Now that Michael Phelps has retired, we need to ensure that such dominance never happens again. To achieve that, we’re calling for a fairer use of steroids.
Now that the glittering career of Michael Phelps has crossed beyond that last page, we must ensure that such vast excellence is never repeated. With more gold hanging around his neck that the average loveless housewife or than is found in the dentures of pimps, Phelps’ domination has been peerless, enabled by virtue of who he is. Sporting lungs with a higher capacity than an elevator and elongated feet the size of cartoon rabbit’s, Phelps will always remain a freak. A hybrid creature, birthed from the pages of Greek yore, cobbled together by the swimmers of Poseidon, brought to life by starting gun to further purport the glory of ‘Murica.
However, Phelps genius is also his greatest detriment. He’s like an arthouse doco. You know it’s good, and you should pay attention, but your mind wanders to your phone. Winning all the time is not very exciting, and I’m going to have to go ahead and disagree with Mae West when she uttered (presumably through a cloud of cigarette haze) that “too much of a good thing…is wonderful.”
Crazy Stat of Day: If Michael Phelps were his own nation only 4 countries would have more swim gold medals than him. pic.twitter.com/meQiYs4Qld
— SportsCenter (@SportsCenter) August 14, 2016
While it’s too late to stop Phelps now that he’s dried himself off for the first time, it’s not too late to learn the pertinent lessons. You see, sports is cyclical. And while Phelps might be the GOAT now (Greatest Of All Time – Ed), one day a plucky ruminant will emerge from the herd to challenge history once more. Yawn/boring. A repeat of the aquatic dominance à la Phelps is a problem, one to which I believe I have an easy solution:
Hear me out. As evidenced by the Horton/Yang stoush, the antagonism and stigma of “drug cheats” runs deep. The problem now is the fact that fast get faster, all the while surreptitiously keeping PED abuse behind a closed door. So in implementing what I’m loosely labelling the “Phelps Fish Scale”, we’d finally have a fair race, once and for all. How? We’ll move the drug culture from behind closed doors into the light, but not to judge, rather to regulate – for the sanctity of the sport. Much like the handicap start at the Stawell Gift, those shortest on talent will be dosed a requisite amount apropos to their dearth thereof.
“Not fair,” the IOC might say in a nasally voice, before adding, “That’s cheating.”
Well, yes, Michael Phelps trained like a maniac blah blah, but he was also born half-fish. His steroids were god-given, which, for everyone else is a trifle unfair in the realms of even athletic pursuit. How would you feel if you trained for four years, made pre-dawn starts, missed social entanglements, before shipping halfway around the world to be trounced, finishing an irrelevant 11th place? Phelps’ crib sheet of those he felled could double as a memorial honouring the victims of war, those who lost in that great naval battle 2000-2016. Lest we Forget.
But it doesn’t have to be that way. It can again be even, and pure, and wholesome, like the Olympiad should be. The beauty of the PFS, is that it can be transposed to any sport crushed under the feet of one athlete.
Usain Bolt, I’m looking at you.