The swimming has been great. So has the gymnastics. But, we haven't won anything yet, so the time has come to look elsewhere.
It's Super Saturday, time to turn to the rowers, a couple of cyclists, and a shot put thrower to get something. Anything will do. A gold would
be great. A gold and a bronze hoists us above Mongolia. Here on the couch we are past sneezing and scoffing at that.
Otherwise, the sound engulfing us will be the joyous roars of talkback hosts. Their dark times, of endless filling and constantly thinking of something to say to get them to the safety of a commercial break, just ended.
If New Zealand ends Super Saturday with nothing the people will be heard. A lot.
Grave experts will tell us how close we came. We may field demands for stocks to be erected, and supplies of old eggs to be handed out. It is possible some of our athletes will never return to this country.
Expect the outpouring of grief to rival the Michael Joseph Savage funeral, that bizarre cortege winding its way by rail through the North Island, stopping at towns and hamlets, so people could glimpse the coffin and weep.
Political strategists will factor this into election planning. There may be a brief currency fluctuation. The spot price of cheese might be affected. We could well hear of an impact on business confidence. Therapists will advise on coping.
Fortunately, the Armchair Olympics team has a plan.
There is an answer, a quick fix for restoring pride. It is a narrow opening, but a real one. Glance across the Tasman, admire their medal tally, and dive through the loophole in their Constitution, the one allowing New Zealand to federate with Australia. If we wrap the whole thing up on a Sunday, when no one is paying attention, we could be joined up before the full implications of the sporting horror wash over us.
Of course, we might win everything.
If so, all of the above can be ignored.
