Sometimes you can’t shake the cliché. Of all the events in the Winter Olympics, which one would you expect to be the biggest draw for gay men? Men’s figure skating. Duh! And, yes, Thursday night I’ll be in the stands watching the men’s final.
I hadn’t planned to go to any of the events. Too expensive while I’m taking the year off my regular job to write. When my friend Ron called and said he had an extra ticket he was about to sell online, I leaped. Just a regular jump…no triples and certainly not a quad. The Olympic spirit had been ignited by the torch relay and further stoked by kd’s soaring rendition of “Hallelujah”. By the time the phone call came, I might have agreed to fork over a hundred bucks to watch a big screen at Hockey House. One hundred fifty for the men’s long program is a steal by comparison!
Of course it’s going to be a Gay Old Time. After all, this is the sport that brought us Toller Cranston, the Brians (Orser/Boitano), Rudy Galindo, Emanuel Sandu and Jeff Buttle. (How Elvis Stojko ever stumbled into the sport I’ll never know. Still, he was entertaining despite the fact the poor boy never understood that niche domain of figure skating fashion. He can offer support to this year’s derided Ukrainian pairs entry in the “Avatar” unitards.) I’ll be in a small contingent of gay men from
I have a couple of things to do before the big night. I need to buy a teddy bear or two to throw on the ice, the figure skating equivalent to “Bravo!” and I finally have an occasion to purchase and don the omnipresent red Canadian mitts. If I’m going to be a cliché, I might as well do it right!