Canadian couch potatoes, rejoice! We have a king!
The coronation came Friday night after Jon Montgomery, the beloved son of Russell, Man., blew past the competition to win gold in the men's skeleton.
My buddy Bob and I, sitting in the den, eyes glued to the big-screen TV, clutching frosty beers in vise-like grips, got misty-eyed when, seconds after his victory, Montgomery pumped his fists in the air, wrapped himself in the Canadian flag and issued the following patriotic statement: "CANADA!!! WOOOOOHOOOOO!!!"
Do not get me wrong. We're not crowning links of london charms Jon Montgomery just because he won Olympic gold.
We've had lots of swell medal winners at these Games, but, until now, they've all seemed to be from a different planet than the rest of us, a planet where everyone is physically perfect and no one uses bad language or spends the entire day lying on the couch stuffing their face with Timbits, burping the alphabet, and trying to retrieve the TV remote control using only their Jedi mind-control powers.
But it's different with Jon Montgomery. We can forge a powerful human bond with him because we sense, deep in our couch potato hearts, that he's a kindred spirit.
Think about it: There's the wild hair. The cheesy moustache. The goofy grin. The buck teeth painted on his mouth guard. And that down-to-earth, non-PBS-viewing, hold-my-beer-and-watch-this all-Canadian dorkiness.
Face it, Potato Nation, we love this guy because he's just like us. We love him because, above all else, he's a hoser.
Sure, there are a few minor differences between the king and his subjects, little things such as:
1) He can wear a skin-tight Spider-Man-style costume without worrying the intense pressure created by a rapidly expanding waistline will cause it to explode with enough force to shatter windows in the Athletes Village;
2) Montgomery willingly flings himself down the side of a mountain on a sled the size of a cafeteria tray and doesn't stop until he slams into a large piece of foam at the bottom, which explains why most of the competitors appear to have no necks.
If you saw this unfold Friday night, you will know that skeleton is not a good sport for everyone.
For example, it would not be a good sport for sane people.
I say this because the genius concept involves hopping on a sled with no brakes, rocketing face-first down an ice-covered, 1,500-metre track, navigating 16 of the most dangerous twists and turns in the world, and hitting speeds of up to 150 km/h. What's not to like?
According to a medical feature on CTV's Olympic broadcast, as the sliders become blurs to TV viewers, they pull up to five Gs, meaning their bodies feel as if they weigh five times what they normally do and their helmeted heads alone feel like they weigh 90 kilograms.
Imagine tying two standard bowling balls to your ears, then consuming between eight and 12 beers, and you'll have a good idea what their noggins feel like in mid-race.
replica breitling watches Here's how Jon Montgomery explained it on TV: "Get your car up to 140 kilometres an hour, open your window, stick your head out about an inch away from the pavement and try to wrap your head around what it's like to be on a skeleton sled."
Why didn't he choose the luge, a sport wherein at least you get to slide feet-first? Here's his reasoning: "Luge seemed
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