Let me begin by admitting to you that sometimes I exaggerate when it comes to my movie reviews. There, I said it. I know it's shocking, but it's much more fun to criticize movies than to praise them, and at times some of my righteous indignation is souped up a bit for effect. I'd like to assure you that this is not the case today. None of the following vitriol is in any way fabricated; this is one hundred percent pure disdain. The only reason I am dignifying this particular film with a blog mention is that I hope to prevent others from making the mistake I made. Do not see this film. If someone straps you to a chair in front of the screen and pries your eyelids open, force yourself to develop cataracts or something. Seriously. Because if you watch it, it will be the end of the pure childlike soul within you.

Part I: My Olympic Delusions

When I was little, I had dreams of being both an Olympic commentator and a competitor. I'm not exactly sure how I planned to reconcile those two occupations ... I must have thought I could just climb down from the press box area, suit up, and get in line on the track between Kenya and Brazil. And when I was done, I could comment on my own stellar performance. Perfect set-up, right? Naturally, I wouldn't be a bit biased, and after winning the gold medal I would say nothing but nice things about the people who won silver and bronze.

I prepared extensively for both of these occupations. Or at least as extensively as could be expected from a kid with ADHD.