The Breast Stroke

I wonder if anyone could tell me of any other human activity that is less significant than determining who in the world is the fastest practitioner of the breast stroke. Go ahead, think it over and then add a comment below.


I have misused quite a large amount of the past ten days watching stuff that lacks importance, but commands enormous resources, both human and physical. What amazing effort and investment goes into the Olympic Games. And what does it all mean? I must say, from a collective stand point, not much. Really, what does it matter? Of course it matters to the individuals involved. Fortunes are made. Fame is earned. Adulation is reaped. Power is exercised. And even though by its nature there are far more losers than winners, in the long run a whole lot of self esteem is generated. I guess that is where the virtue of the Olympic Games is to be found. They do make people feel good about themselves – even the breast stroke.


I nominate the breast stroke for the least significant human activity award because of all the events I have wasted time on, it is the least beautiful. Beautifully honed human bodies running, jumping, throwing, lifting great weights, vaulting through the air while twisting and summersaulting, standing perfectly still on one’s hands 3 stories above a pool of water, all of these have an aspect that pleases the eye. Alas, the breast stroke completely lacks this vindication. Swimming in general is mostly out of sight but what can be observed of the breast stroke is particularly ungainly and slow. For my money the best thing about the breast stroke is the name; the breast stroke. I guess it would be good to be able to say, “In my youth, son, I got the gold medal in the breast stroke.”