In a broad interpretation of Dr. Spock, my parents let me extend my usual four hours a day of allotted TV time if I played with other kids or did a sport. Unable to catch, throw or run, I was forced to convince them that bowling was a sport, thereby staving off continued humiliation on the soccer field. But walking around Sydney's Olympic Village, where I witnessed a giant blond Norwegian couple making out, Brazilian basketball players scootering by and Cuban boxers hogging the snowboarding video game, I was once again reminded of how out of place I am among the...
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