Bob Costas, two nights ago, you won the Olympics. You were sitting there, with your double broken eyes, listening to one of those boring in-between-actual-events stories that Mary Carillo is forced by producers to do so that the world can take a bathroom break.
And when the story was over, that's when you became the most amazing human on TV. You invited a reluctant Mary Carillo to take a shot of vodka with you, even though your bleeding eyes -- only held in your head by your designer glasses -- were saying, "DEAR GOD, DON'T ADD BOOZE TO THIS DYING SYSTEM," and households around the globe cheered.
We wondered if your doctors would have approved of that. Then we double wondered if you even had doctors. It's 2014: How did we get here? You're a fancy pants TV reporter man who must have access to all of the fanciest medical technologies. And yet, for days, you can't get your eyeballs back. Why haven't you raided the medicine cabinet of any mother of any toddler on the globe for their hoarded prescription pink-eye-go-away drops by this point? Is Visine on vacation?
It was a glorious moment of fuck-it-itude in the midst of pain and worldwide embarrassment. And for that, Bob Costas, you win everything. When you said, "POUR ME ANOTHER," you won all the gold.
But, then, everything was ruined. Last night, Olympics coverage happened, and some dude named Matt Lauer was sitting in for you. They gave him prepubescent facial hair to try to distract from the fact that your broken eyeballs were no longer there.
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Bob Costas. Where did you go? Your nasty face is gone, and we want it back. We want to stare at your forbidden death eyeballs once more, like we stare into the sun even though we know we're not supposed to. If you decided to be on TV with both eyeballs pink-eyed, what on earth could have pushed you to call it quits? Did more of your body parts get infected? Did someone Tonya Harding you? I'm not sure what happened to you, but this whole you-not-covering-the-Olympics thing is bullshit.
Whoever took Bob Costas out of the chair needs to own up right the fuck now and get that man and his busted eyeballs back onto my prime time television. Do whatever it takes. If Bob Costas is like, "I want eight million dollars -- four for each busted eyeball," you say, "Of course, Mr. Bob Costas. Anything you want, for you are the most amazing."
Bob Costas is the best thing about Sochi 2014. If you don't bring him back, we will hijack the cameras and the only footage we will show is Kate Hansen pop-locking for every remaining hour of the Olympics.