One of the upshots of living in Atlanta in the early 1990s during the run up to the Olympics is that I no longer care anything about them. It is an out of control, decadent celebration for plutocrats with limited access by the people paying for it. The price tags climb ever higher, and the burden shouldered by the ordinary citizens of the host regions climbs with it.
This article about the troubles the IOC is having finding a host city for the 2022 Winter Olympics seems about right to me. I like that the whole word seems to have suddenly woken up and understood that hosting an Olympics isn’t necessarily a gift. I learned from Atlanta that the best day in the whole process is the one when the winning bid is announced. That’s the last fun one before the bullshit begins.