Historically, the quadrennial spectacle known as The Olympic Games has had one purpose and two effects — it showcases athletic excellence and, as a result, it inspires children and boosts national pride. That’s pretty much the foundation of the exercise.
The Olympics aren’t isolated from world events. They’re not insulated from fad, fashion and culture, either. Naturally, and for better or for worse, each Games reflects the host country and city.
I was one of those ’60s kids inspired by the Summer Games. (I didn’t give a shit-and-a-half about winter sports. I still don’t.) I was proud every time an American won gold, and I cheered for Americans exclusively. (I had no desire to engage in citizen-of-the-world nonsense. I still don’t.)
Then, in 1968, two American Olympians I’d rooted for raised black-gloved fists on the medal stand, and they held them high while our national anthem played. The display of disrespect shattered my naiveté. It stripped the myth from the ideal I’d admired.
Four years later, Palestinians murdered 11 Israeli athletes at the Munich Games. That was the beginning of the end of my interest in the Olympics. By the time Carter kept the American contingent home in 1980, I’d stopped caring entirely.
Without social media, I might not even be aware that the 2024 Games are underway in Paris right now. I certainly wouldn’t know how upset people are — traditional conservatives and Christians, specifically — about the other night’s opening ceremonies.
Before I continue, I want to remind y’all that I come to this without carrying the weight of religious dogma. What’s more, I couldn’t care less about France — the extent to which I’m influenced by French culture is roughly equivalent to how much a badger needs an accordion.
That said, the Paris Olympics have been characterized widely as “the gayest Games ever.” The opening ceremonies relentlessly signaled “woke” virtues with a French accent.
That was predictable. It’s the sort of thing a host country does.
What no one expected, honestly, was a parody of Leonardo da Vinci’s “Last Supper,” presented as a bacchanal featuring a cast of drag queens. Christians worldwide have gone absolutely bullshit over that. Advertisers are pulling their buys. Angry folks are calling for boycotts of all things French.
In short, the offending virtue signal has sparked retaliatory virtue signals. Welcome to 2024.
Some reactions to the parody are downright laughable. Topping that list is the idiotic, “Of course they picked on Christians — they wouldn’t dare parody the prophet Muhammad!”
Ummm… there are two reasons for that, my Christian friends — nobody’s afraid of you, and everyone’s afraid of Muslims. If you wanna be “respected” like that, do some terror. Have the Pope or Rod Parsley issue a fatwa on the creative director of the opening ceremonies. Bring back the Crusades.
Look, I know you’re pissed. But I think you’re giving a weird piece of performance art way more power than it deserves.
Now, did I have a personal reaction to the opening ceremonies in general, or the da Vinci sendup in particular?
Yes — yes, I did.
“Woke” disgusts me. I find drag queens repulsive.
And so I was disgusted and repulsed, momentarily, and then I moved on with my life. I realized that this woke extravaganza isn’t itself a dangerous thing — it’s a reflection of dangerous things that are well-established in French culture and in our own.
Getting my nuts in a knot over some perverse artistic expression seems like a colossal waste of my attention and energy. You do what you want.
Here on The Mountain, there’s not much to report. A week-long reprieve from seasonably hot temperatures is over, and it’s been positively brutal outside today. It’ll be two weeks, give or take, before we get relief.
And that’s fine. Of necessity, the pace will change. There’s still no other place I’d rather be.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB