From the Peanut Gallery

 I’m sitting in the kitchen reading, and all of a sudden I hear, “Yes, beat that cheat!” coming from the living room, where my daughter is cheering on an American swimmer against a Russian.  I guess you could say the Cold War hasn’t officially ended in our house.

Clare doesn’t care what it is—beach volleyball, swimming in all its distances, men’s gymnastics.  If it’s a competition, she’ll watch and root.  I mean, it’s 10:30 at night, and we’re watching guys twirl around the pummel horse.  A gym teacher in high school dragged one in, junior year high school.  Anyone who didn’t pay a bribe had to go on the horse, I think.  This is what you would call some painful cup training  Anyway, the thing’s crazy, and so are the spectators.

Then again, I picked Clare up from the train, and she said, “The White Sox are dead to me.”  Out of the mouth of a child….