Bob Costas, two nights ago, you won the Olympics. You were sitting there, with your double broken eyes, listening to one of those boring in-between-actual-events stories that Mary Carillo is forced by producers to do so that the world can take a bathroom break.
And when the story was over, that's when you became the most amazing human on TV. You invited a reluctant Mary Carillo to take a shot of vodka with you, even though your bleeding eyes -- only held in your head by your designer glasses -- were saying, "DEAR GOD, DON'T ADD BOOZE TO THIS DYING SYSTEM," and households around the globe cheered.
We wondered if your doctors would have approved of that. Then we double wondered if you even had doctors. It's 2014: How did we get here? You're a fancy pants TV reporter man who must have access to all of the fanciest medical technologies. And yet, for days, you can't get your eyeballs back. Why haven't you raided the medicine cabinet of any mother of any toddler on the globe for their hoarded prescription pink-eye-go-away drops by this point? Is Visine on vacation?
It was a glorious moment of fuck-it-itude in the midst of pain and worldwide embarrassment. And for that, Bob Costas, you win everything. When you said, "POUR ME ANOTHER," you won all the gold. More »