Alf must confess to finding the Olympic Games a tad tiresome, although if drinking scotch could be turned into a sport and a gold medal was up for grabs – well, he might change his mind.
Don’t misunderstand: whenever a Kiwi wins a medal, preferably, gold, he will admire the accomplishment.
But all those billions spent on preparing for the games, and all the resources put into the obsession with security, and all the outrageously silly rules to protect sponsors by dictating what people may eat and say….
Nah. If the games were abolished, Alf would not lose any sleep.
To the contrary, he is inclined to actively call for an end to them.