As I watch the Winter Games of 2010, a flood of memories come back to me. Who can forget seeing Mark Hamill land a triple sow-cow to take the Gold in the ‘88 games in Beijing (False).

NAILED IT!!!!

Or the courageous tale of a young Canadian snowboarder who, after taking first in the ‘98 winter games, had his gold medal stripped away because he tested positive for “performance enhancing” drugs… Keep in mind the “drug” was a trace amount of THC most assuredly from the morning’s Wake-and Bake sesh, which is so popular with the rapscallions of today. (True)

Daniel Tosh with a beret

(Since I’m in the uppest of upper classes and have money to burn, I myself prefer a modest pour of $10,000-a-bottle port to the crude drugs of the hooligans mentioned here. Well, that. Or a cloth doused in chloroform)

But for my money, (and remember, there’s A LOT of it) the winter event I cant miss? THE BIATHLON.

Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle. SHOOT!!! Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle. SHOOT!!!

Sound monotonous? Well, judgy-judgerson. I’ll have you know that it’s not only monotonous, it’s cold. It’s loud. And it’s incredibly hard to figure out the points system. But please, don’t mole-hair-brush-off this most OLYMPIAN of Olympic sports. Before you make any rash decisions regarding this event I pose to you the Lay’s challenge: Bet you cant watch just 1 race.

This new-aged “Sport of Kings” combines 1 part grueling, freeze-your-grapes-off cross country skiing, 1 part target practice. The end result is a cream-your-TrueReligions excite-a-thon

or… You’ll never have to choose again!!!

In case you missed it, this white-knuckle thrill ride of an event began on the 14^th of February. So I celebrated Valentine’s day like every other red-blooded American man would, I finished my panda meat and condor egg omelet (I don’t think I’m stressing the fact that I’m “rolling in dough” as much as I need to), and made Thurston, my man-servant (the term “butler” was deemed horribly politically incorrect) turn on my wall-sized LED TV so that I could witness the action from the comforts of home (mansion).

My facialist is telling me that apparently some of the lower-class readers out there…no offense (read: I don’t care about you) might not know the basics of the BIA, as I call it (yeah, its trademarked…so, suck it). So I’ll dumb it down as best my Ivy-League education will allow (*aside* I wont divulge exactly which University I attended, but rest assured, its so elite, I promise you’ve never heard of it.).

There are a few different flavors of BIA. Meaning, there are a few different ways to play. But the only one that you need to concern yourself with is the “Mass Start” which is how the Olympics run their Biathlon shin-dig. The gaggle of awkward, parka-clad hillbillies make a honest effort to all move as quickly as possible (not very fast at all) to the first of four targets… That’s the best case scenario. Realistically, After the starter pistol sounds, 2 or more competitors see their Olympic dreams come to a crashing halt as skis get crossed, rifles get tangled, and bodies hit the snow as if its a international fetish gun porno…with skis (dibs on that idea, Wicked Entertainment).

mmmm soooooo hot

Soooo, while the starting line gets cleaned up, the rest of the “athletes” continue on the journey…20km for men, 15km for women (equal rights be damned. You really CAN do everything men can do, only slower and over a shorter distance. Way to go girls.).

Why are you so happy? We still make more money for doing the same jobs as you.

There are, as I previously stated, 4 targets to be “capped” throughout the course. The participants shoot 2 targets standing and 2 prone (missionary… like the sexual posish). With rifles. Plain old, wooden stock rifles that your “grandfather” (P.S. you’re adopted, by the way) shot in WW1. My personal BIA rifle stock is carved out of the ivory of a Woolly Mammoth (I know people at the Natural History Museum that owed me a favor) and the barrel is forged from the steel of the Titanic’s hull. I imagine it’s a dream to shoot. I personally don’t like holding it, because it smells like an extinct elephant, and an ancient cruise ship.

In the end…There can be only one. Like Highlander…except without the swords. These guys have rifles. So, (dare I say…) better?

Fun Fact: Christopher Lambert can’t ski.

This year, my money’s on (Gold Medal winner’s name here) from (His home country). Since you heard it from me, you KNOW it’s definately right. (Possibly) Happy Viewing.

• The Telly