When I lit the Jezebel Olympic torch (turned on my stove) on Monday, August 8, and paraded it around the Olympic stadium (cooked an egg on top of it), I never could have known how eventful the next two weeks would be, and what a hollow mood this awards ceremony (me screaming into my freezer) would have.
How could I have known that we would see a series of unmatched victories by Team Sex that would define the group as one of the greatest squads in Olympic history? That I would make as many enemies as friends? That one of the teams’ websites would cease to exist?
There were some highlights: When Team Sex’s Emma Carmichael swept the Olympic-naming competition; When Hamilton Nolan made so many more trash can baskets than he had to, and Bobby Finger’s historic comeback to win a silver medal; When Madeleine Davies, Gabrielle Bluestone, and Clover Hope demonstrated extraordinary knowledge of Real Housewives, making for a memorable race; When Team Deadmodo tweeted an independently good tweet for the love of competition; When Ashley Feinberg manipulated a group of 20 adults in order to force an event she knew she could win.