As the Vancouver Winter Olympics approach, I become distinctly aware of the fact that network television is conspiratorially trying to vault certain athletes onto a certain pedestal. I’m not referring to different earthly minerals here, but I’m thinking more along the lines of brainwashing the public to believe that certain dudes in sterilizing tights happen to be God’s gift to ice skating aficionados. After years of analyzing Bob “I Only Work Leap Years” Costa’s special reports on NBC about specific athletes, I think I’ve built a pretty comprehensive list of qualities that a gymnast, speed skater, and–Jesus help us all if this ever happens–curler must possess to make it big into the collective consciousness.

Have the name of a Greek god. This one’s pretty obvious. How many gold medalists do you know named Andy Stitzer? Partly the doing of NBC’s prescient obsession with him the year of the Salt Lake City Games, Apolo Ohno definitely benefited from his dad totally freeloading on a pompous and possibly super traumatic naming decision. It’s unsurprising that the Olympic Committee granted him the gold medal even though he finished one of his races second–the man can bend people at sheer will, especially with hair like that. And it doesn’t really matter that Ohno wasn’t named specifically after the god, because really, who can focus on that when your last name is an exclamation in itself? We can all only stop hating him for him winning the genetic lottery when we find out how many times he was beat up in grade school before he started working out for future retribution. (I hope it’s a lot.)

Be a super-dee-duper All-American do-gooder. Pie-eating nationalists will always be predictably easy to please–you give them a wholesome, hardworkin’ teenager from the midwest just hoping to bring some honor to the heartland and they’ll stop being pissed that “My Name is Earl” won’t be the regularly scheduled programming for two weeks. That’s why all of the blond, freckle-faced youngin’s from Texas get all the attention during these two weeks every single time. Shawn Johnson, Sasha Cohen, that one chick who was actually really crappy at diving and yet got more camera time than the non-American gold medalist–they all had one creepy thing in common, and that was America’s capitalization on their patriotic cuteness and absurdly happy-go-lucky cheeriness. With their scarily vehement “GO USA!” chants captured on film for eternity, they might as well have been wearing eagle-emblazoned letter jackets onto the podium. Can we please just lay it all out? Because basically, Paul and Morgan Hamm are just two short dudes in tights wearing some ugly-ass primary colors.

Double the trouble is too much to handle.

Read more qualifications (or maybe disqualifications) after the jump.

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America always manages to keep things classy. We’re the only ones with NASCAR, velour track suits, and the Country Music Awards to keep us on the cutting edge of culture and refinement. But now there’s proof that our country looks the best. The photo of Mr. President at the Great Wall of China in November that’s been spreading around the internet recently is letting the rest of the world know that we don’t all wear shirts that say “jUiCy” on the chest. I think we can all agree that if there were a President’s edition of “America’s Next Top Model,” the land of the free would hands down be the last one standing at deliberations, with 100% of Tyra’s “smile with your eyes” approval.

"I'm just serving my constituents."

Obama is the new black: A politically charged model at New York Fashion Week.

So what’s with all the fuss that the White House is making about Weatherproof shamelessly appropriating the AP photo of Obama to their advertising advantage? Sure, the executive dudes may have breached some sort of promotional taboo, being all sly about permissions yet not violating any intellectual property rights whatsoever. But does it really matter whether it’s a matter of business ethics? It’s entirely appropriate that after being elected by a disillusioned 18-to-25-year-old age bracket who became obsessed with his “Be the Change” ideal, his appeal would be advertised to this same demographic using a hypervisual, commercialized vanity that completely characterizes this image-conscious generation. Hello, isn’t it obvious? Obama knows who to prop. White House, I gotta call you out on this one. Just chillax. Holla back at you, O-boi!

So let’s be real for two seconds. Obama’s probably okay with his face being plastered at 32948729387-megapixel resolution in Times Square. More than okay. Flattered, even. After all, the man’s got the authoritative charm of Reagan in “The Hasty Heart” and the supple skin of a baby’s bottom. (Is it Nivea? Tell us your secret!) In any case, if I were a New Yorker, I’d say my commute around town definitely improved from the days of yore.

Photos courtesy of Entertainment Rundown and New York Daily News.