If conspiracy theories were an Olympic sport, guess who would get the gold? (USA … USA)
Really, the Last Place you might expect the Last Supper to make an awkward splash would be the 2024 Summer Olympics, where a vignette from the opening ceremonies was condemned as a mockery of Christian tradition.
What is left of Christian tradition these days is debatable, considering the idol of many modern evangelicals advocates pawing at female crotches and swoons over Hannibal Lecter.
But nevertheless, the culture wars perhaps inevitably arrived at the summer games before the first javelin could be thrown.
I watched the opening ceremonies in real time, and thought them to be — to pick the word of the day — weird. It was like a fashion show where Bill Blass and Yves St. Laurent had eaten a few too many mushrooms.
But I’m old; everything seems weird. There are “sports” at these games where Beth and I just stare at the screen saying:
“What are they doing?”
“I don’t know.”
I mean, the Last Supper might be relevant because if break-dancing can be an Olympic sport, breaking bread can be, too.
But as I watched, I never for a second equated whatever it was they were doing up on stage with any Christian ceremony. After people started to make a big deal of it, I maybe could see some similarities. I guess.
The choreographers maintained it more accurately mimicked some sort of ancient Bacchanal festival celebrating inclusion and good will.
Here’s the thing. If evangelicals are already riding you for mocking the Last Supper, assuring them that it actually was glorifying drunken pagan rituals probably isn’t going to help. Not that the outraged Americans were listening to any explanations anyway — they had their narrative and they were sticking to it (and if it raised a little GOP campaign cash in the interim, so much the better).
It would have been easy to dismiss the whole thing as one more case of far-right windmill tilting, except that French organizers hauled out one of those “if anyone was offended” tropes that is generally indicative of a middle digit in the face of your antagonist’s red, hyperventilating face.
“If anyone was offended we are really, really sorry,” they cooed, which I took to mean they are really really not sorry.
You might have thought the Olympics would be the one place where we could take a break from all this political anger. If the athletes of warring nations can smile and get along, maybe, if only for a couple of brief weeks, we can see a world free of their bellicose, incompetent leaders who kill children and then act as if they had no choice.
Maybe we can revel in the pure joy of the American women’s gymnastic team as they won the gold, with their choked-up parents looking on. Even when our team doesn’t win, we can appreciate great performers from other nations and share in their triumph as well.
And with no more East Germany, we could still wipe away a nostalgic tear as Chinese athletes were cleared of doping by their own government, which blamed “tainted hamburgers.”
Because, you know, beef cattle are always shooting up with banned substances so they can record faster times in the pool.
But no, the games hadn’t even started before the culture warriors announced they'd be boycotting the whole affair.
It’s sort of a hollow boycott, if you ask me. I can’t imagine the MAGA demographic, aka Coors Light Christians, would be tuning in to watch synchronized diving in the first place. I wouldn’t either, for that matter, but that’s beside the point.
But in the interest of inclusion, maybe there’s a culture warrior competition we could include in the Olympic lineup. Heaven knows, they’ve thought of everything else.
So why not a contest to see who can produce the best conspiracy theory or the most obnoxious meme.
For once, Americans would be guaranteed the gold.
Just when you thought we had enough to worry about, we get cocaine sharks?
Tim Rowland is a Herald-Mail columnist.
This article originally appeared on The Herald-Mail: Rowland: The Olympics opener was over the top. So was the response.