If I lived in Boston, I would stake out one of the entrances to town — you know, where they have a “Welcome to Boston” sign — and, like a Revolutionary War sentry standing guard with a sidearm, detain every passing motorist with the words, “Halt! Who goes there?”
(Incidentally, you could never do this in Los Angeles, where I currently reside. L.A.’s got too many entrances, and most of the motorists there would just as soon run you over than slow down. Plus, many won’t even see you because they’re texting their lunch date that they’re running about 15 minutes late, which is a lie, because they’re really running about a half-hour late.)
But I digress — and apologize — because we’re 125 words into this column and you don’t even know what it’s about yet.
So, yes, I would bark out, “Halt! Who goes there?”
And if the person responds, “I am a member of the International Olympic Committee,” I would boot their sorry butt clear to Squaw Valley.
Why would a single sane person in the greater Boston metropolitan area want to host an Olympics?
(Sure, some of you think this is just sour grapes on my part because Boston beat out L.A. recently in the USOC’s sweepstakes to pick an entrant to possibly host the 2024 Summer Games. Are you kidding me? When L.A. lost, I hosted a Thank Goodness We Dodged An Olympic Bullet Because The 405 Couldn’t Absorb Several Thousand More Drivers party.)
Now, Couch Slouch could give you 75, maybe 76, reasons Boston should have no desire to stage an Olympics, but here are just three:
1. Traffic’s a bear.
2. The trash they leave behind is beyond Olympian. It’s positively biblical.
3. There’s a good chance the city won’t even have the snow removed in time for the opening ceremonies of the 2024 Summer Games.
(Boy, I vividly remember the 1984 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles like it was yesterday. I was right behind Zola Budd when she collided with Mary Decker in the 3,000-meter final, and I also was in a Hermosa Beach bar with a bunch of Eastern Bloc athletes angrily boycotting the Games, maybe the most dangerous happy hour I ever witnessed.)
Those in Boston in favor of hosting the Olympics: various politicians, civic leaders and financial bon vivants, plus Robert Kraft.
Those opposed: Just about everyone else in town.
Nobody outside of Boston desires a Boston Olympics, either. You know they will roll out Ted Williams to light the flame and try to squeeze a Red Sox-Yankees game into the closing ceremonies. And, hey, like anyone wants to see Mark Wahlberg tweeting from the velodrome?
(Actually, if I can, I’d like to clarify my earlier recollection of the ’84 L.A. Olympics. To be truthful, I was still living in Washington, D.C., at the time — a scant 2,300 miles away from Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum — so I was what you might call “Brian Williams close” or “Bill O’Reilly adjacent” to the L.A. Olympics, but I did watch some of it on TV.)
The Olympics are a three-week party for a bunch of foreigners that involves too many construction cranes, too much spending and too few economic benefits.
To stage these “privately funded” Olympics, the cost is estimated at between $5 billion and $20 billion, give or take a Koch brothers PAC. They have to build a 100-acre Olympic village — there’s a housing shortage already, and they’re raising two-bedroom condos for fencers? — and they have to build a 60,000-seat Olympic stadium.
(After they erect that stadium, could they ship it to L.A. to provide the NFL with a place for a team to play in my City of Angels? Thank you.)
So I urge my Boston friends to join the power-to-the-people organization No Boston Olympics, which is fighting to send the Games to another waiting-to-be-victimized, IOC-duped destination.
P.S. In an unrelated matter, I am the founder of the grass-roots group No More New England Patriots Super Bowl Seasons Fueled By TuckGate, SpyGate or DeflateGate Incidents.
Q. Your new beer of choice is Yuengling, but you live in Los Angeles, where Yuengling is not available. Explain. (Michael Barnard; Colorado Springs)
A. I am drinking black-market Yuengling, and as Prohibition-era survivors will attest, black-market booze always tastes just a little bit better.
Q. Any advice for a 27-year-old aspiring poker player with several tells? (Dan Levin; Fort Worth)
A. I’ll simply repeat the words of the great Nelson Algren from his 1956 novel, “A Walk on the Wild Side:” Never play cards with a man called Doc.
Q. I see where we have 100 finalists for a one-way trip to Mars. Is there still time to nominate Daniel Snyder for consideration as a Fans’ Choice Candidate? (Joel M. Cockrell; Damascus)
A. Pay the man, Shirley.
Q. Tim McCarver retires from broadcasting, and now MLB wants to speed up games? Isn’t that like giving the Novocain after the root canal? (Mark Cohen; Gibsonia, Pa.)
A. Pay this wise soul, too.
You, too, can enter the $1.25 Ask The Slouch Cash Giveaway. Just e-mail email@example.com, and if your question is used, you win $1.25 in cash!