Why do they call it gymnastics, when there's never a competitor named Jim?
I sure wish they didn't feel compelled to plaster the young women's faces with a half-inch of makeup, topped off with a slather of rouge, a couple of hefty dollops of mascara, and a blizzard of glitter. It would make us take the female gymnasts far more seriously as athletes if they weren't painted up like porcelain dolls from the Marie Osmond Collection.
And will someone please order Russian silver medalist Svetlana Khorkina, a Double-Double with cheese, animal style, with fries and a shake? That poor kid looks like the Olympic version of Karen Carpenter. I understand she was a centerfold in the Russian edition of Playboy if that's true, I'll bet she disappeared behind the staples. Check out the souvlaki and baklava before you leave Athens, Svetlana.
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