The Olympics make for Olympian appetites. An athlete reaches the quadrennial games after spending a good part of his life in pursuit of citius, altius and fortius; don't blame him if he applies these principles when he parties. We don't make Ferraris to cruise at 60, do we?
If the athletes' villages run out of booze and condoms during the games, humanity should rejoice that its best physical specimens have not turned into speed, height and strength junkies. Throw a bunch of teenagers into a commune for any length of time and chances are that stocks of prophylactics and sundry mind-altering substances in the neighbourhood will start to run dangerously low. Extraordinary feats of endurance call for extraordinary ways to unwind. The rest of us can seek more sedate pleasures but give the kids in the Olympic villages a break, they've earned their hard day's night.
Put yourself, if you can, in their shoes. You've spent years on the track or in the gym or dancing with a discus. All you thought about is shaving off that millisecond, crafting the perfect dive or lifting an extra kilo. When you eventually do, can anyone stop you from letting your hair down. And those that don't make it to the medals tally need to drown their sorrow too. Heck, we are celebrating the human body here, why deny it the pleasures of the flesh when the big test is done? Then there are those who argue that the Olympics, like any other sporting event, pits minds against each other. Even then, it's party time once the pitting is over. And if the kids are indeed pulling a fast one by stuffing their suitcases with unused condoms, coaches ought to be mentoring their wards on how to make better use of them. Maybe an hour of speed dating after eight hours on the field.