The Olympics are finally here! My plan is to DVR the Opening Ceremonies because I have to make a run to the airport to pick up a critter. It always makes me nervous to DVR a sporting event that’s already being broadcast on a tape delay. It’s too many devolutions from reality. You’re toying with time and flirting with disaster. My specific concern tonight is that somewhere along the way, while I’m taping, a small-talker will decide to RUIN EVERYTHING by saying something like, “Hey, did you hear that the Bermuda athletes marched in the Opening Ceremonies wearing Bermuda shorts?” Because then why watch if you already know how it’s going to turn out?

Prediction: The U.S. will not win the Opening Ceremonies but will take at least the bronze.

Everything’s a competition. Ask Mitt Romney. He goes to the U.K. and, asked a softball question by Brian Williams, gets frowny-faced and grave and concerned and says the Brits have had problems and may not be ready for the games and the British people may not really be into the whole thing. Wow! Right there on the living room rug. I’m not politics pundit but I think Romney lost England’s 3 electoral votes right there. Why not go all the way and remind them that they needed us to bail them out of those world wars? Why not crack a War of 1812 joke — say that, sure, officially it went down as a tie but in the grand scheme of things we won?

Here’s what he was saying: “My Olympics were better than these guys’ Olympics, and my hair is better, or at least much stiffer, their their hair.”

The spirit of competition now invades every aspect of modern life. . When I make mac-and-cheese it’s not to feed people, it’s to crush and annihilate all rival mac-and-cheeses in the neighborhood. I want people at the Safeway to see me and point and say, “Look, the wizard of mac-and-cheese!” If not actually so overcome with emotion that they can’t utter a word.

Same with grilling. You all know by now that I own a grill designed by NASA and briefly considered for use as a Mars lander. I am not bragging, just telling you the historical fact, that watching me grill a hot dog is like watching Michael Phelps compete in the Olympic pool.

The Olympic games inspire me to upgrade my personal athletic performance all around the house. If you see me zonked out on the couch at 2 in the afternoon it’s because I’m going for gold in napping.

When I pack beverages into a cooler and load it with ice it’s such a work of beauty that people invariably say they don’t even want to touch it. They just stare at it and wait for all the ice to melt. You say that’s not a sport? What, compared to equestrian dressage??

Maybe some of this is in the category of Too Much Information, but just for example, when I pull weeds I have developed the ability to use both hands and my feet.

I would tell you how I manipulate the sprinkler — the settings, the trajectory, the water volume, the angle of attack — but a lot of that is proprietary information. Tell ya later. Maybe.

By the way, who is the world’s greatest athlete in fencing? I want that guy to see me handle the remote control. Bet he’d learn a trick or two. I don’t even have to look at the buttons, I can feel them, and with the remote in my hand the TV and the DVR become akin to a symphony orchestra. Correct that: They become like a machine.

Often my guests will see me record a program in advance and will be so impressed they’ll ask me to do it again.

So it’s all exciting stuff.

Suddenly it occurs to me that I need to take out the trash — like a champion, of course.