Let the games begin

This whole Olympics thing—really very exciting. But I don’t know how anyone will have any energy left to pour into the athletic events, after all the massive flapdoodles taking place in advance of the opening ceremonies.

I’ve picked up on three such in just the past few days.

First there was this massive outcry in Britain when it was learned that the deal the London Organising Committee of the Olympic and Paralympic Games (LOCOG, although I don’t know how they came up with that particular acronym; maybe they just ditched the P?) made with corporate sponsor McDonald's included a proviso forbidding any other food vendor in the main Olympic site from selling chips (AKA fries).

The one exception is if the chips are accompanied by fish and doused in vinegar. (Okay, I made up the last bit, but the fish part is for real.)

The Brits who’ve commented on various sites have heaped opprobrium on McDonald's without considering what the alternative might have been. I mean—once you’ve thrown away the idea of having any kind of nutritious offering at the venues, and you’ve made clear that what you want is megabucks from a corporate sponsor, that pretty much left the field open only to the Golden Arches.

And LOCOG made that quite clear by also having Coca Cola, Cadbury’s and Heineken as sponsors.

Flap number two came from our side of the pond, when various Congressmorons discovered only 17 minutes ago that the seriously ugly Team USA uniforms were manufactured in China. There was huffing and there was puffing in chambers; the likes of Pelosi and Boehner were shocked—shocked, I say—to learn that the Ralph Lauren designs were (like all of his line) not made in the USA.

Well, I find that just the teensiest bit disingenuous, since (particularly on the ‘Pub side) they have not the teensiest qualm about all those textile and garment jobs that went to China after even Mexico’s wage scale got to be too high for their corporate donors. (Really, the more serious crime is the fashion felony that these faux-preppie rags commit. Ralphie, Ralphie—that's the best you got?)

You also have to wonder how much Lauren felt he had to make off this gig that he didn’t consider biting the bullet and having the pieces for 600 athletes assembled in Alabama or Texas or another right-to-work stage. North Carolina probably still has all those factories pretty much available.

In the wake of the bad publicity Lauren has vowed that “next time” he’ll make them in the USA; because I guess he’s got a long-term contract. Longer than any of his employees, anyway.

The latest spectacle comes in the form of security for the games—which had been contracted out to a private firm, G4S—is, uh, well…in question. Seems G4S, which was to have provided 10,400 trained security staff, basically screwed the pooch and will now only be able to supply 7000. Maybe. But they’re not sure.

The Ministry of Defence [sic] has announced that they’ll throw in 3500 soldiers (or maybe more, depending on whether G4S can even cough up the 7000; to date they’ve only vetted 5500. They claim to have been operating on a “just-in-time” model…to save themselves some money) to take their place. Considering that the troops—while no doubt combat ready (since many of them are actually being pulled off the line, as well as off vacations)—won’t have been given a clue about logistics, policing, etc., this could be really, really interesting.

I mean—we have the opportunity to see the most uniformed military policing an Olympic Games since 1936. Although I bet the uniforms won’t be nearly as spiffy as back then.

What’s also interesting is the performance of Nick Buckles, G4S’s CEO, before Parliament. While admitting that his company’s performance has been “a humiliating shambles”, he insisted that they still deserve their £57M ($90M) “management fee”. That’s because, “We’ve managed the contract and we’ve had management on the ground for two years.”

So—although I think he was playing fast and loose with the concept of “management”, he basically thinks they should get paid for time on the clock, regardless of the results.

For sheer arrogance, though—wins the gold medal.