Bode Miller feels good about himself and his performance. Really, it’s not about winning, it’s about being happy with how you feel about your 0-fer.
Miller, the World Cup overall champion a year ago, will leave the Italian Alps without a medal. He finished his lackluster Olympics by straddling a gate just a few seconds into his run, then skied off the course and raised his arms in mock excitement.
Miller, who has been a local nightlife fixture throughout the games, told The Associated Press he was content with his experience.
“As far as my own personal involvement, I would not change anything. I had an awesome Olympics,” Miller told AP sports columnist Jim Litke in an interview. “My preparation certainly could have been different, but I’m not a guy who looks back.” (Story.)
How fucking special is that? You know, this is a fine attitude for tee-ball, where nobody keeps score because losing might hurt the clumsy kid’s self-esteem, and everybody gets a gold star for participating, and here’s a juice box just for showing up, little buckaroo. But the Olympics? Ummm, not so much. See, at the highest level of competition, we want you to try your best … to win!!!
Brace yourself, Bode. Because America doesn’t look back, either. Not for losers, anyway. Normally, I wouldn’t say a word about your failure to produce a medal in any of the 35 events in which you were entered. I believe in competition and in doing things the right way, and no, by god, winning is not everything. I believe that with all my heart. Most of the people who go to the Olympics have no reasonable chance to win – they’re not in the same class as the top athletes, and that’s okay because the Olympic spirit is a real thing and I can respect you even if your very best is going to place last.
Those athletes are doing their very best, though. And that makes them infinitely more worthy of respect that somebody who’s only giving his best to image marketing. I mean, I could have held fire if you’d done so much as acknowledge that your performance was a disappointment. But you “would not change anything”? Excuse me? You mean winning five golds and finishing with no medals at all are pretty much the same thing on whatever godforsaken oxygen-deprived hippie-infested planet you live on?
The rules change when you whore yourself to the hype machine from hell and goddamned Nike spends brazilians of dollars telling me to prove I’m a rebel by joining Bode. And then the only things you rebel against are effort and commitment and, oh by the way, winning. Let’s be clear, Bode – Nike only loves that rebel shit when it’s on the podium. When they say “just do it,” “it” doesn’t mean “suck.” Marching to the beat of your own drummer is cool, so long as you’re at least marching toward the finish line instead of skiing off the course 40% of the time.
When you get back to your rock star tour bus, read up on Nike’s marketeering strategy (or, in your case, their strategery), and you’ll quickly notice how little money they spend promoting also-rans. Unfortunately for you, the only joining going on as the Torino Games wind down is you joining the club of all-time greatest flops in sports history.
Gods, how cool it must be if you’re the guy who got left off the team so we could all join Bode. You bust your ass for a shot to go to the Olympics and you get a one-way ticket to your own fucking couch to watch partyboy ski drunk/hungover or whatever he was doing.
Join Bode.com my ass. You know, there are only three or four places you can go to join Bode. There’s the Web site. That’s one. You can probably join Bode at the bar of the nightclub nearest to the course the night before the finals. Fifteen minutes before the race starts you can probably join Bode at the Rite-Aid where he’s standing in line to buy a cup of coffee and a couple packs of Chaser. (You can’t, however, join him prior to the race to inspect the course, because that wouldn’t be, you know, rebellious and free-spirited.) And finally, you can join Bode and me in the Red Carpet Lounge at the I Won Zero Medals at the Winter Games in Torino Club, a venue so exclusive that there are literally dozens of people around the globe who aren’t eligible for membership.
Your 15 minutes are up, punk, and it’s 14:55 too late. I checked, and there’s not a site called Fuck Bode.com, but there damned well oughta be.