A GAY HERO FOR OUR TIME

Why is diving so gay?

I think that’s a rhetorical question, but I’m not sure. Is there something about displaying one’s nearly naked body in all sorts of uncomfortably sexy positions that attracts gay men disproportionately (as both participants and observers)? Is it just porn with gravity and chlorine?

Between the slo-mo, the stro-mo, the grunt mic, and the underwater camera (showing lots of adjustments and even a few cracks), the coverage of the Beijing diving events was almost too much to bear. I was riveted.

Do you remember when someone produced a video of Greg Louganis diving in slow motion, set to classical music? That was spooge-tastic, and not just in the obvious way.

If diving is gay, then synchronized diving is extremely gay, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. One straight male blogger was made uncomfortable by footage of the diving partners showering off and chatting after each dive. Hello?! Have you ever been in a locker room? Making small talk in the shower is a friggin art form. Could that writer be more stereotypically straight, projecting his own repressed fantasies and obvious homophobia?

The two divers didn’t just finish having sex. The glowing, sheepish, pissed, or pained looks they’re shooting at each other have to do with athletic performance, not sexual performance, as much as we might wish for the latter. I guess that’s the difference between straight men and gay men. We have the same thoughts but different reactions to those thoughts: one group pukes and the other group shoots.

I say, MAKE DIVING GAYER. Feature different looks for each dive, with scores given for hairstyles, bathing suits, soundtrack, splash designs, and thematic unity. How about a series of snaps or dance moves to celebrate poolside? Synchronized diving could take it a step further, with the incorporation of synchronized swimming moves to transport divers from the point of entry to the deck. In what kind of formation will they pop out of the water? Such suspense! Or just a simple make-out session would suffice. Hot!

Speaking of hot, I have two words for you: Alexandre Despatie. This Canadian silver medalist is just head-bangingly gorgeous. On the flip side, what’s up with American Troy Dumais and his teensy nipples? The commentators mentioned that he had trained himself down to 4% body fat. Does that mean his body is so starved for fat that it’s sucking his nipples in? As the extreme bears at Lone Star might yell, “Eat something, Calista!”

Now back to Matthew Mitcham and what he has achieved. I cannot overemphasize what a huge deal this is for gays everywhere. To be the only openly gay male athlete at the 2008 Summer Games, and then to beat out the favorite on his home turf…that is the very definition of FABOO.

It’s true that NBC didn’t mention anything about Mitcham’s sexual orientation or milestone achievement, but if you watch the closing slo-mo montage with Bob Costas’ insipid voiceover, there is a brief shot of Mitcham hugging his mother in the stands after the medal ceremony.

I’m extremely interested to know how Mitcham has been portrayed by the Australian press and received by the Australian public. The sad truth is that you can be an Olympic gold medalist, but to some people you’re still just a fag and nothing more. Nothing is ever enough to erase that fact.

I remember when Greg Louganis was the grand marshal of San Diego’s Gay Pride Parade one year, and the fanatical Christians in the protest zone held up signs like, “Die of AIDS and Burn in Hell, Diseased Faggot.” Seriously.

While reading a Yahoo blog about Mitcham’s victory, I noticed one Neanderthal’s comment on Mitcham’s unfair advantage. It went something like this: Since he’s a fag, he’s used to holding his breath thanks to all the cocksucking. Huh?

In spite of such idiocy, I went to bed with a big smile on my face, and as I drifted off, I had the thought, “Well, at least we prevented a Chinese sweep of the diving medals.” I sat right up, just like in the movies, and went WTF?!

What the hell was this “we”, and why the nationalistic bent? I’ve never even visited Australia and I have nothing against the Chinese (except for my former landlord). It’s because the “we” was the gay “we,” which crosses all sorts of borders. And I felt that somehow I was able to share in this victory. I hope that Mitcham keeps representin’ and inspires a new generation of gays, athletes, gay athletes, and their supporters…just as he inspired a husky, balding, American, bitter queen over 40 with Speedo envy.

PHELPS MANIA

I’m absolutely not trying to diminish the mind-blowing feats achieved by Michael Phelps in Beijing, but it was surreal to see the commentators analyze and dissect his body with the help state-of-the-art computer graphics in order to explain his success. Does the whole world need to know that his flat butt helps him move faster in the water? I wonder, would they say the same thing about a runner’s smallish, tight nutsac?

They went into great detail about his caloric intake, including a long list of breakfast items, and I thought to myself, “Oh boy, if they’re going down this road, the next logical topic is to discuss his ‘output’ (to put it delicately), and if this devolves into athletic scat talk (to put it indelicately), I’m so out of here.”

And why not mention his lisp, his candidacy for cosmetic dental work, and his penchant for saying “I’m at a loss of words” instead of “I’m at a loss FOR words”?

Anyway, I started pondering what was behind this odd line of thought, which led me to a sort of nightmarish semiotic flashback to the six-year sentence I served in UCSD’s Lit Crit Viper Pit. I then recalled clipping a short piece out of the New Yorker which epitomized academic folly for me in a very sharp manner. (June 9 & 16, 2008) In “Goombah 101,” Joan Acocella wrote that Fordham University recently hosted a conference about “The Sopranos.” Two paper titles she mentioned were:

“Blabbermouth Cunts”: “The Sopranos” and the Feminist Dilemma

A “Finook” in the Crew: Vito Spatafore and the Queering of the Mob Genre

I don't know whether to laugh or cry, really. Maybe academia really is mental masturbation at its core. These dickwads respond to some pop-culture product on a gut level, then try to justify this obsession with theoretical tracts about “what’s at stake,” in the immortal words of the UCSD queer theory specialist whose name must never be spoken. I know someone who wrote a paper on the Spice Girls. Enough said.

So in the spirit of academic hoo-ha, here are some possible titles for you to chew on:

Patriotic Bodies: Large Wingspans, Flexible Ankles, and Flat Butts

Beijing’s Gold-Medal 100 Free Relay: Do Americans Display the Best Ab Domi-Nation?

Michael Phelps Dissected: Dolphin Kicks, Lingering Lisps, and Big Ears

Bullying Michael Phelps: Tweaked Ears and the Revenge of the Nerd

The Most Important Meal of the Day: Michael Phelps, Wheaties, and Chocolate Chip Pancakes

I Will Be Your Father Figure: Michael Phelps, Mark Spitz, and Unmarried Coaches

OLYMPIAN DROOL

What do the Olympic Games mean to me? The thrill of victory? The agony of defeat? The brotherhood of man? The politics of athletics? The stickiness of patriotism? The stench of corporate sponsorship?

Get real…it’s all about beautiful bodies and men who weep during medal ceremonies.

What is this thing I have about crying men? Besides Heath Ledger pictured below in the previous entry, it could be Matt Damon losing it in “Good Will Hunting” or Noah Wyle weeping in a bathroom stall on “ER” or almost anybody on “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition”. Give me a strong jawline, quivering lips, watery eyes—and I’m all over the floor.

I call it a “non-sexual turn-on” but friends at a recent gathering poo-pooed the idea as hopelessly contradictory (hello, look who you’re dealing with) and said it was a fetish, pure and simple. Regardless of what we call it, it’s not about sex or humiliation or schadenfreude, but instead warm-n-fuzzy things like joy and pride and expansiveness of spirit. (Who remembers warm fuzzies and cold pricklies from Round Meadow Elementary School?! Maybe that’s where it all started…)


There were so many gorgeous bodies on parade, way too many to name here, but three notable American specimens somewhat overshadowed by others were David Lee (volleyball), Nick Symmonds (track), and Ryan Lochte (swimming, pictured above).

Speaking of Lochte, who thankfully went topless for his gold-medal backstroke performance, to hell with those state-of-the-art swimsuits! When I see men wearing them along with swim caps, I’m reminded of the East German female swimmers of yore. If American aquatics organizations really want swimming to become a more popular sport in the US, show some skin, damnit! Who doesn’t like to see four scantily clad studs hugging each other with heaving abs and perky nipples? Geez!

On that note, allow me to weigh in on the beach volleyball debate. Mr. All-or-Nothing says: “Either strip down the men or allow the women to cover up!” This goes beyond the T&A factor. I’m talking about health issues. The women have to expose more of themselves to skin cancer, but the men don’t? Hell, make the men wear Speedos and THEN we’ll have a beach party.

For all of the yummy muscles and raised arms on display, there was a severe lack of pit hair, especially in gymnastics. I understand the reasoning behind shaving for swimmers (a student once casually mentioned shaving parties and I about plotzed on the spot), but beyond that, I guess other athletes do it for aesthetic reasons? I mean, does pit hair really distract the judges during routines on the rings, even if tastefully groomed?

American gymnast Jonathan Horton, the scrappy little fratboy with the freakishly ginormous biceps, seems to have found a happy medium by trimming his pit hair nicely (as did a few of the divers). So thank you, Jonathan, even though you’re probably a huge prick/Republican I would absolutely detest in real life.

Was anyone else creaming over the volleyball players in general? All that height, sweat, arm-age, body art, and facial hair! One homophobic blogger questioned the fact that volleyball teams huddle and pat each other’s butts after each play, calling the players needy. I say, BRING IT ON!

As the volleyball tournament progressed, did you notice that the cameras started shooting the guys from the waist up during those huddles? Of course you did, because you’re as “perversant” as I am. (Combination of perverted and observant…or conversant with perversion?) WTF? It’s OK in football but not volleyball? Hypocrites!

A few names that struck my fancy:
Liam Tancock, swimming, Great Britain
Karen Burncock, trampoline, Canada
Michael Rimmer, track, Great Britain

Parting snarky comment in reference to the Chinese gymnast “scandal”: A government altering official documents? Duh! That NEVER happens, especially not in the USA.

Finally, as you may have noticed, I have written a separate entry on the latest gay hero, Matthew Mitcham, Australian gold medalist in men’s 10m platform diving. Oy! Well done, mate!