Olympic Revolution

Jared was lounging on his balcony, finishing off his postprandial Grasshopper Beer, when he heard Rose scream. It was not a delighted scream. It was the gut-wrenching scream of someone whose stock portfolio had just crashed.

He hoisted himself to his feet reluctantly. Rose’s end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it crises were frequent and usually insubstantial. But sixteen years of marriage had taught him that it was his sacred duty to investigate each and every one without fail..

“Is everything all right, dear?” he asked with all the concern he could muster. Rose claimed that he was not sufficiently empathetic, which led to difficulties in the bedroom. Jared was doing his best to improve.

Rose was sitting at her desk, staring at her e-mail on the computer screen. There was no visible blood anywhere.

“Bad news?” he hazarded. 

She transfixed him with wide, soulful eyes. “I’ve been drafted.” She swallowed a sob. “I’ve been drafted for the Inclusive Olympics.”

Jared furrowed his brow, recalling the hoopla, searching his memory banks for details.

The last Olympics had been a public relations disaster. Bitter allegations of cheating, a viral outbreak that rendered entire national teams incapable of competing, explosive condemnation of the overly-healthy food, chronic deficiencies in the facilities of the Olympic Village, and widespread condemnation of the opening and closing ceremonies had annihilated the Olympic Spirit forever. It was essential to make a new start.
A squadron of consultants examined the rubble and concluded that the competitive motivation was contrary to the goals of global community-building. Henceforth, everyone and anyone could become an Olympian, regardless of ability. An impeccably impartial algorhythm would randomly choose the participants. 

Jared considered. What to say? It had to be something empathic and positive.

“It will look good on your resume. Rose Schuler, Olympic Participant.”

“But I’m not good at anything!” Rose wailed. “I was a complete klutz in phys. ed.!”

“You don’t have to be, dear. That’s the whole point of inclusivity. You will be a valued member of your team no matter how you perform.”

“I know, I know,” Rose snapped impatiently. “But I’ll look stupid and incompetent, and I don’t like that.”

“Think of it as an adventure. You’ll get a free trip to … ? Where was that again?”

“Nowhere. It’s all virtual this year, to prevent disease and arguments about nutrition. I report to the Holocenter at 8AM, and return home at 6PM. I’ll be fed intravenously during the sessions.”

“What events will you participate in?”

“There’s a personalized list. I have to choose at least one, but can pick up to five.”

Jared looked over her shoulder.  “Scrabble? I didn’t know that was an Olympic event.”

“Don’t you remember? They did a global survey and came up with twenty new events that would be more accessible to potential audiences.”

“You’re amazing at Scrabble,” Jared said. Rose loved the game, and beat him every time.
“
So are a lot of people. I’d never win.”

“You don’t have to. You just have to show up.”

Rose shook her head. “I keep forgetting that. I liked the old way better, when people had to work at getting good enough. When there were medals and endorsements.”

“Welcome to the new world,” Jared said. He would have liked to launch into a critical examination of the logical absurdity of radical inclusivity, but he knew that sacred cows were best left unmolested, and inclusivity was the buzzword of the day that would usher in an era of global peace, harmony, and redistribution of resources.   

“I’m going to decline,” Rose announced. “They can’t make me do this.”

“I would think twice about that,” Jared said. “You don’t want management and future potential employers to perceive you as someone who is not committed to community building.”

Rose sighed. “I’ll sleep on it. I have three days to respond.”

“It might be fun. Baby burping, for instance – that is so crazy it might even work.”

“Too messy. And it’s interspecies. I don’t want to burp anything with tentacles.”

“You could try anything, actually. It’s virtual. You can’t get injured.”

Rose’s eyes lit up, and she smiled wistfully. “I’ve always wanted to try diving from a ten-meter board.”

Jared continued to scan the list. “There’s lots of potential here. Just do it. Think of it as a vacation from reality. I’ll be cheering for you every step of the way.”

Rose took his hand, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, darling. I love it when you are so supportive.”

Jared kissed her hand. He picked up her mouse and clicked on the link to Rules and Regulations.
“Let’s just check the fine print.” 

Regulations tended to be trivial and long-winded, but it was wise to check them out, just in case.

“I love your attention to detail,” she murmured as he scanned the bureaucratic verbiage.  She would never have bothered.
After less than a minute, he did a double take.

“You’re not going.”

His tone of voice was so incontrovertibly authoritarian that Rose flinched. “Why? I thought you were on board with this all the way.”

“Look at Rule Number Six.”

6. In the spirit of the original Greek Olympics, and in response to increased incidents of gender fraud, all participants will compete in the nude.