Ensign Redshirt: Four PM

Apparently, the trick to getting skin in the game here is to take someone hostage. Nina turned the tables on me while we were talking sports, and with a gun to my head demanded to speak to the President. I’m not sure what they said, but she seemed satisfied when she finally put that gun down. She is so not getting a Christmas card this year.

And worse, it ruined a nice little debate about what constituted a sport. We both agreed NASCAR was just a Dukes of Hazard reality show, but we couldn’t come to an agreement about synchronized swimming. I say that the hybrid of swimming, gymnastics and dance is at least two-thirds of a sport. Nina argued that anything involving nose plugs isn’t a real sport.

Synch’r Swim, as she dubbed it, is about a century old and originated in Canada. It didn’t make the Olympics as a medal sport until the Regan administration, or thereabouts (everyone knows Reagan was a big Esther Williams fan, so I smell conspiracy). It was an inspiration to Hollywood producers, who came to the conclusion that what audiences really wanted was a glamorous pool filled with bathing beauties in flowered caps making patterns visible only from a high camera shot. Boy were they right.

It’s also a competition that involves strength, endurance, flexibility, grace and artistry. Most of the routines are performed with one’s head underwater, so I suppose there is a risk of drowning and not hearing people laugh at one’s flailing legs. Competitors perform a technical routine and a free one. I wanted to enter individual synchronized swimming, but judges said (a) I’m a guy, and (b) that’ really just swimming. My thinking was that the synchronization would be a breeze.

Moot point now. Nina just split the scene with a gun to someone else’s head. Now I’ll never know who is right.

Transmission ended . . .