Now that spring training has begun and Joey Votto has congratulated himself on getting fatter, we have all backed away from the ledge a bit and may now gear up for some Queen City-quality complaining.
I’m going to remind you here that first allowed our cherished right to begin the entire season to slip away, but now we’re shoving off the distinction of throwing a parade because this year Opening Day falls at an inconvenient time for the hipsters who semi-frequent the organic bike tire shops at Findlay Market.
This is why Cincinnati cannot host the Olympics.
I’m sure you remember us trying to do this for the 2012 Summer Games, and frankly we would have done a better job of it than the eventual winner, London, which decided that what would truly capture the athletic ideals of the Games of the XXX Olympiad was the Spice Girls and a tribute to fashion. In a way, this was fitting, as much of the Olympics is about bitter disappointment anyhow.
The more I learn about how government actually works, the more terrified I am about the very idea of Cincinnati attempting to engineer something like this. We’re going to transport the entire world to various event sites and our 3.6 mile-loop streetcar gets angry and refuses to work in cold weather. (In the streetcar’s defense, however, so do I.)
Cincinnati is supposedly going to unite the world and we can’t even agree, as a city, how beer is supposed to be distributed (in six packs without getting out of your car vs. in an artisanal glass imported from Liechtenstein.)
But as the Opening Ceremonies would probably consist of a giant Split the Pot and cornhole in the west parking lot, along with a soy-fired food truck festival on the east, these are Opening Ceremonies I would actually attend.
There would be a gigantic controversy over the shape, artist, size, and funding over the Olympic Cauldron, but no matter what we came up with, it would still be better than Vancouver’s spectacularly bad Pile of Joints.
Frankly I expected better of Canada, as the 1988 Calgary Winter Games were the best ever staged, but then I remembered that Canada also contains Quebec, and then this made more sense.
But at the end of everything we’d warily hug and present a united front, for, in the end, we are all we have. That and a shared disgust for bridge closings which inconvenience us all.
There’s always Kentucky to blame.
Proud aunt Mary Beth Ellis is a freelance writer and college teacher who lives in Cincinnati, OH. Her home site, BlondeChampagne.com, has existed in at least some form since 2003, and Mary Beth has been a regular columnist with one publication or another from the age of 16. Her first book, Drink to the Lasses, was published in 2006. She currently teaches college, runs personal wine tastings, gives literary readings, and stares into the middle distance.