Nothing beats the heat like swimming. Some of my fondest memories here involve packing up a flotilla of air mattresses and heading for the lake for an afternoon of water wars and drifting naps.

Often I attach myself as the fifth wheel with the family of my buddy, Kris. He and I will often drift within earshot of each other so we can talk and watch the kids. Often the topic turns to sports.

Kris was an excellent competitive swimmer in his youth while I played football, baseball, and pretty much anything involving a goal, an inflated animal bladder and cheerleaders.

These perspectives often lead us to sports discussions that don't always sound like Coors Light commercials. One of our disagreements is on the nature of the Olympic event known as synchronized swimming.

Kris maintains that the fluid movements of these fine athletes are being showcased featuring the ultimate in athletic prowess and pinpoint timing combined with the grace of the dance.

I respect his views but maintain that the "sport" resembles nothing more than wannabe Esther Williases doing a phantom Busby Berkeley number in which we are asked to accept on faith that all sorts of neat stuff is going on under the water while all we can see aboveboard are Pepsodent smiles and color coordinated bathing caps. How it became elevated to an Olympic event leaves me bewildered by the selection process.

It seems to me there are many sports that should have made the list before this one. Gerbil juggling leaps to mind.

Personally I find the image of two males up to their necks in water while smiling broadly at me from beneath matching bathing caps, especially disturbing. I'm not sure why. It just is. Male synchronized swimmers look like they are up to something unsavory that I don't want to know about. I live in the fear that they save their broadest smiles for peeing in the pool, in unison of course.
I also realize that they do not spend their entire routines with only their heads showing. Sometimes they do handstands so I can watch their pruney feet. I think that disturbs me even more.

The only reason I can even halfway tolerate water polo is the fact that while they still look ridiculous, at least I know the players are slugging each other under the water. Besides, it involves an animal bladder.

Lest I be misunderstood, I do not doubt that somewhere under the surface superior athletic skills are being displayed by paired paddlers. But if so why don't we take them out of the water, drag them up on dry land where we can see them and call it what it is? Simultaneous prancing.

I think I could save the event if they would listen to me but they probably won't. I maintain that if before diving in the water, the swimmers could select from among a host of aggressive aquatic animals to be let into the water with them, then do their routines, we'd have something worth watching. Dog paddling in unison is one thing when sharing the pool with nothing but chlorine. I think if tandem treaders could maintain synchronicity and smiles in a swirling pool of piranha you'd have yourself a show.

It wouldn't have to be piranha. They could borrow some rules from the diving competition. Each seagoing carnivore from which they could choose would bring with it a degree of difficulty to be used as a multiplier for previously unchallenging routines.

Think about it. Can you imagine the thrill that would come with watching perfectly executed water pirouettes spinning over the slashing dorsal fin of a great white shark? Perhaps a little chum in the water for the championship round?

Just sayin'.