Want to Sire an Olympic Hopeful? Talk to Gene

The Olympic Games depress me, so I am glad they are over. I don’t need to be reminded every four winters that I married a woman who comes from a family of oafs, which wasn’t capable of producing a gifted athlete, thereby making my children too uncoordinated to win a medal.

It’s not my fault, of course, because I was young and seduced by this woman, never knowing it would end my Olympic dreams.

But I think about it when I see figure skater Sasha Cohen handing her cell phone to the president of the United States during the opening ceremony so he can talk to her parents.

I look at my wife, and she’s so short and clumsy, and I understand why I’ve never talked to the president.

I never gave something like that a thought when we were dating. I had my mind on other things, I guess, so I also never took note of her three brothers, Moe, Larry and Curly until it was too late. As a result, when it came time to have a baby, the best we could hope for from this gene pool was the heir apparent to Max Patkin.

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I BELIEVE you can mark it down as a medical certainty--the reason we never had a boy was because my wife is short and clumsy.

I was under constant stress, worried she would give birth to a clumsy shrimp, and because stress is a Y chromosome killer, we ended up with two girls.

This week she began talking about performance-enhancing drugs, and while I keep telling her that’s not the Olympic way, after watching the athletes go at it for the past two weeks I think she’s really into this “thrill of victory and agony of defeat.”

She said she doesn’t approve of drug use, but could certainly understand why someone might go to such desperate lengths. I can relate.

Our second child tried basketball, and I remember watching her games and the taller kids swatting the ball into her face--then looking at my short wife and wondering why I never put the moves on Shirley H., who topped six feet.

Shirley could have gotten the dishes down off the top shelf and saved me from getting off the couch every time my wife wants to eat.

And while this keeps me in good shape, I’m telling you there are things you should take into consideration when you’re dating that you just don’t think about until it’s too late and you have to decide whether you want a stepladder permanently parked in your kitchen.

I suppose it’s still a good idea to get married because you’re in love, but now that they’ve moved the Winter and Summer Olympics so we get one or the other every two years, they’re not much fun to watch if you’re stuck with ho-hum kids.

Consider the Olympic possibilities had I married someone from Nebraska, who grew up shooting game for dinner--coupled with my earlier Idaho expertise as a skier--we might have given birth to the U.S.’s top biathlon contender.

These are the decisions people make in their lives--sometimes with a gold medal hanging in the balance--a short clumsy girl from Chicago or a homely hick from Nebraska?

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TELL ME you haven’t thought about it while looking at your own ordinary kids sprawled across the floor--as the NBC cameras linger lovingly on the skier or figure skater who is about to make everyone’s heart bust with pride.

For every Olympic athlete, there’s a set of parents watching--ready to burst from the excitement of impending endorsements and what they might get for all those trips to the rink. Had we married differently--that might be you or me.

A set of lucky Olympic parents will have a kid who wins a gold medal and the $25,000 that comes with it, while you and I have a lump on the end of the couch who wants to know why there isn’t onion dip to go with the potato chips they’re mashing into the carpet.

Consider your own boring life. If only you had a 16-year-old like Sarah Hughes instead of the teenage troublemaker presently pushing your buttons ... experts figure Hughes will earn more than $10 million in endorsements and personal appearances before she turns 21.

If I were her dad, I’d immediately ground her--only agreeing to spring her for $3 million. My wife then could make her own deal.

Just think, if you hadn’t married the person you did--maybe catching Dorothy Hamill on the rebound from one of her two failed marriages, and producing a Sarah Hughes-like skater, the TV cameras finding you in the crowd and the commentators telling everyone in the world what a wonderful parent you must be.

Olympic attention can be a gold mine. Jamie Sale and David Pelletier, skaters expected to prosper because of controversy, have already signed a toothpaste deal.

I’ll just be happy if it convinces our 22-year-old to try the stuff.

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MY ONLY shot now for Olympic fame is a grandchild sired by a grocery store bagger.

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THERE WERE a number of people who apparently were bothered by the sight of Janet Jones--born in Bridgeton, Mo., residing in Southern California, and married to Wayne Gretzky--jumping up and down in glee after the Canadian hockey team defeated the U.S. for gold.

Let me just say I’m never bothered by the sight of Janet Jones jumping up and down in glee, and as a fellow American, I defend her right to hang onto Gretzky and the lifestyle she’s become accustomed to living.

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TODAY’S LAST word comes in an e-mail from Charley:

“I didn’t see you on TV Sunday night--where were you?”

Salma Hayek was missing, too, wasn’t she?

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T.J. Simers can be reached at t.j.simers@latimes.com.