As a zealous Olympics junkie, I watch whatever NBC decides to feed me every night between 8pm to midnight (even though by then, Torino being 6 hours ahead, I already know the results of each competition well before NBC airs them). I even watch figure skating, though I never enjoy it; there was always something about the sport that unnerved me more than it inspired. I never really thought about the causes of this distress, but then this article came along and hit the nail on the head:

It’s astounding that figure skating maintains its self-image as an art form in the face of so much flopping. According to the rules, an athlete must display flow, finesse, and an “effortless movement in time to the music.” She has to skate with style and clarity, “according to the principles of proportion, unity, space, pattern structure, and phrasing.” In other words, she can’t just jump and spin — she has to dance.

A dancer sweeps you away with her grace and flow, and hides her sweat with a flourish. A world-class figure skater, on the other hand, pulls you into her own anxiety. She performs just barely above the limits of her skill, trying jumps you both know she can’t always land.

The stress of these make-or-break moments overpowers whatever artistry a performance may have. What should be a choreographed composition becomes a series of near-impossible leaps strung together with idle tootling. Skaters fill up the dead time with gratuitous arm movements as they catch their breath and get in position for the next jump. Meanwhile, the announcers expect the worst. Shouting over the music, they frantically set up each risky move — Here comes the triple toe loop, this is big! — and then sigh with relief when it’s over — Ohhh, gorgeous. That was huge.

As an aside: was this sadistically bitchy or what??