Column: The Geek Beat; Some day, they’ll be lighting the Olympic torch with small dragon

I was watching the Winter Olympics last night and it hit me like a junior high dodge ball to the face – these guys are young.

I mean really young. It seems like most of champions range between 15 and 21 years old. I think there was a pregnant woman from Estonia with a fetus competing in the men’s luge.

I used to watch the Olympics and think, “You know, they’re only a few years older than me, so if I were to really dedicate myself to the sport, I could be an Olympic contender – no problem.”

I’m not talking about the real Olympic sports like hockey, snowboarding or the bobsled, but I’m pretty sure I could handle the loser sports, like the biathlon or figure skating.

But here I am, at the ripe old age of almost 24 and my biggest accomplishment so far in life was eating seven -eighths of the gut-buster burger at Big Jerry’s Foodemporium.

There was also that one time I ate a Twinkie with EZ-Cheese on top, but really, not even my mom would give me a gold medal for that.

She’s such a Philistine.

Besides, her gold ribbons are just canning lids with ribbon and I’ve got 300 of those already.

So, after watching the latest toddler in skis win a medal, I decided that this is my time. It may be too late for me to become a world-class curler, but I can still do something that will bring glory to my family, honor to my country and my face to a Wheaties box.

I’m going to be a Pokemon trainer.

For those of you who think Wesley Crusher was a pro wrestler, Pokemon are a bunch of small animals that have special powers, such as being able to breath fire, shoot lightning out their butts or do their enemy’s taxes incorrectly.

I’m sure some of you naysayers are thinking “There’s no such things as Pokemon,” and to you I say, “there’s no such thing as elves either, but that’s what we have genetic research for.”

Let’s face facts here: Stem cell research is a dead end. We all know the only surefire way to cure all human ailments from cancer to broken bones is red health potions.

No, the real money in gene research is in making a lizard with a flower growing out of its back.

But just like flying cars, robot slaves and root beer that doesn’t get so bubbly that it flows over the sides of the cup, my real Pokemon will have to wait for technology to catch up with my imagination.

In the meantime, however, I intend to prepare for pokeglory as best I can with what I have.

I’ve been gathering any mundane creatures for practice battles. So far, I have some stray cats and dogs, a sickly raccoon I found in the dumpster and this pigeon/seagull thing that I’m still trying to identify.

I’ve been practicing in the evenings, the animals are now responding to my commands and I’ve build up immunity to rabies.

I have two problems with my plans. First, despite the fact there are thousands of kids playing Pokemon, whenever I try to get one to train with me, their parents put me on some list and I have to change my name again.

Secondly, there’s currently a bill on the state level trying to make animal cruelty a felony, which I though was a good thing, until I found out stuffing a German Shepherd into a small plastic ball was considered animal cruelty.

Still, I will overcome.

And years from now, when I’m 66 and I’m competing in the first Olympics to include pokebattles, there will be a montage of clips of me doing dramatic things like stoically staring in the distance and applying burn cream to my face.

I will then go forth, against a much younger field of competitors, and compete not for gold or silver, but as a testament to the pure stubbornness of the human spirit.

Geek on.

Steve Shinney is a junior in computer science and is currently trying to catch them all. So far he’s cought three spiders, a mouse, a cold and some weird looks from the neighbors. Comments can be sent to

steveshinney@cc.usu.edu