Michael and I have decided that the Olympics are responsible for a lot of people getting ass lately.

Not as in, people at the Olympics are hooking up with other Olympians, though that’s happening too. (Trojan hands out more condoms at the Olympics than they do at any other national or international event, ever). I’m saying the occasion of the 29th Olympiad (you have to say it like that) is responsible for sealing a lot of deals lately — that the Olympics are a major hook up enabler.

Under normal circumstances you go to drinks and/or dinner around 6:30/7:00. Things go well and you finish around 9:00/9:30 (Sushi, earlier – Italian, later) either drunk or on your way. It’s clearly too early to “go to bed”, and yet awkward to start a Netflix or go to a movie to buy time before it’s an acceptable hour to hook up.

Except with the Olympics in full swing there’s a lot of this going on:

• So, hey, did you want to go back to my place and catch some of the Olympics? Phelps is up for another Gold tonight, probably.
• Ooh, great idea. I keep forgetting to DVR them. Isn’t men’s all around gymnastics on tonight too?
• Yeah, should we grab some ice cream and bring it back?
• Perfect.

Considering the Olympics are on from 7am to 2am every single day this option presents itself… always. No matter the moment it is completely legitimate to move from restaurant/bar/walk-in-park to couch. No other programming can boast that kind of convenience while offering complete legitimacy. Everyone loves watching the Olympics because we always win and our athletes are great looking. Thus the Olympics viewing invite is not only perceived as legitimate but almost thoughtful and evidence of strong loyalty to our homeland. Try inviting someone to your place to watch DVRed Oprah at 8pm and see what kind of response you get.

Once back you have the opportunity to consume more alcohol, which is key. Also most people watch television next to each other on a couch — another plus. And really the mood is just right – all cozy and patriotic and mainly featuring semi-naked people. Sort of like when your middle school boyfriend used to invite you over to watch Monday Night Raw but minus parents and plus alcohol.

Then arrives the aspect of Olympic’s viewing that really locks down the acquisition of ass.

It goes late into the night. Conveniently late.

Things like gymnastics, swimming and whatever else they have start at 8:00pm but aren’t resolved until well after midnight. And there’s no way you can leave when that short, red-headed American who looks like Fred Savage’s brother from The Wonder Years is down eight tenths of a point in his campaign for All Around Olympic gold.

Which is why there’s a lot of this going on

• Ugh, it’s getting so late but if I get on the subway now I’ll miss the end.
• Oh, yeah, true — crazy how late it is already. We’ll you’re welcome to stay over. Phelp’s 47th medal ceremony is on in a little while too.
• Mmm, can’t miss that either. God, that Debbie Phelps chokes me up every time. Did you want another beer?

And then, against the back drop of a teary-eyed Butter Phelps and the sounds of our glorious national anthem, you ___________ (insert sports-themed metaphor ala “cross the finish line”) of your own Olympic moment in the most American way you know how.

Easy as American pie. Best to strike while the iron’s hot, though. They front-loaded the games with Phelp’s 17 swims and all the good gynamists. “Want to come back to my place to watch the women’s shotput finals?” is somehow less appealing.