Wow. I can’t believe I’ve qualified for five Olympics. I need to thank my family, my coaches, and my fans. But I want to be absolutely clear: this is definitely my last Olympics. I’m old, I’m tired, and we’re all going to die in Rio.

I should clarify: this was almost certainly going to be my final Olympics anyway. You have no idea the physical toll that twenty years of hardcore training at this level can have your body.

But more importantly, I’m just excited about spending time with my wife and new son before I, and all of my fellow Olympic athletes, die from one or more of the million things that will actively try to kill us in Brazil.

Me thinking about death and whatnot (Getty)

Me thinking about death and whatnot (Getty)

Maybe it’ll be Zika. Maybe it’ll be some other mosquito-carried illness we don’t know about it. Maybe it’ll be that mystery illness that pushes us to the brink of death before Zika mercifully swoops in and finishes us off. Maybe that mutilated body that washed up on the beach volleyball courts will turn sentient and devour us whole.

I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know why, when, or how we’ll all die. I’m not Bob Costas.

I just know that it’s going to happen, and that hopefully I’ll be able to sneak in at least 3 or 4 more gold medals before it does.

And when all the international travelers from Rio bring back their exotic diseases to countries with no built-up immunities, leading to a worldwide death count that matches anything even the grimmest science fiction books and movies have ever dreamed of, and we hold the 2020 Olympics in an underground bunker in an undisclosed location so the marauding tribes of our global apocalyptic hellscape can’t interfere, trust me: I will be competing in like 5 or 6 events, at most.

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.