Day 8: The greatest

He's got 175 gold medals, he's broken every world record ever written, his arm span is 144 feet, and his feet grow naturally in the shape of swimming flippers. He can breathe in 400 gallons of air at once and go for two weeks without coming up for air. He farts like an Evinrude outboard motor for extra propulsion. He will someday use all his endorsement earnings to build a city lined with canals where people swim everywhere they want to go and his palace in said city will be at the corner of Butterfly and Freestyle (and they city's red-light district will be on a street called BreastStroke).

He's the man, the myth, the legend, the denizen of Baltimore (land of my family! holla!) who knows that once you go Gold you never go back, and if you have long fingernails you can touch the scoring pad from farther away. He's Michael Phelps.Michael: If I make you my Olympic Boyfriend of the Day for just this one day will you promise not to sit through any more interviews where Bob Costas asks "Are you the greatest? What's it like to be the greatest?' and also "How'd your Mom become as big a celebrity as you?" (Hint: it's because NBC keeps an extra camera on her to edit in more and more footage of her on each special recap episode.)

Mr. Phelps, seriously, you are truly amazing, and we should both feel honored that you're my boyfriend (for a day). But if one more analyst asks if your medal count pales in comparison to those of Jesse Owens and Carl Lewis because their sports award fewer medals I'm going to have to break up with you... but according to the rules of this blog, I'll break up with you tomorrow anyway: so I guess just whichever comes first.