Just as quickly as it seemed to come on, the time of year—well, the time of every other year—when I’m patriotic has already passed. To be more specific, that time every two years when I’m patriotic for approximately two weeks has ended. Yep, the Olympics are over.
Normally, I’m not a big rah-rah American. Sure, I love living in this country, but you won’t catch me adorning my property with the stars and stripes, either. I’m just not that kind of person. But man, put a bunch of people representing different countries in one location and have them vie for the same honor and, all of a sudden, I’m getting teary eyed when the American men sweep the ski slopestyle event. Or when Meryl Davis and Charlie White win a gold medal for ice dancing, during which they had to do some ridiculously tricky move with the unfortunate name of “twizzle.”
What surprised me most about the Sochi games, though, was how invested I got in a sport I had never cared about before: men’s biathlon. Continue reading
The Procrastinating Writer 