When Team USA's Finest Female Athletes are Complaining They Can't Find Tinder Hookups in Paris, What's the Point of Even Having the Olympics?

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For the next few weeks we'll be hearing ad nauseum that the purpose of the Olympic Games is all summed up in its motto, “Citius, Altius, Fortius – Communiter." Or, “Faster, Higher, Stronger – Together” when it's kicking around the house and speaking English. Which sounds a lot more idealistic than say, "Giving you cheap programming during slow summer months so we can charge higher ad rates to sell you soft drinks and fast food." 

But there's a far more compelling reason to go through all those long hours of training so you can win a medal in some obscure sport the average slob hasn't tried since summer camp. It's the oldest motivation in all of human existence. And has been the sole purpose of the Olympics since ancient Greece. Back in 2008, British table tennis Olympian Matthew Syed explained it in the Times of London:

WARNING: Change the setting to a prestigious university in the Northeast and this reads like a 1980s Penthouse Forum letter:

I am often asked if the Olympic village - the vast restaurant and housing conglomeration that hosts the world’s top athletes for the duration of the Games - is the sex-fest it is cracked up to be. My answer is always the same: too right it is. I played my first Games in Barcelona in 1992 and got laid more often in those two and a half weeks than in the rest of my life up to that point. …

Barcelona was, for many of us Olympic virgins, as much about sex as it was about sport. There were the gorgeous hostesses - there to assist the athletes - in their bright yellow shirts and black skirts; there were the indigenous lovelies who came to watch the competitions. And then there were the female athletes - literally thousands of them - strutting, shimmying, sashaying and jogging around the village, clad in Lycra and exposing yard upon yard of shiny, toned, rippling and unimaginably exotic flesh. Women from all the countries of the world: muscular, virile, athletic and oozing oestrogen. I spent so much time in a state of lust that I could have passed out. Indeed, for all I knew I did pass out - in a place like that how was one to tell the difference between dreamland and reality? 

It was not just the guys. The women, too, seemed in thrall to their hormones, throwing around daring glances and dynamite smiles like confetti. No meal or coffee break was complete without a breathless conversation with a lithe long jumper from Cuba or an Amazonian badminton player from Sweden, the mutual longing so evident it was almost comical. It was an effort of will to keep everything in check until competition had finished. But, once we were eliminated from our respective competitions, we lunged at each other like suicidal fencers. …

This sex fest was not limited to Barcelona: the same thing happened in Sydney in 2000, my second Olympics as an athlete, and is happening right here in Beijing. 

Well it would appear that if you're an athlete who showed up to Paris for the orgy:

… you're a couple of Olympics too late. 

First, there was Tokyo 2020, which was held in 2021 and kept everyone anti-socially distanced. And Paris - historically one of the horndoggest cities on the globe - sounds no better. While the organizers insist the tiny, eco-friendly, cardboard beds can accommodate "yard upon yard of shiny, toned, rippling and unimaginably exotic flesh" Syed was talking about:

… it sounds like no one's testing them out. 

Meet Team USA rower Emily Delleman. Who makes it clear in no uncertain terms she's loving everything about Paris 2024, save for the appalling lack of meeting strangers on the internet for casual, commitment-free hookups:

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I'll have to admit I'm dealing with a crippling language barrier here. I'm an old. I don't know what she's referring to when she says things like "the girly" on Tik Tok is like "'Do you want babies?' and I'm like 'Oh my gosh, genius.'" Or about Tinder's new feature to meet pro athletes and "the nostalgia was starting to hit." Definitely "the Yik Yak of youth nationals" was lost on me. Along with "plots rolling out" and "getting the tea." But I did get "FOMO," I'm just a little unclear on the context. But that's on me. Your results may vary. 

What I clearly pick up on is one of our finest Olympic athletes, who has trained relentlessly for years in what is probably the most tedious sport in the world, in order to represent all Americans, is already disappointed she's not getting the experience she deserves. The one all other Olympians have enjoyed for over a century of Games. And it's a travesty. 

All our athletes want to do is have sex with random other physically fit competitors from around the globe. And yet somehow they can't. Even with an app on their phone specifically designed to make it happen. In fact, it's a scandal. Bigger than any doping, bribing judges, or whacking an opponent on the knee with a pipe ever could be. On behalf of all Americans who are proud of our Olympic team, let me say I wish Emily Dellman, her crew teammates, and all our hyper-attractive athletes "in the thrall of their hormones" the best of luck. Here's hoping you make the medal stand in your sport, and on the cardboard bed.