The Great, American Skier
God bless us
Happy Memorial Day, everybody. This is the day we honor our armed service men and women and fallen patriots who died fighting for our freedom. And what better way to say thanks than to bust out the barbecue, drink cheap beer, vomit in your shoes, and skip work on Monday.
In any case, as an American Skier, it’s important that we all take a moment to reflect on the great events of our sport’s history and culture, or something like that. These are the pillars of our foundation, the dreams of our forefathers, the reasons why we value, not hard work, but the least amount of work possible. All in the name of surrender, so we can wave that white flag to the laws of gravity and fly downhill on a pair of skis made in China.
And which forefather better to start with than Tommy Moe? Montana’s golden boy who, in the blink of an eye, became the Fastest Skier In The World at the 1994 Winter Olympics in Lillehammer, Norway. Marry me, Tommy Moe!
Nobody will ever come close to touching Tommy’s mythic status, but since we’re saluting American victory, we should probably tip our hats to the three boys who secured the Olympic slopestyle podium (not to mention a few puppies) for the Americans this year, and from right under Putin’s nose.
And while we’re on the subject, beat the Germans, too!
As an American Skier, if there is one country I have a soft spot for it’s Japan. Ok, ok, there was that one thing in Hawaii with the planes and the harbor, but that was, like, 60 years ago, and we’ve since bonded over sushi and deep powder. But there’s another reason why I love Japan. It’s because they build the best damn car in the world. And I share this sentiment with every single skier in the entire United States.
Some things I love most about Americans are our traditions and creativity, especially when it comes to pastimes. Like these guys. I mean, heck, look what they did with a tractor, a mudhold, and a pair of skis. That’s real genius.
There’s another tradition us Americans like to do on three-day weekends: driving. And drive to the mountains we will. We’re “getting away from it all,” en masse, even if it takes twice as long because the freeways are gridlocked. Live in a ski town? The hoards of tourists are back, and this time, it’s a whole different breed—summer tourists, armed with the new tents, camp stoves, and hiking shoes they purchased with their REI dividends. It’s a rude awakening, we know, and we won’t blame you if you want to do something like this:
Well folks, that’s about all the American praise I’ve got in me. I’ll leave you with, not the national anthem, but one of the best damn songs ever written by one of the greatest patriots of our time.
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