message gag: "Young Jeezy says 'jeah.'" Sometimes, they'll just shorten the missive to "jeah." (Young Jeezy, for the unacquainted, is a rapper who does, in fact, say "jeah.") "That's just us acting stupid," Phelps says. "I think he brings that side out in me."
"They're always texting. They're always joking," says Peter Carlisle, an agent whom the two share. "They're totally comfortable around one another. For a couple of guys who have a lot of serious stuff to think about, you wouldn't know it when they're together."
"Ryan is the best thing to ever happen to Michael," says USA Swimming head coach Mark Schubert. "Because even though Michael isn't the type to rest on his laurels, he can't since Ryan is right there. Ryan is continuing to improve, and Ryan is so close to him in all the events they both swim."
Despite Phelps's recent poor showings, his natural abilities, coupled with Lochte's improving strokes, have Schubert predicting that the Olympic 200 IM will be a classic - the Ben Johnson vs. Carl Lewis contest of 2008. But hopefully without the steroids and international scandal.
I didn't even do all the youtube links. Ah, well, that can wait. I'm sure there'll be more to see shortly anyway. Maybe this deserves more excerpts from the Scaly Dick WIP.
***
"Show me your dick," was the first thing Aaron said to him at BWI, before he even got in the car.
"Jesus," Michael muttered, and nearly gave himself whiplash, looking around to make sure no one heard. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Helping." Ian had a carry-on suitcase and a dufflebag that Michael assumed belonged to Aaron; otherwise it looked like Ian was planning on a long-term stay, and that was ominous. Michael had sort of hoped Ian would have a plan to fix his dick by the end of the day, after which he would thank Ian and then never mention it again for the rest of his life. "Well, I came because you called. Aaron came because he wanted to see it for himself."
"Brendan had a clinic he couldn't get out of right away, but I promised I'd take a lot of pictures." Aaron said. "Seriously, whip it out."
"Shut up," Michael said distractedly. "Who else?"
"Just me and Aaron and Brendan," Ian said. "Unless you called--"
"No," Michael said.
"Then just us," Ian said. "Stop worrying, we're not going to blab about it."
"Ah," Aaron said, and both Michael and Ian turned to stare at him. Aaron shrugged, looking a little guilty but not at all sorry. "Maybe. Not? I figured you might need other help. And support. In this difficult time for you."
"Who?" Michael said hollowly.
"Show me your dick," Ryan said as he jogged up, dufflebag slung over his shoulder. "Also, please tell me this isn't fatal or some shit like that, because I really want to start laughing. Also, I can't believe you didn't text me about this. I thought we were friends, dude."
Michael leaned his head down on the steering wheel and contemplated death, both his own and that of everyone else in the near vicinity.
After he'd nearly driven off the road for the third time--
("I want to see," Ryan complained, and Michael yelped, "Fuck, don't touch that!" and Ian shouted "Truck! Truck!" and Aaron said, "Ryan has a point, you know.")
--Ian made him pull over onto the shoulder, and there was a Chinese fire drill while Ian got into the driver's seat and the rest of them scuffled over who got shotgun. There was some more crotch grabbing, and a few terrifying seconds where Michael thought Aaron and Ryan were going to succeed in making him drop his pants on the side of I-195, but after giving out promises and threats and a lot of hard elbowing, they were off again.
Michael grunted directions to Ian, ignored Ryan and Aaron, and turned his iPod up as loud as he could make it. Ryan and Aaron whispered together in the back seat. His Blackberry vibrated, and he picked it up to see who had texted him.
lets stop 4 lunch. show us in the bathroom.
He turned around to glare at Ryan. "Don't text me while we're in the car."
Ryan grinned. "Is it prehensile now? Like, in a tentacle way? Can you pick things up with it?"
***
"So, like, does this give you the ability to command sea creatures to do your bidding?" Ryan gestured vaguely at Michael. "If you, like, shake your dick at them?"
The alcohol must have been cushioning his system, because instead of unleashing righteous beat-downs of incredible proportion on Ryan, Michael just blinked and took another swig. "I. I dunno." He stared down at his crotch uncertainly. "Do you think I could?"
Two hours, a ridiculous amount of money, and four signed t-shirts for the security guard's kids later, they were all somehow being let into the Baltimore Aquarium at one in the morning. The original plan had been to break in, but even under the influence they could all figure out that that was probably not destined for success, and it wasn't like anyone wanted to deal with the inevitable Troy McClure fishfucker rumors that would follow. Not to mention Bob.
"This is the worst idea ever," Michael said. He swayed a little, and grabbed the corner of an educational sea turtle display for balance.
"The dolphins are over on Pier 4," Ian said. He and the others were crowded around the You Are Here directory.
"No way, he should start with the giant octopus," Aaron said. "I mean, what's cooler than that?"
"Sharks, you dumbasses," Ryan said impatiently. "Mike, c'mon, pick something so we can figure this out."
"This is the worst idea ever," Michael repeated.
"How about the electric eels?" Aaron grinned. "You can be just like Ursula instead of Ariel." He started to hum Under the Sea again.
"Fuck you," Michael said for the five hundred and nineteenth time since he'd woken up with scales on his dick.
"Besides," Ian said, "I'm pretty sure the eels in The Little Mermaid were morays."
"You guys suck," Michael said bitterly.
"Oh, come on," Aaron said, "Like there's any other logical response to a freakish scientific anomaly like this besides giving you tons and tons of shit about it? Okay, let's try the dolphins."
He and Ian marched Michael between them all the way there, Ryan complaining loudly about not seeing sharks for most of it.
***
We're having renovation done, and this means I work while it sounds like the house is coming down around my ears. I fully expect it to drive us all insane, although I suppose we could see it as a point of pride to have a portapotty right in the front yard now. Apart from the machinery and general banging, the workers also play their own stereo outside. Usually they tend towards the typical pop/rock stations, as well as the Hispanic stations (with the exception of an inexplicable but intriguing foray into classical opera one afternoon) but today, my ears pricked to the dulcet tones of none other than "Dragostea Din Tei" blaring outside the house.
I'm afraid to look outside-- either for fear the construction workers will all be dancing in chorus on the scaffolding, or, far more disappointingly, that they won't be.