Girl Talk – The Olympic Edition

Alice pulled her helmet over her ears and got in position. “Helmets – check. Icy track - check. Super technologically-superior and aerodynamic bobsled - um, check. Breaker 1-9, breaker 1-9 to Brakeman Macy. This is Alice ‘The Bullet’ Purcell. Team Australia is ready for its historic Olympic run.”

“Wait a second,” Macy said, looking around. “What are we doing again?”

“Olympic bobsledding,” Alice said. “The team from Down Under is built for speed. We will be more famous than those damn Jamaicans. Or that Eddie the Eagle guy. Now hurry up, we don’t want to fuck up the start. Remember, I’m the pilot. You’re the pusher AND the brakeman because I have to focus on the important scientific engineering kind of stuff.”

“Does the brakeman wear a pretty outfit?” Macy asked. “You know, one with sparkles and rhinestones like those skaters? I thought you said we would be ice dancing in the Olympics. I love Ice Castles! It’s so romantic.”

“Ice skating is for sissies of mondo  proportions, Sissypants. You will not see this fine Australian specimen in a leotard. Now give this state-of-the-art contraption a good heave-ho so we can make our first run in like Mach Five. I want us breaking the sound barriers and shit. We’re gonna take out some squirrels and cats along the way once this little miracle of aerodynamism gets moving. Those Swedes have nothing on us.”

Macy looked at the steep track ahead of them. It looked like the back porch was in another country — possibly Canada or Sweden — given all the ice and snow covering it.

“I don’t know, Alice. I’m getting cold paws about this whole idea. When you said we were going to the Olympics, I just thought we’d watch the opening ceremonies and drink Molson’s with the Canadians and go shopping in Vancouver. You said I could be an ice skater.”

“Dude, what do you think we’re doing? We’re skating. And the track is ice. It’s like ice skating only we’re in a bobsled. A toboggan. You dig?”

“Dig? Where? You want me to dig a hole? I love digging holes!!”

Alice ran her paws over her face. “No, Dingbatpants. You don’t dig anything. You push. You push this here bobsled and then you hop in because your fat arse is our secret to success. The more weight we have, the faster we go. It’s all about quantum physics and stuff you wouldn’t understand because you’re not in the Olympic version of the B.H.O. like I am.”

Macy stood on the side of the sled and pushed it with her front paws. It didn’t budge.

“Don’t make me replace you with Bernie next door. He flamed out last Olympics and we didn’t even make it past the trials. Now put some elbow grease into it.”

“I told you already,” Macy cried. “I don’t think I have elbows.”

Alice turned around and nipped Macy on the neck.

“Unsportsman-like conduct! I’m calling the International Olympic Committee!”

“Just push,” Alice sighed. It was hard finding good athletes these days.

Macy pushed again and the sled began to move. And then it moved again and she hopped in.

“Hells yeah, how do you like us now!” Alice screamed. “Bite me, Sweden and Norway and all those other snowy countries! Team Australia is fueled by Fosters Lager.”

The sled careened off a snow pile and was heading straight for the picnic table.

“Do you know how to steer this thing?” Macy asked.

“Of course,” Alice said, the wind taking her breath away. “I am the pilot. All elite pilots like me have mad skills. Oh, and something called finesse. Dad says all the bobsledding hall of famers have it. It’s an Olympic BHO requirement.”

They had only gone two feet but the course was rough and filled with dangerous obstacles like the grill and the firepit and, worst of all, frozen piles of dog poop – a new addition to this year’s course. Just as they neared the leg of the picnic table, Alice shifted her weight to the right and the sled missed crashing into the table by nothing more than a narrow icicle.

“Oh, Canada, oh Canada,” Macy started singing.

“That’s not our national anthem,” Alice shouted over the whooshing of the sled against the ice. “We sing Advance Australia Fair, remember?”

“Oh beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of graaaaaaaaain, aaaaahhhhhh look out for the fence!!!”

“Relax, dude,” Alice said. “It’s all copacetic. Just a couple more turns and we will be on that porch and wearing gold medal around our necks and everyone will be dousing us with beer. Which, by the way, sounds pretty good right about now. All this steering makes me thirsty. I can taste the thrill of victory now.”

“Will we get to wear flags around our shoulders if we win? I like the Australian flag. It’s very fashionable.”

“You can do whatever you want. I’m gonna go get a drink with Shaun White and Bode Miller after we kick this course’s ass.”

“What if all this fame goes to our heads and we get drug addictions and all of that?”

“You worry too much,” said Alice. “Now lean to the left on this last curve and put all of your ass into it. We need to make up for lost time.”

The sled careened down the slope at record pace in the final stretch.

“Cowabunga! We are laying the hammer down now!” Alice barked.

Macy barked too. “Cowabunga is my hero! Go Cowabunga! Whoever you are! We love Cowabungas!!!” Then she whispered to Alice, “Is that some kind of Canadian person, this Cowabunga?”

As they slid into the porch step, Alice shook the snow from her fur and took off her helmet. She high-fived Macy and looked around for the crowd, all the raving fans watching this historic run for the Australian team. But there was no one there, not even Bernie or that damned stray cat that roamed their yard. Everyone must have been watching another sport, like that curling thing or maybe the moguls. Bobsledders never got the respect they deserved as athletes,  not even the BHO bobsledders. She looked up and saw mom opening the porch door.

“Girls get in here. How did you get so snowy? And why is the laundry basket outside?”

Macy dipped her mouth in the snow and scooped up a little pile. She was thirsty after all of that hard work. Alice strutted past mom and nudged Macy. “Next Olympics, we’ll take the gold. We’ll be bigger than Eddie the Eagle.”

“Bigger than  Cowabunga?” Macy asked.

“Most definitely, sis. Most definitely.”