I love the Olympics, don’t you? No matter which Games — summer or winter – for 16 days every four years in the summer and 16 days every four years in the winter, Americans are transfixed by the spectacle of the Olympics. We all pause throughout our hectic days to check the medal count for Team U.S.A. It’s a time of national pride as you find yourself standing in a railway station, bar, lobby, elevator — anywhere that has a TV or computer screen with up-to-the-minute news — and you hear the “fans go wild” cheer in your head: “U-S-A, U-S-A, U-S-A!” Or, if you’re like me, it’s not in your head but an audible, U.S.A.!! U.S.A.!! U.S.A.!!
And some of us get so swept away by Olympic fever that the line becomes blurred between reality and fantasy.
Looking in the bathroom mirror as I’m getting ready for work, Matt Lauer’s voice talking
to me from the TV in the other room, I have the occasional “moment” — with my toothbrush sticking out of my mouth, I do the double-fist pump over my head as I imagine what it would feel like to stand on the top step of the podium, a gold medal slung around my neck, the Star Spangled Banner playing in my honor as the American flag is raised in celebration of my great achievement. An American Hero. The future face on the Wheaties box. Whoooooooooooooohhhhh! The fans go wild.
My moment of glory is interrupted when the old man walks in, stares at me and says, “Get a grip.” He’s right. It’s true. Approaching fifty, uhm, I’m unlikely to medal in anything. Well, not
anything that is a sanctioned Olympic sport. In 1989 the IOC ruled that host countries could have demonstration sports. I think that was how things like curling and rhythmic gymnastics snuck into the Games. Sorry, Matt, but you’re looking as ridiculous as the sport>>>>>>>>>>> Then in 1992 the IOC reversed itself. I kind of think it was the rhythmic gymnastics, but that’s just me. Anyway, when I am appointed to the IOC (nominations anyone?), I would lobby heavily for the return of demonstration sports.
On the off chance I am successful in my bid to have demonstration sports return, I have a few suggestions of my own that would see serious competitors emerge in the court reporting industry.
- The Bladder Buster. A competition to see how long a court reporter can “hold it” after alerting counsel that “it’s time,” to which he responds, “can you wait a few minutes?” Thirty minutes later. . .
- The Blood Sugar Dash. A competition to see how long a court reporter can go without nourishment.
- The Halucination Freefall. A competition to find out just how long a court reporter can freefall without sleep (or a net) before collapsing.
- The Statue Game. A competition in which the reporter sits in a fixed position without moving (other than her hands on her steno machine keys) for hours. The goal is to see how long s/he can do that before all her/his joints become immobile.
Like Phelps, I have bragging rights! I have medaled in all four of these categories multiple times. Also like Phelps proved in this morning’s 400 IM qualifier, the older we get, the harder it is to medal.
To my reporting peers: Over the next 16 days, feel free to send in your “medal” moments!

I believe I hold the gold medal in the Bladder Buster being the only male court reporter under 60 in my hometown!
I am reminded of so many things, over three decades of reporting across this fine country. [And outside the country.] Have had many types of lawyers. The Southern gentlemen were the most thoughtful. Texans were intolerant of a “Yankee.” [Didn't know I was one until I worked San Antonio.] And out West I was considered one of those “I-tal-ian New Yorkers.” I thought maybe that’s why I got the more inconsiderate treatment when I worked in the states of Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Colorado. Working on the MGM Hotel fire litigation took three years of my time and my life, and my gastrointestinal system. Money isn’t everything. But you tell that to a young woman getting multiple copy sales EVERY day. But one specific day, me and another gal were reporting in adjacent offices, and we were told we were “working through lunch.” TOLD. Not asked. I asked to be excused quickly to “RUN” to the bathroom. [I kept an emergency PBJ sandwich in my purse.] I am shoveling it in my mouth as I am walking in the bathroom, and hear my friend gasp, as she catches me catching her expelling her breast milk, squeezing away like it was a contest to a finish line. The two of us, scarfing and squeezing. imagine if we got “caught”? Funniest thing was, we didn’t even say a thing to each other, not a laugh or a complaint; it was just a knowing thing.
Charlene, it seems like you’re one of those reporters who could set an Olympic record for getting Gold in all four sports!
Hilarious post, glad i’m not the only one who does this. I told my husband this weekent that I thought I could medal in giving advice. He didnt seem to agree, perhaps I should have said “unwanted advice” …
I LOVED this. Lol. You don’t HAVE to get a grip, either. In my book you’re a Gold Medal winner in inspiration, helping people, making people laugh, making people think, and well- YOU are living MY dream. ::: humming the Star Spangled Banner in your honor:::
Meridith, that was really sweet. Thank you.