The closest I ever got to participating in the Olympics was this one year…no, I don’t really have a good anecdote about world-class caliber sports training. I was just never that good at any sports, and quite frankly, I have a touch of a lazy streak. If I were in the Olympics and everybody was walking around before the start getting all “in the zone,” I would be the one person thinking, “Geez, that pool looks cold. I bet it’s cold. Can I jump in and get used to the water first?”

But I enjoy watching other people suffer to see if they’re better at something than everyone else on the planet.

I am a freak for the Olympics. I love the opening ceremonies, no matter how ludicrous, and even the ridiculous penis-shaped mascots warm my heart. I love that Granada won its first EVER medal this year, or how, despite the fall of Communism, the Russian gymnasts still have that look on their faces like someone’s going to execute their parents if they don’t stick the landing. It’s all amazing to me.

So I’m going to be suffering through Olympic-sized withdrawals over the next few weeks. The scratching at my skin, the tremors, the hallucinations, it’s all just symptoms of me missing NBC’s round-the-clock live streaming of every sport, and I admit that I’m using the term “sport” loosely. Looking at you, badminton.