Mike’s Medals:
Food: Bronze. No, I did not eat a grilled snake, a scorpion kebab, a dung beetle or a silk worm. I do not eat unhappy meals. I eat at McDonald’s. (And I’m lovin’ it!) Guys who found, uh, culinary curiosities Kirstie Alley wouldn’t touch did so by searching for them. I remember a Chicago restaurant called Cafe Bohemia that served lion, tiger and zebra steaks. How would you like it if a Chinese tourist comes to Chicago for the 2016 Olympics looking for a nice place to try lion?
Sky: Silver. It was that color for a week — but without the sparkle. It had more particles than a snow globe. I’ve seen cleaner Weber grills. I prayed to my personal Buddha (Al Roker) for a clear blue sky — and it worked! Beijing’s second week was blue skies, smilin’ at me, nothin’ but blue skies did I see.
Organization: Gold. Chicago, lots of luck. We can try, but we will never, never, never organize an Olympic Games as well as this. I give Beijing full marks for punctuality, efficiency, security, transportation, cooperation and old-fashioned friendliness. (I may apply to the China Workers Daily to cover Ping-Pong and preteen women’s gymnastics.) Mao, I only have one word for your people. Wao.
Cars: Silver. I don’t know why, but Beijing has a whole bunch of Buicks. I mainly saw Hondas, Audis and VWs. On my daily bus route, though, I passed a Buick dealership (never caught its name — Yao Ming Motors?) plus lots of Lucernes and a model called the Buick Park Avenue on the avenue. I never saw a Ford, a Chevy or a Jeep. My conclusion? Tiger Woods is one fine car salesman, my friends.
Shaq: Bronze. My buddy Bill from L.A. found a 50-foot statue of Shaquille O’Neal in a Beijing park. I hear it is remarkably lifelike. It can’t shoot, it can’t rap and it can’t act. I don’t know a lot, but I do know this: If the People’s Republic of China has built a 50-foot Shaq, its monument to Michael Jordan better be as high as the Himalayas.
Matt Emmons: No medal. Matt Emmons is the most helpless man with a gun since Barney Fife. I joke that the Chinese name for him is Wrong Way. He is the U.S. rifleman who is not good to the last shot. He blew sure-fire (literally) medals in 2004 and 2008 both on his last aim-and-fire. This guy ought to come with a two-minute warning. He eyes a target in Beijing, pulls a trigger and a window breaks in Tibet.
He Kexin: Gold. A girl named He. Oh, what Johnny Cash could have done with that! He is a she, a wee Chinese gymnast, 4 feet 8 inches low, 73 pounds. I think my left leg alone weighs 73 pounds. How I wish China’s softball team had pulled a Bill Veeck and sent He up to bat. Let’s see Jennie Finch hit her strike zone. I wish the White Sox would sign her. He Kexin, the Human Intentional Walk.
Carolina Colorado: Silver. I called her the woman 1/25th of America was cheering for here. She swam for Colombia. I like the way it trickled off the tongue, Colombia’s Carolina Colorado. I wonder which other Olympians come from there — Georgia Arizona? Virginia Montana?
Pips: Silver. “China pips Australia on goal difference,” was my morning paper’s headline. The story began: “China drew 2-2 with Australia last night and pipped their opponents to qualify for the women’s field hockey semifinals.” I asked around. What does pipping mean? How do they pip you? Can you pip their ride? Can a Gladys Knight joke be far behind? Is this story pip fiction?
Rowing and hurling: Bronze. Mark Hunter, 30, is a Brit. He won the double sculls and promptly threw up. He must have had scorpion for breakfast. (Which is still better than an English breakfast.) I bet they gave him his gold medal from a safe distance.
Hammer ‘n’ Discus R Us: Gold. At the Bird’s Nest, a remote-control toy car retrieved hammers that were thrown, discuses and javelins that were flung and shots that were put. How cool is that? I am volunteering my grandsons Dino, Reggie and Miles to come work at the 2016 Olympics. I can see them fetching a javelin with a truck made entirely of Legos.
Boo ya: Bronze. So I went to a baseball game. Wukesong Field, nice night, U.S. vs. China, so pull up chair, as Vin Scully would say, wherever you may be. I didn’t expect an organist to be there or to play the “Green Acres” theme once per inning. I saw a cute Chinese kid in a T-shirt that read, “Boo Ya.” ESPN’s Stuart Scott must have given it to him. I asked: “Do you think that’s his name? Boo Ya?” I’m lucky they didn’t deport me on the spot.
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Umbrellas: Gold. Beijing women bring umbrellas. I mean everywhere. Chance of rain? Chance of sun? I think it’s nice. Very stylish. London women (and men) will carry umbrellas in 2012 — but closed. Beijing women walk with parasols popped. They look like 17 million versions of Mary Poppins. I wonder if they think Michael Phelps will shake like a wet puppy and drip on them. I wish Chicago’s chic women would take a cue from China’s chic women. Then again, we’re windy, not smoggy.
Bye-bye, Beijing.
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