I have to confess something. Yes, it’s true. I love figure skating. I’m completely hooked. It wasn’t always this way. 1992, the Winter Olympics in Albertville, I didn’t give a rat’s ass even as a local girl named Kristi Yamaguchi won gold. When Tanya Harding had her thugs play whack-a-mole on Nancy Kerrigan’s knee, I […]
I have to confess something.
Yes, it’s true. I love figure skating.
I’m completely hooked.
It wasn’t always this way. 1992, the Winter Olympics in Albertville, I didn’t give a rat’s ass even as a local girl named Kristi Yamaguchi won gold.
When Tanya Harding had her thugs play whack-a-mole on Nancy Kerrigan’s knee, I only cared because Kerrigan was so annoying (“Why? Why? Why?“) in the clips.
But then, early in 1994, I got caught up. I was up all night with a brand new Olivia, and I was watching Olympic events live, or weirdly tape delayed, or something, from Lillehammer Norway. I watched the opening ceremonies and was taken with the beauty of the location. Plus, you know, there was nothing else on. I watched everything. Biathlon. Curling. All of it.
And of course, with the Kerrigan/Harding drama, I watched the figure skating.