July 30, 2012--Romney Goes for Gold

I rarely agree with Mitt Romney. I don't know if he can't help himself, but he does so much flip-flopping and out-and-out dissembling that it's hard to take what comes out of his mouth seriously.

But late last week, during the first day of his visit to London--in an attempt to burnish his foreign policy cred--according to the British and American media, he stepped in it.

He, of course, is a maven when it comes to all things Olympics, having "rescued" the winter games in Salt Lake City in 2002. He cites that as well as his years at Bain Capital as evidence that he knows how to get things done. Including enriching himself. So much so that his wife has a very expensive horse competing in dressage (horse dancing) in the summer games in London, though he pretends not to know the when or where. He wants to come off as a regular guy, and regular guys don't do dressage.

But he does know about Opening Ceremonies. Though not enough to keep his mouth shut or just say a few chirpy things about the intrepid Brits and their games.

Standing in front of Number 10 Downing Street after meeting with Prime Minister David Cameron, he undiplomatically claimed that the British people aren't sufficiently into the games and that they would likely have trouble successfully pulling them of.

First he questioned if the security will be sufficient to keep things safe, but then he went on to insult the English people themselves.

He pontificated that Britons would have to unite in order to make the Olympic Games successful.  "Do they come together and celebrate the Olympic moment [my italics]? That's something which we will find out once the games actually begin."

As one might expect, the headlines in the tabloids exploded with faux outrage, calling him "Party-Pooper" and "Mitt the Twit."

But then there were the Opening Ceremonies. All four hours of them. Four hours that proved Romney right. Well, at least partly right.

I admit, I only made it through the first hour and a half--until Queen Elizabeth jumped out of the royal helicopter with the current James Bond, Daniel Craig, and descended into the Olympic stadium via a parachute emblazoned with the Union Jack. Of course it was all done with smoke and mirrors (especially smoke--there was endless smoke from endless fireworks). But really? The royal Mum? As a T shirt of mine once said, "It's All Show Biz." Even the House of Windsor.

But the stunt did provide some comic relief after a cast of thousands reenacted, interminably, the Industrial Revolution. Yes, that revolution. No mention was made of ours or, since the point of the whole thing was to bring British history to life, the British colonial empire, their role in the slave trade, or the fact that young children were prominent among the workers in the factories of the Industrial Revolution. All workers portrayed, though some had grease smeared on their faces, were adults shown to be happy to have jobs. Even 100-hour-a-week jobs. But there were no grimy eight-year-olds in sight.

Though, Rona noticed, there was a choir of children on the field all dressed in pajamas. "Why are they dressed that way?" she wondered out loud.

"Because it's past their bed time," I said. "They go right home and to bed after singing God Save the Queen."

But I was wrong. They were costumed for the next act, also celebrating one of Briton's historical accomplishments.

"Look. You're right," Rona said, raising herself from the couch. "Here come their beds."

"Their what?" I lifted myself from my chair to get a better look.

Sure enough at least 100 beds were being pushed out onto the field where in a few short days the Decathlon will be contested.

"Hospital beds!" Rona screamed gleefully. "Can you believe this? With dancing nurses. And look, trampolining on the beds are all those choir-kids in PJs."

"What in God's name is this about?" I asked.

Then there was an arial shot from the Goodyear blimp or the still hovering royal chopper and what was going on was revealed.

A huge letter N was outlined in fireworks, then an H, and finally an S.

"N-H-S," I read. "What's NHS."

"Give it some thought, silly. The hospital beds, N stands for National, and H for . . ."

"Health. I get it. And the S is for . . ."

"Service,"Rona clapped her hands. She's a very talented crossword puzzler.

"The National Health Service. Their socialized medical system. Is that's what they're celebrating with all those kids in Dr. Denton's?"

"Must be," Rona said. "Too bad Chicago didn't get the 2016 games. In Soldiers Field they could have featured Obamacare during the Opening Ceremonies."

"Can I switch channels?" I asked. "The Yankees are playing the Red Sox. I've had enough of this. What's next, Harry Potter and Mary Poppins?"

"No way. Even for them that would be too tacky. But watch anything you want. I'm taking a Motrin and going to bed."

The Yanks were way ahead of the Red Sox so I joined Rona in the bedroom.

"Good choice," she said. "I told you we should get rid of the TV while we're in Maine."

"Tomorrow," I promised. "But then swimming begins on Saturday and Michael Phelps is . . ."

Rona switched off the light.

The next morning, on TV, we heard that Mary Poppins and Lord Voldemort from Harry Potter did in fact show up. Of course. Romney knew. How could they resist.

Mary, the supper nanny, took on the terrifying villian Lord Voldermort in a fight to the finish. Actually, 30 Mary Poppins who, like the Queen, descended from the sky with iconic umbrellas as their parachutes to confront a 100-foot-tall inflatable Voldermort.

But I won't spoil the ending. You can catch it all on YouTube.