In which Harry hides his face behind a ball.
Fug File: Olympics
He’s back, he’s pointing at people, he’s wearing a suit, he’s cavorting with adorable children. It’s like someone in the Royal Family’s press team realizes that the key to recouping Prince Harry after Naked Vegasville is just to have him do all the things Fug Nation loves most. Also, perhaps they’ve realized that just running around starkers isn’t exactly the worst thing anyone has ever done. It isn’t even the weirdest thing his immediate family has ever done. Although, in Charles’s defense, he had no idea that his phone was tapped and that one day we’d all hear him tell Camilla he wished he could be her tampon so he could always be in her pants (although if you read the actual transcript of that conversation, he is clearly basically joking. Also, that conversation is equal parts GET A ROOM and also sort of sweet in a weird way if one ignores the fact that at least one of them was still married at that point). Also: Kate looks great.
Seriously, they SWEAR Harry gets taken out of his shackles on Monday. Until then….
The raucous rock-concert atmosphere of the Closing Ceremony was a lot more joyous and lively and fun than the alternately grim and bizarre opener, which I suppose is appropriate since by this point nobody was stressed out anymore about their hamstrings, their inward three-and-a-half pikes, nor their baton-passing mojo. A parade of musical acts is really the best way to encourage everyone to cut loose and chug from their hip flasks and get frisky and eat forbidden chocolate (not a euphemism — Cadbury’s should’ve been handing out treats to all the athletes at the door).
I think my favorite ongoing theme, though, was People Arriving On Motorized Things, including but not limited to: The Pet Shop Boys, Russell Brand, Fatboy Slim, a woman in a fake skirt made of umbrellas, and The Spice Girls. Let’s do this thing, with the caveat that I still haven’t actually SEEN half of it thanks to that little DirecTV mishap wherein we lost NBC RIGHT BEFORE THE SPICE GIRLS CAME OUT WHY GOD WHY. Ahem. Let us carry on, yes? Presenting: A sampling of images from the show, presented in an order only roughly resembling chronology, which I will call A POX ON MY TV PROVIDER but which they would probably argue is useful artistic license.
[Photos: Getty, and my iPhone]
I hate when the Olympics end. It’s like the day after Christmas. It feels like the end of fun. FOREVER. Thank God Kate and Wills are touring Asia and the Pacific Islands for two weeks in September, so at least we won’t be totally bereft of their shenanigans. But what about Prince Harry, the hot swimmers of the world, and the awesomeness of women’s track and field, for example? What am I supposed to do without THEM? I guess I’ll just have to write a fanfic where Harry and Nathan Adrian are roommates living across the hall from Carmelita Jeter and Allyson Felix. You know, like Friends but with more really fast running. (Kate and Wills will live across the way, I guess, in Ugly Naked Guy’s apartment.) While I get to work on that, take a look at the last of the Royal Olympic Goodness. Thanks for showing us such a good time, London.
Poor rhythmic gymnastics. Nobody takes it seriously. Just because these ladies aren’t insane enough to flip around on a tiny plank, or hurl themselves at a vault, or spin around at uneven bars, people forget they exist (kind of like how synchronized swimming gets treated like that other thing people do in the pool when there isn’t diving, water polo, or lap swimming). But the photography and the costumes and the contortionism at this sucker are par excellence — here’s a peek at some shots from the first day and a half, just to whet your whistles. Spoiler: The third photo terrifies me.