An Olympian Proposal

Economists be damned: Wu-Tang was right.

Cash rules everything -- and not only around me. It is deleterious like no other substance on earth. What distinguishes money from cigarettes, for example, is that it masquerades, convincingly, as a net positive, and is infinite in scope. Because it is the cornerstone of the world economic system, it is indispensable; it is transacted surreptitiously, tinged with ulterior motive, which keeps it out of the hands of the very people it purports to benefit. No one is safe.

The Olympics are a farce.

Long ago, they were a bastion of amateurism, a quadrennial homage to Underpaid Anonymous, the cosmopolitan coterie of athletes who, unlike their pampered mainstream counterparts, ply their esoteric trades ceaselessly in the intervening years toward a dubious roster spot on an underfunded team. When money entered the fray, that all changed.

Sponsors jockeyed for air time, ponying up the funds for sleek new uniforms and fancy equipment. But those toys could never coexist with integrity. Soon enough, actual sports like Greco-Roman wrestling gave way to golf, which is a few rungs below chess in the pantheon of really hard games. Opening ceremonies burst forth from solemnity into gaudy spectacles, their towering, kaleidoscopic displays more a testament to the insidiousness of materialism than to the magnitude of the thing. What a sad state of affairs it is that the ballet of dressage, in all its equine glory, smarts under the yoke of under-appreciation, next to tennis. (Thanks, big money.)

We consumers have laid the groundwork for this untenable status quo, but there is time yet to salvage the Olympic spirit. By tweaking the schedule, we can ensure its rehabilitation: If the Olympics were held annually, and in the dead of winter in the arctic hinterland instead of alternately in the summer and winter, they would undoubtedly revert to their wholesome, erstwhile self. Let me explain.

Rarity is good for all nouns. The less common an object, the more it is worth -- the Olympics are no exception. Since they occur every four years -- every two, in actuality -- they are worth more than they would be if they were held annually; depreciation is a deterrent to would-be investors, and is thus bound to curtail the influx of money. This, in turn, would purge the Olympics of the blight of commodification.

Furthermore, holding the Olympics in frigid conditions would weed out the weaklings. Call it survival of the fittest, or whatever. Can't find an indoor gym for basketball? Build one or go home. The pool is frozen through? Looks like swimming has just been crossed off the docket. Conversely, it would promote certain events, like the biathlon, which is universally adored, and locations, like Lillehammer, Norway, which hosted the most memorable Olympics ever in the winter of 1994. Really, it did.

The end result, of course, would be to recondition the Olympics for a snowier version of eighth-century Greece, where they belong. The barebones model is the only way to achieve the Olympic ideal, loosening the vise-grip of money while adhering to its underlying principles: hipsterism, penury, obscurity, stoicism and freezing cold. Like the NCAA says, amateurism must be devoid of any material boon; its track record of perspicacity leaves no doubt that this is true. A wintry downsizing is the perfect antidote.

The legendary Rabbi Hillel once challenged his disciples, saying, "If not now, when?" His words resonate now perhaps more than ever.

The Olympics are ours to reclaim. Let us not relinquish this opportunity.