18 Days in August, an Olympic Blog

While these Olympics have gotten a lot of things right, one thing they should really have thought about twice before implementing was the entertainment between breaks in competition. We have already talked about the royal embarrassment that is the beach volleyball cheerleaders (bon voyage back home and never come back here please) but we were hoping to remain quiet on something even more atrocious, the horror that calls itself the Center Court Dancers. Imported from the lower depths of dance Hell, they inflict their arthritic pseudo-dancing on thousands of unsuspecting spectators in the basketball courts, sashaying their pitiful way through schmaltzy renditions of Greek evergreens (damned Zorba once again) and cruise-ship orchestra dreck, pirouetting out of sync to the music in their heads (which seems to stop about 3 seconds after the piped in music has stopped playing) and wearing the latest fashion creations of a particularly colour blind and schizophrenic 10-year old, these sad excuses for a dance troupe give a new meaning to the it's-so-bad-it's-good cliche; they are so beyond atrocious they are not even entertaining in their incompetence. One is strictly moved to tears and a sudden desire to sit them down with a tape of the best of the Milli Vanilli backing dancers so they can see the nethermost limits of tackiness they should aspire to; anything below this should simply not be foisted on any human for periods of more than 5 seconds for purely humanitarian reasons. Please, pretty please, go back and practice for a few hundred years and don't bother us till then.