I’m watching so you don’t have to. So nobody has to. Why does anyone have to? How has my life come to this?
Our hosts are Cabral “Cabbie” Richards and that blonde Beatrice Bouchard woman. You all know who I’m talking about. Her. (Recently featured at The Chive.)
We are apparently at an undisclosed location for this prestigious event. By the looks of things, my best guess is either the BC interior, cottage country in Muskoka or Peenemünde, Germany.
My initial observation is that this entire event is strangely absent of beer, or even any sign of beer. It’s a Coors promotional event, right? As in Coors beer. This is like a dry Oktoberfest.
I suppose it kinda makes sense since it is difficult to believe any of these participants have ever even sipped a beer. It looks like protein shakes and kale salads for this herd of Abercrombie & Fitch models. Well, I guess there’s a few American Apparel models wandering around. Kinda sloppy and sleazy in a “can’t quite put my finger on it” or “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” way. They always look like they either just started or just finished filming a low-budget porno but they’re so high they don’t know which.
So anyway, here we are at Zorb Croquet. (If this is croquet, where are the mallets?) It looks like it’s being filmed from above by a drone camera, so maybe this undisclosed location is a CIA dark site. Either that or Leni Riefenstahl is directing.
Cabbie is trying his best to provide exciting play-by-play, but there’s only so many ways you can describe two large rubber balls being pushed along a dirt path by a bunch of attractive young girls wearing bathing suits and short shorts. Actually, this should be more interesting to watch. Next year, throw in some mallets.
Wait a minute. Finally some guys who look like they may have had a beer or two in their lives: the bearded Vikings team. Yuck. Bring back the vaguely porn-y American Apparel girls. What happened to them? I’m guessing a meth overdose.
The last five feet of the slide, where the plastic ends and the dirt begins, looks a little painful.
For this team event, I’m sure the blondes love being referred to as “anchors”. Anchor… babes?
Next up, Volleypong, or “Le Volleypong”. (Thank you, official bilingualism; who decided Volleypong was feminine?) This looks suspiciously like beer pong (or le pong du bière), but we can’t have anyone thinking beer at a Coors Light event.
Fun fact: The first Coors Light Summer Games were held in Berlin 1936. Hitler refused to shake Jesse Owens’ hand after he won the Volleypong event. Take that, Master race!
Here’s a little surprise. This guy’s pulling out a little Kurt Angle by talking about the three I’s of success: Intensity, Intelligence and Integrity. (I, myself, would add another I: Irritable Bowel.) It’s true, it’s darn true!
Dodgeball, or Le Ballon Chasseur.
Did we really need an explanation of the rules of dodgeball? Who doesn’t know the rules of dodgeball?
Who’s the lame-o who got eliminated that fast? Nice hat, loser. That’s what happens when you wear a fucking driver cap to a dodgeball game. It’s like bringing a knife to a gunfight.
I had no idea that dodgeball was this slow and dull. It looks like they had to skip through a couple of hours of this game. All the shadows have suddenly moved.
Yikes! Blue wins big. This match was the worst beating since the Germans hammered Brazil at the last World Cup. The red team is going to have to rethink its entire developmental system from top to bottom. They need to start teaching body checking earlier.
Cabbie says there are hundreds watching here and millions at home. Hmm. Switch “millions” to “dozens, mostly accidentally”.
The big white guy with the healthy gut on the blue team is perhaps the first non-Viking person I’ve seen who looks like he might actually drink beer, although that haircut screams white wine spritzer. Does anyone drink wine spritzers anymore? And just what the hell is a wine spritzer, anyway? Jeeves, find out for me.
Okay, moving along, Bubble Soccer! (Fun Fact: In Europe, it’s called Bubble Football.)
Another instance where I’m not really sure they needed such a long explanation of the rules of Bubble Soccer. It’s soccer, except you wear a bubble. Oops, I spoke too soon. They do need an explanation of the rules… for the ref! As explained in painful detail, the rule is that the game starts out with each team running to centre field to get possession of the ball, but this alleged referee is tossing the ball to one side or the other. Am I the only one even listening to these rules? Am I the only one watching this program? My Magic 8-ball says Likely! Stupid Magic 8-ball.
The ref does it again! He’s flaunting his ignorance. Now he’s tossing the ball under his leg. What a dick! Can you flag a ref for unsportsmanlike conduct or taunting or something? Or blue card him or whatever they do in soccer when the refs hold up those little things that look like computer chips from the original Star Trek TV series. (Does anyone know what I’m talking about here?) This is worse than Deflategate. (Everything is worse than Deflategate.)
Incidentally, those giant plastic bubbles have to get pretty hot and sweaty inside. I would not want to be the person who has to slip himself into one of those slimy cesspools of perspiration and body odor at the last event of the day. I guess this really is about which team wants it the most. And doesn’t mind smelling like a dozen armpits.
Team blue wins. Thunder Bay rules!
Well, folks, it’s been a long day and we’ve witnessed the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. And strangely, we never once got a glimpse of a beer, or even a beer-like substance.
May I respectfully suggest that if Coors wants to boost their ratings for this event next year (beyond one pathetic blogger), they should break out the beer at the start of the games. Make sure everyone is good and hammered. That’s what Hitler did at the beginning of the aforementioned 1936 games, although, as I recall, the Germans did get a little out of hand after that, so maybe just bring in more of those doped up American Apparel girls. That should be enough.
(Cue the John Williams 1984 Los Angeles Summer Olympics theme.)