Finally, the billion dollar carnival of flesh and fury, shooting divas and aqua tenors is over, and all of them have had a good time, even by the hundreds of people who have tested positive for COVID-19. This complete number is still unknown.
No one, it seems, wants to have a good time.
I’m talking about the legendary and exaggerated weeks of muscle and madness that take hold of the imagination of the planet every two years, even the dying one we now inhabit: 2,311 dead in Tokyo as of this writing, but the show must continue ?
I watched some of the players, the kids who grew up with visions of gold medals dancing in their dreams. Why are there no gold medals for teachers? Because few children dream of growing up to teach in third grade?
I especially noticed this chorus line of incredibly handsome muscular youngsters, swimming back and forth, which conjures up beautiful memories of my youth for me. I will never be so beautiful again.
First of all, I have never looked so magical in swim shorts, and I would have lost those fancy glasses on day one.
But I had my glory days.
Rosemary De Branco, the first bikini swimsuit at the Marquette Avenue pool, thought I was “sweetheart” in my brother’s old navy boxer shorts and wet t-shirt.
Unlike the big Caeleb Dressel, I always wore a T-shirt at the pool.
Not only was I the skinniest child in the Marquette pool in my older brother’s old swimsuit, but my skin was so white that today I would be the poster child for white supremacist groups.
Sometimes I would bravely slide and stay there in the shallow end with the toddlers, with water only up to my 12 inch waist, while Rosemary brushed against me and splashed me.
“Look at the hair, look at the hair!” I would scream.
I was paranoid about getting my hairy, wet, stringy $ 6 haircut. I may have had Don knotts body, but I had Elvis Presley Hair.
In my later years, wherever I went in the pool world, from St. Louis to Beverly Hills, I remembered Rosemary D. swimming back and forth in the pool (in her black bikini, a first for Cleveland). High) while herds of pool jocks swam around her as if she were Esther Williams.
I remember sitting on the edge of the shallow end, trying to hold onto my brother’s old swimsuit while eating a raisin popsicle. Fortunately, cameras were not allowed.
Rosemary may have been the Jayne mansfield from Mr. King’s master bedroom, but it was just this skinny lover with a $ 6 haircut who had the spoon with her in the moonlight at Bellerive Country Club in her daddy’s old convertible.
The bottom of swimming pools has never attracted me. To this day, nothing good has ever happened to me around large bodies of water.
I would add that bats and balls of all sizes were a danger to me as well.
First of all, from kindergarten to high school, I never got to catch anything at high speed except Rosemary’s lips. By the time I left school, my face had been smashed, bruised and torn by bullets and bats.
Well, it’s been over for a while. We’ll take a break until we face the dreaded and boring Winter Olympics, which feature the lavishly costumed figure skaters, performing all the same twists and turns, to the music of Beethoven or Cardi B.
To tell you the truth, I secretly love this event.
Have I ever told you about Rosemary’s red velvet skating outfit with ermine collar and cuffs? Sigh.
JP Devine is a writer from Waterville.