Dear Kid,

Thank you for not competing in the decathlon.

Not only are these incredible athletes (understatement of the day), and not only do they compete all day for two days in a row (stamina for athletes and spectators alike!), but they need to have an enormous supply of batteries.

Huh? Batteries?

Yes, batteries.

Because figuring out where you are the standings requires crazy calculations, lookup tables, advanced calculus, and three or four commentators.

“Well if Athlete A throws the javelin as far as he’s capable of and then Athlete B leaps over tall buildings in a single bound then Athlete C can win if he is wearing purple on Thursday.”

I can hold my own with most of the math taught in junior high, but this starts to get a little crazy.

Fortunately, the Olympics come with plenty of computing power and plenty of commentators to muddy the waters.

(Or is that just algae in the water? #RioSnark)

Hope you’re finding some time to enjoy The Games before classes start.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Well, it’s official. Usain Bolt is faster than you are.

He’s also taller. And has his own pose.

Simone Biles is bouncier than you.

She’s also shorter. And her eye makeup is more sparkly.

Ryan Lochte is cooler than you. His response to being held up at gunpoint in Rio was (and I quote) “whatever”.

The American women play volleyball better than you do. Other American women play soccer better than you. Or maybe they don’t.

There are a bunch of people who fence better than you do (but not better than Inigo Montoya).

There are people in Brazil who have cried more than you over the last several days and people who have screamed more than you (mostly fans).

There are athletes who lift far more than two of you. And Michael Phelps is going to have to start lifting heavier weights to be able to carry around all his medals.

I love watching familiar and less familiar sports.

I miss sleep, but I love the Olympics.

Go USA!

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Ready or not, Rio is here!

Don’t ask me to explain it. I’m as confused as anyone, but somehow it’s August and the Olympics are upon us.

Let’s review the important stuff. Not the economic crisis in Brazil. Or the lack of safety in the streets. Or the subway system (which may or may not reach the end of the line).

Opening ceremonies are tonight. Walk-in outfits are not nearly as awful as usual, but they are (according to some) overly commercial with the Polo logo bigger than some of the athletes.

Not all the venues are in tip top condition (and by “in tip top condition” I mean finished).

The water for things like sailing are A) polluted B) poisonous C) disgusting D) all of the above. Not falling overboard has never looked so appealing.

And Zika. Lots of Zika (even though it’s presumably winter in Brazil). Bug repellent is being sold in 50 gallon drums.

So if the sports are boring, there still will be lots to talk about.

In the meantime, fasten your seatbelt. Not only are the OCs (Opening Ceremonies) going to be more colorful and sexier than usual, they will also be controversial.

Because that’s exactly what Rio needs right now.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Speaking of Olympic sports (I’m sure I was at some point), I’ve been watching some of the swimming trials.

And it occurs to me that there is an event missing.

Not the women’s 1500, although that’s clearly missing and anyone who thinks women can’t handle endurance events is clearly off his rocker. (Not saying I could do it, but there are women who can. And they should be allowed to do it in the Olympics.)

Nor am I talking about the obvious misses like the 100 meter doggy paddle (with real dogs) or jellyfish relay (in which swimmers must dodge Portuguese Man O War jellyfish during their event).

No. I am (of course) referring to synchronized swimming.

Now before you get all futzed at me, I know there is an event called “synchronized swimming.” And I know it is crazy difficult and highly competitive and it’s beautiful to watch even if Esther Williams isn’t participating. But – let’s be honest here – it’s water ballet, not swimming.

I’m not downgrading the sport we currently call synchronized swimming. I just think we should rename it and add an event called sychro-swim.

Each delegation will enter two swimmers who must—simultaneously and in unison—complete two laps of the pool. Entering and existing the water will be included in the judging.

Synchro-swim will be scored using a very technical and difficult algorithm (the better to give commentators something to comment on and delegations something to protest, thereby ensuring that we capture the true Olympic spirit). The event will be scored 50% on speed and 50% on synchronicity and 10% on how good breakfast was. Subjective scoring will be done using a binomial theorem and a base 9 metric incorporating the median variation and hippopotamus.

No idea what that means either, but the commentators will have a field day.

I can’t believe the Olympic committee hasn’t yet called me to consult on this.

Crazy how people can miss the obvious.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Have you noticed that the summer Olympics are coming up? And that they’re going to be in Rio?

Yeah, you probably knew that. Which means that it is time to learn a little bit about Rio de Janeiro. Specifically, the big statue that photo-bombs every picture of the city.

The statue in question is called Christ the Redeemer. At least in English. It’s called Cristo Redentor in Portuguese which you don’t speak.

The statue is 98 feet tall, has a wingspan of 92 feet, and stands (literally) at the top of Corcovado Mountain (which is 2,300 feet high). This is why you look up to see it.

That people can look up to see it without throwing their entire spinal cord out of alignment is one of the reasons it’s considered one of the New Seven Wonders of the World.

Stick with me here for a minute. The statue is in Brazil, was create by a Polish-French sculptor, the face was made by a Romanian artist, and it’s named in Portuguese (because that’s what they speak in Brazil). His outstretched arms are a symbol of peace.

Maybe it is the perfect piece of art for the Olympics.

Love, Mom