Can you imagine the scene at the after-Olympics buffet, where the medal winners are standing around congratulating each other, and the bunch of dorks on the curling team comes up to join them?
The speed skaters are macking on the underaged figure-skating champions, the cross-country skiers are telling everyone again about how no hip injury was going to stand in their way, and the bob-sled team is reciting an inspirational story of triumph that sounds like a cross between Iron Will and Cool Runnings. They are all raising champaigne glasses in an honorary toast delivered by Michelle Kwan, when from the back of the room, the curling team begins clinking beer bottles together and chanting "CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!" while their captain pours his seventh Miller Light down his throat.
The male figure skater, lost in a glory-induced reverie recalling a life of sacrifice and his ailing mother back in the Ukraine, suddenly bites his tongue when Bob, the guy from Buffalo (who got into the Olympics four months after watching a curling match on the Discovery channel), pounds him on the back, chuckling, "Hey! You got one of them gold medals too! Ain't that a kick in the haid?"
I imagine they might get along with the snow boarders. Or at least throw a kegger with the Canadian ice hockey team. "C'mon Bob! We're gonna go run through Kwan's speech wearing nothin but our medals, eh?"