Castling: A Novel (NaNoWriMo21)

22. Look at Those Cute Mittens

Changing schools because of an old friend's crazy parents isn't the only important event to start the new year.

It's February, and you know what that means.

The Winter Games!

My first Winter Games were four years ago. I remember being in awe of the pageantry playing out across my screen, sharing in the same rush that the athletes felt. For those two exciting weeks, it consumed my life. There wasn't a second after school or on weekends when I wasn't glued to my TV, living in aspiring wins and heartbreaking losses.

After the Games concluded and closed up shop, I suddenly felt lost. Then, Esterton got hit with a major snowfall. When we get three inches, the complex sends out snowplows to clear the streets and parking lots. They piled the snow by the dumpster at the end of our lot in the back. I spent hours climbing it, pretending that I was a ski jumper.

Now, after a four-year wait and months of hype, the feeling returns. I've reached the advertised destination. My long-lost love is back on the airwaves (and snow next week?). The first Friday night in February, I'm sitting in front of my TV, nine-years-old all over again.

My parents want nothing to do with the Games. That's fine with me. I'm no stranger to enjoying things by myself. Let them pat themselves on the back and talk about Kieran through the wall. I don't need them. I've got the most fashionable color-commentator in town, Gumball.

Speaking of style, I lost that holiday display contest. I don't know if I had mentioned that yet because of my kid-life crisis going on.

Gumball was a real brat for a week!

"Welcome..."

Being four years older means being more aware of things that I was too young to notice back then. Take the people talking over the show down on the stadium floor. I wish that the national commentators would learn to shut up. The lady is one of the morning show correspondents, the other is the guy who does the football games in the fall.

"This section of the opening performance is about..."

Have they always been interruptive?

"And this one..."

If somebody can tell me why we need commentators for a ceremony, then the mic is yours. They have to explain everything, from what the dignitaries are wearing to how skilled the dancers are, and everything that...I'd probably mention if I was in the chair.

"Oh no. I'm one of them!"

Help!

"And this interpretation is..."

So, maybe they aren't that bad. I just wish they wouldn't treat viewers like they're dumb. I'm a kid, but I'm not dumb. I'm smarter than the person who blocked the intersection after school last week because they thought that they could beat the light.

Is that why these commentators exist? Is it for people like them?

"You get it, right?" I ask Gumball, pointing to the next part.

Gumball is a cultured creature. Of course, he understands. It's clearly about survival in the mountainous pine forests.

"We'll be back after a quick break."

Were there always all these commercial cut-ins?

"This segment of the opening ceremony was brought to you by..."

New segment, new sponsor. Hail capitalism!

Am I doing it right?

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the athletes..."

The Parade of Athletes halfway through was, and still is, my favorite. There's something amazing about watching a line of grateful faces in fashionable winter gear walk in under their banner, held high by one of the ceremony's extras. This year, the path is in the shape of a ski trail. They wind their way along the stadium floor, lights corresponding with whoever's been announced by the PA people. I mouth them along with Gumball in each of the three languages...

Foreign language, geography.

Can I be homeschooled?

...The French-speaking PA lady is the best. She sounds like she's not only been reading from a high fantasy novel but performing it.

"Look at those cute mittens."

The national commentators, on the other hand, have to ruin this, too.

Also, mittens? Hand? See what I did?

"It's the greatest nation on the face of the planet!"

I also don't remember our country having a patriotic hype video.

"And here they come..."

The video feels like grooming (sorry, it's in the news a lot) but seeing about six-hundred and fifty athletes pouring out of the stadium entrance to this disco mix gives me chills. It's a gold-and-white snake, slithering along the ski trail. It might be because I'm staring at it too long without blinking, but I'm pretty sure it takes up the entire trail for a second.

I feel bad for the country after us, cut for a MetBank commercial.

"A better bank for a better future, MetBank," I mouth along.

When all the athletes are in their seats, cue the ceremonial anthems, throw in a few speeches and...

Let the two-week binge begin!