That’s three games in a row, gentlemen! Three games in which a bunch of foreign crossing guards and carrot farmers pushed us, the United States of America, to the brink of losing.

Australia? Serbia? France? I honestly didn’t even know they owned basketballs in those countries. And they almost beat us, a team that’s supposedly filled with NBA stars.

One more close one, and that’s it: no more yacht parties. You’re all sleeping in the Olympic Village dormitories.

And not the good dorms that have been fixed up nicely. You’ll be staying in the ones that the Tongan and Ethiopian athletes saw and were like “Oh hell no.” Cracks in the ceiling. A shower that only goes extremely hot or extremely cold. A sink that is made of spiders. A mosquito net made of heavy wool, and no air-conditioning.


Mmm, exciting, right? I’m picturing you walking down the hallway in a towel and flip-flops past a couple of Home Depot employees who get to run the hurdles every four years, and you saying, “Damn, should have probably focused up.”

These Olympics were supposed to be a relaxing vacation for me. So you better get your asses in gear and win every game by at least 30 points, or so help me, I will sink this yacht to the bottom of the Amazon River.

We want gold, gentlemen. Anything less is a failure that I will take absolutely no blame for because I’ll be hiding on my back-up yacht.

We can't play sports*, but we can make jokes about them!

*Two of our writers hit a home run** once
**It was in a video game.