Now I know what it's all about

Just when I think I've got life all figured out, it goes and changes on me.

Sometimes, after a loved one falls ill or I've had a hard week at work, when I've been so busy I've missed a friend's birthday or not absorbed the fact that they're having a difficult time of things, I think the most important thing is being Nature Boy, that the best measure of life's success is just to love and be loved in return. (By the way, I'm thinking of the Caetano Veloso and Nat King Cole versions of "Nature Boy," not the George Benson one, and certainly not the Celine Dion one. Jeez, give me some credit.)

After 9/11, I thought maybe it was about not sweating the small stuff, caring about only the most important things, always keeping your eye on the bigger picture. But then we had several celebrity telethons and concerts, and I learned that it was actually about Julia Roberts, Tom Cruise, Sarah Jessica Parker, and, uh, maybe Rhea Perlman, and what they thought it was all about.

At other times, I could have sworn it was all about Oprah and her fantastical, mystical, and constantly televised voyage of self-discovery. When Oprah starred in Beloved and appeared in publicity photos with fake scars on her back from a Hollywood-simulated lashing; when Oprah gave her audience all her favorite things--including cars--on her 50th birthday celebration show; when Oprah got locked out of Hermés in Paris because she and her entourage arrived after-hours, yet still felt entitled to shop; and when Oprah confronted falsehoods and misstatements in James Frey's autobiography, A Million Little Pieces, as if she had been lied to personally and ruined for life, as if it were her slightly misrepresented autobiography, rather than an overwritten, over-exposé by Mr. Frey--I was sure it was about The Lady O.

At still other times, whenever I listened to George "Chairman Moe" Bush and his sidekicks, "Larry Not-so-Fine" Cheney and "Shemp" Rumsfeld, I thought it was all about security, homeland or otherwise. But, no, now I've learned differently. It's not about security at all, at least not about the security of our ports. Fully cocked and loaded container ships--also known as floating fertilizer bombs--tugged into our inner harbors is not how any self-respecting evil-doer would choose to do evil in the evil empire. I know I'm comforted by Fearless Leader's words, much in the way I'm kept warm and cozy by the Star Chamber's continual assurances that the end of the war in Iraq is just around the corner . . . .

So imagine my joy and relief when, finally, this week, I learned what it's all about. Or, I should say, who it's all about.

It's actually all about the egoïste troika of Chad Hedrick, Shani Davis, and Bryant Gumbel.

I discovered this recently from yet another article in Harrisburg's Patriot-News, my only source for news these days (it is, after all, "Pennsylvania Newspaper of the Year," according to the print edition's banner). The headline of the article, written by Bernie Lincicome and originally appearing in The Rocky Mountain News, reads that "for 2 skaters [Hedrick and Davis], it's all about them." Somewhere in the middle of the article, whose narrative structure was frankly lost on me, Mr. Lincicome talks about Bryant Gumbel and his recent comparison of the Winter Olympics to a Grand Old Party rally.

So now that I've cited my source and given credit where credit is due, let the dishing begin.

Up first, Chad the Cad. There’s so much to say and so little time left on the planet for any of us to do so. Therefore, let’s cut to the 500-meter men’s speedskating chase: Chad Headcase represents the straight-man-as-drama-queen scenario, which I've commented on before, and no doubt will again.

Chad thinks the Dutch have a problem with him, Chad thinks Shani has a problem with him, Chad thinks the ice has a problem with him, Chad thinks the Texas Prairie Chicken has a problem with him. Welcome to Chad's World where all Chads are gold and no Chads are gold. Chad, Chad, Chad, 24/7 Chad on the al-Chadzeera Network. I haven’t spent so much time harassed and bothered by Chads since the 2000 election.

Chad darling, pardon me for saying so, but do you ever think that maybe you’re the one who has a problem with you?

I experience less consternation when I ponder Shani Davis's dramatis persona. Yes, he does seem like an intense, humorless git, and nearly as it’s-not-what-he-said-but-the-way-he-said-it petulant as La Hedrick. However, a lack of humility, charm, or self-awareness certainly wouldn't disqualify him from participating in sports or even enjoying a career in religion or a lifetime in politics.

I was a bit surprised at the recent, post-go-for-the-gold, NBC TV interview with Shani--not surprised that he seemed less than pleased with the reporter, mind you, just surprised he didn't bite off her head and drink her blood halfway through the segment. Which I understand is legal for Olympic competitors, though a path more often taken by disgruntled Belarussian weightlifters at the Summer Games.

After commenting on the fact that Mr. Davis was the first African-American to win best in show at the Olympics, the reporter made a few overly assertive statements posed as questions. Finally, the reporter asked Shani if he was "angry" (ding ding, pay attention, America! angry black man alert!), to which Shani replied, no, that he was distracted, had other things on his mind. Probably he was thinking how tired he was of being asked how it felt to be an African-American on Team America. "I wonder if Debbie Thomas had to put up with this shizzle?" he must have thought to himself.

But just when Chad thought it was all about Chad, and Shani thought it was all about getting away from the cameras and interviewers, and somewhere out there—in Chicago, in Montecito, on a bench outside of Hermés with her best galpal Gail and her best gigolo Steadman--Oprah thought it was all about Oprah, along comes Bryant Gumbel. Darlings, don't you know? It always has, is, and will be about La Gumbel, the Maria Callas of sports spokesmodels.

In case you haven't heard, Bryant apparently made some churlish, baby's-teething-and-feeling-fussy remarks on his show, HBO’s Real Sports, about how he wouldn't be watching the Winter Olympics because Team America looked like a “GOP Convention” and, besides, none of the games were real sports with real athletes anyway.

Oh, can’t we all just get along?

* * *

In my original draft of this post, I had an extended diatribe about Gumbel’s general unpleasantness in this and other matters throughout his career. I described him as “the most miserable, most constipated, most Bergman-esque representation of Death ever to appear on screen without benefit of a scythe and a chessboard.” Then I concluded with an admonition not to be too upset at my criticism, because Bryant could handle it. "After all, Gumbels bounce," I wrote.

Which, if you happen to be a fan of Yukon Cornelius, the polar "bear" he-man from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, is a pretty funny allusion, if I do say so, but a pretty mean-spirited one, as well.

Granted, being mean-spirited rarely bothers me when I'm lampooning and lambasting egotistical public figures, but then I started doing a little web research, trying to quote Gumbel fully and accurately and to cite a source for the quote. You know, you’d be really surprised and shocked what comes up in Google when you type in the search words, "Bryant," "Gumbel," "GOP," and "convention."

The first reference to Bryant's big-mouthedness I stumbled across was from a white suprematist bulletin board that referred to Gumbel’s comments and ethnicity with less than enlightened words and abundant "creative spellings." The site did have dazzling graphics, I’ll give the little skinheads that. Who knew you could decorate a webpage so stylishly with World War II-era German crosses? What next, dolls, using images of rainbow-colored swastikas for radio buttons? Maybe a Vargas-fashioned pin-up of Eva Braun in a peek-a-boo nightie as a watermark? Gals, the possibilities for creative hate-mongering are simply endless this season!

Then I found an article in my new favorite web resource, the Wikipedia, which related how after an interview with Robert Knight of the Family Research Council (better known as the I Hate Homosexuals and Anyone Else Having More Fun in Life than Me Council, or, if you prefer, the Southern Baptist Convention), while still on air, Gumbel referred to Knight as “a fucking idiot.”

Well, friends, sometimes you gotta do right and call 'em as you interview 'em.

So I learned two things here: 1) Somedays, it ain’t easy being African-American, ‘cause there are legions of "Payday Nazis" (i.e., nut-bars of the Hitler Youth variety) in this country just dying to use the word “mulatto” in a run-on sentence whenever you screw up in public, and 2) maybe Mr. Gumbel is more perceptive than I ever gave him credit. I mean, he did once say that Willard Scott held the Today show "hostage to his assortment of whims, wishes, birthdays, and bad taste" and that Gene Shalit’s movie reviews “are often late and his interviews aren't very good.” (Again, thank you, Wikipedia.)

Clearly, the man is gifted in character appraisals and character assassinations. A big lug after my own heart. Now if he would only take some potshots at Katie Couric, all would be right in the universe.

I can't completely go into "don't fear the Bryant" mode, as he can be unpleasant and arrogant, so unlike his seemingly sweet-natured brother Greg, who at least smiles when he's on camera. But I think I'm willing for now to give Gumbel an extra helping of grace.

Instead, let’s get back to basics and just blame all the badness on Chad Hedrick. He's the one bad sour apple spoiling the whole bunch, girl. I don't care what they say, I don't care what you heard--it's always all about some Chad-ass hanging around the TV cameras and voting booths for far too long.

Oh, and Oprah. It's always about Oprah.