At the moment of greatest peril, when the night is at its darkest point for the Olympic movement in 80 years, Los Angeles is rolling up its sleeves and going to work for 2020. The City of Angels could save us, if we only let it.
Written by Los Angeles (as told to Kyle Magin)
Dear IOC, USOC and all the Cs acting like total Ds:
You nearly ruined it. I watched the torch march out of the Coliseum in ‘84 and it was this perfect thing. Now I’ve got to bring the Games back because you’ve pimped them out as cover to invade Ukraine, as an excuse to turn London into a security state and Rio into the greatest incubator and distributor for the Zika virus this world has ever known. Dudes, what the fuck?
We put it back together again, remember? We mended what Montreal tore apart in ‘76 with their $1.6-plus billion in debt paid back only within the last few years. We made bank. A guap. Mad, mad scrilla. I came out $200 million ahead and sent you on to Sarajevo and Seoul with McDonald’s and 7-Eleven on board. We used the Coliseum–the same Coliseum we used in ‘32 (right before you handed the Games off to Hitler)–and it worked like a dream. Carl Lewis got loose for four golds. Mary Lou Retton brought the first all-around gymnastics gold to the Western Hemisphere in a generation. The O.G. dream team was in the house–MJ, Patrick Ewing, Chris Mullin–and did the damn thing as amateurs with Bob Knight at the helm. The USSR and its boys skipped and we were like, so what?, ‘member? We had the first women’s marathon and a dude in a jetpack.
I guess I’ve gotta pull this car over and get things back in order. You HAVE to give me the 2024 bid, alright? You’ve ruined nearly everything since you left, alright? ATL had the bomb, Athens basically kicked off the credit crisis three years before the rest of us got the memo, Beijing showed the world what you can do with a 20-hour workday, child labor and a fleet of backhoes in historic neighborhoods, Putin blew up a National Park in exchange for 17 days of… I guess you’d call it fun? Hey, and this just in, Brazil is going broke so fast you guys are going to be selling lap spaces to most of the events.
Listen, I get that it’s weird for me to say I’m the fiscal conservative of the group. I know you guys are saying ‘Ha ha, look at LA talking like he’s the grownup in the room.’ I realize I’m out here at Santa Monica doing caricatures of a family with more money in their bras than most of your member nation’s GDPs, while dressed in angel’s wings with an Ed Hardy t-shirt and $400 shades, but it’s super sunny here, OK? And, your weird is a WHOLE. ‘NOTHER. LEVEL. than my weird. Sure, I want my clothes to tell a story, my day to shape up like Lana Del Rey’s most stoned video and my house to look like it was shrink-wrapped 60 years ago. But can you really compare any of that with getting in bed with the governments of Russia and Kazakhstan, spending a combined $60 million between Sochi and Beijing on sports (and still fuck it up) and basically come out on the other side claiming you’re a little bit better than the World Cup, which is like saying you haven’t murdered 32 people today with a measure of pride? There’s levels to weirdness, guys.
I have the goods. You want sailing? We’ll sail out to Catalina in pretty clean water. You want venues? Sheee-it. Let’s run that whole Coliseum thing back for a third time, because America pre-1970 built stuff that was meant to last. I’ve got the two finest outdoor stadiums in existence on a 30-minute bus ride between each other in Dodger Stadium and the Rose Bowl. Stan Kroenke is a dick, but he’s building a palace in Inglewood. Beach volleyball was born here and Torrey Pines is just down the 5. Staples is good enough to host gold medalists 82 times a year, at least, right now. I’m sure between my two massive research institutions, we’ll find some place for your athletes to swim.
You want accommodations? We’ll put all the athletes up at USC and UCLA and not need to spend a single dollar more. See if Borat can do that for you. As far as spectators go, tell them to pick a spot to nest in. The beach, the hills, the Marriott next door to Bob Hope International (which serves a damn fine ahi poke, by the way.) I can land them at 4 different airports within a two-hour radius and traffic will probably ease up because everybody else is going to AirBnB their pads and head up to Santa Barbara for the fortnight.
Look, this is the sanest offer you’ll get until I have to step up again in 30-plus years. You can associate yourself with a proven winner who doesn’t have to wreck the environment (more, anyway), build new stadiums for nobody to use five years after you leave and hotels that a brokeass populace could never afford. In exchange, I get to remind everybody that there’s a right way to do this and bask in my own great looks as presented by NBC. I love myself and you’ll look great in my glow, so jump in here for a selfie in 2024.