The Open Ice Hits Olympics: Beach Volleyball

AKA: The Olympic sport I've ended up watching the most

Awwww, so many ways I could take this one. Where I wanted to go with this, however, was to not talk about skimpy swimsuits (Dear the Netherlands: You've FAILED!!), or predictable plays, or blasting Nickelback in the background.

I wanted to talk about the lovely, lovely sand.

It slows you down like no one's business: Ever wonder what it felt like to be Rhett Warrener, or Eriksson? (And very likely, Roy, and Chucko?) Go run around in an oversized sandbox all summer long.

It hurts less when you dive: Kind of makes me wonder why they haven't tried playing soccer on sand.

You can stick your head in it and hide: I've been doing this a bit with respect to Canada's current medal count. Go follow the excellent coverage Matt Fenwick has been providing over at Battle of Alberta. It's a finely honed skill, I admit, which I've worked on over the last couple of years of blogging. It's damn hard saying again and again that if they play a full 60 minutes, and if they show up, and if Kipper doesn't decide to leave partway for popcorn and nachos, that we'll be ok.

It gets you dirty: Heh. Next!