Yes, please. Wake it the hell up! This seems to be a good start.

A few corrections — the ‘Bad Poetry’ isn’t terrible, with a little work it could be ‘Good Poetry’. There’s some gold in that second line —

My skin puckers from tomato rash

— and you didn’t fall prey to the dreaded over-rhyming scheme that can ruin the whole thing.

As a middle-aged woman, I have to say that I wasn’t inspired in the least by the Olympics. For the first time in my life, I didn’t care. Not a bit. Not a whit. The only thing that brought a shine to my life was Novak Djokovic’s first round loss and my initial joy made me feel like a bad person.

You’re right about the “last gasp of competitive rigor”, though. I played some majestic tennis this past weekend, but have been bent and shuffling with a screaming back all week. The wine is your most inspired idea.

Field day! I loved that as a kid, when I had the skill to go with the rigor. I will not run anywhere, but I will recite a poem. I will play badminton. I’ll ride the horses, but no barrels. English saddles, please. The Acid Bocce sounds intriguing, but I will freak out. And cry. And I’d like more wine, instead of the beer. And I will win the Jog/Walk Dog Show. I did that as a kid and I won (but maybe that was the dog).

In preparation for the winter games, one photo submission —

And, while Joe doesn’t think this worked, I do. I’m game. I’m all in.

Where is everybody?