STRANGELY, in British slang, calling something "pants" means it is terrible, while "dog's bollocks" means it is excellent.
The television show Big Brother is pants, you might say, if you're not a fan of things that are excruciatingly boring.
Bollocks, meanwhile, is a very old word meaning testicles, apparently. Why dog's bollocks are so celebrated is a bit of a mystery.
Some say it's a natural, slightly vulgar evolution of the phrases "bee's knees" and "cat's pyjamas." Others argue that they really must be amazing because of the apparent fondness most dogs have of them, a point that they make clear regularly on the couch. No matter.
All eyes have been on England for the Olympic Games the last two weeks. In the spirit of Baron Pierre de Coubertin, who was famously declared "dog's bollocks" after inventing the Olympic Games (in the same way that Christopher Columbus invented the Bahamas), let's look at the winners ("The dog's") and losers ("That's pants") of the past fortnight:
THAT'S PANTS: SWIMMING.
"Michael Phelps has won his 67th gold medal, this one coming in the 125-metre sideways swim. The question on everyone's mind is, can he win No. 68 tomorrow when he takes on a world-class field in the nail-biting 150-metre sideways swim?
"If he can't, he'll only have 18 more chances to win a medal in the next three days."
I'm through with swimming on television. It really just looks like a lot of splashing water and the backs of people's heads. Or, in the backstroke, the front of people's heads.
Take away all the fancy TV graphics and lane markings, and watching swimming doesn't seem that much more exciting than watching an empty pool. An empty pool might actually be better - at least you know for sure Michael Phelps isn't in it.
What Phelps has done is certainly outstanding - he is the greatest swimmer of all time.
Swimming, also, is important in a life-or-death sense - everyone should learn how to swim. Whether you're the most decorated Olympian in history or a kid at the lake, good for you for mastering the waves. Just look elsewhere for a lifeguard, because I ain't watching.
THE DOG'S: ATHLETICS.
In week 2 of the Games swimming gave way to track and field, an entertainmentvalue tradeoff akin to switching from kidney stones to Rolling Stones. I love me some track.
Sunday's 100-metre final, in which seven men ran sub10 seconds and Usain Bolt reasserted his place as the best sprinter in history, was more exciting than anything ever seen in a pool not involving sharks with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads.
THAT'S PANTS: EQUESTRIAN.
First of all, I'm not sold on an animal-powered event counting in the Games. Equestrian has grandfather status as one of the oldschool sports, but times have changed. These aren't the Horse Olympics (insert joke about British dentistry here).
Now equestrian is disqualifying North Vancouver's Tiffany Foster and making her (and everyone watching her press conference) cry because her horse has the equivalent of a paper cut on its leg? Come on equestrian, don't make us send you to the glue factory. Tiffany deserved better.
THE DOG'S: WOMEN'S SOCCER.
With three goals in the Olympic semifinal against world No. 1-ranked United States, Christine Sinclair cemented herself as one of the best athletes in Canadian history and put in one of the greatest soccer performances I have ever seen. What a game.
Canada went on to lose in overtime but followed up with a 1-0 win over France yesterday to take the bronze. For many Canadians, the defining memories from the 2012 Olympics will be of this tough team.
THAT'S PANTS: WOMEN'S SOCCER.
Unfortunately all that anyone wants to talk about from that semifinal game is the baffling call from Norwegian referee Christiana Pedersen that allowed the U.S. to tie the game 3-3 with 10 minutes left. Everyone knows the rest of the story.
I'm one-eighth Norwegian, and as a penance I've cut off that part - which by my reckoning, works out to my left leg above the knee. It stings. Let's move on.
THAT'S PANTS: MEN'S SOCCER.
There's a men's soccer tournament at the Games? Is Messi in it? Is Xavi in it? Is Christine Sinclair in it? No? Meh.
THE DOG'S: CYCLING ROAD RACE.
I know, I know - I can't believe it either. I've long been immune to the siren call of dudes in super-tight spandex working a tiny saddle for three hours, but this year the road races, contested early on in the
Games, were the first events that really grabbed me. Maybe Ryder Hesjedal's win in the Giro D'Italia - followed by an interesting Tour de France - has vaulted me into the OK-with-bike-racing portion of my life.
The scenery certainly is lovely. I'm even pumped about celebrating a whole new set of medal winners when it's discovered in a couple of years that everyone in the race was full of more drugs than Charlie Sheen's sock drawer.
That's pants: judo.
Apologies to anyone who loves judo, but what you do in your bathrobe on your own time is none of my business.
I'm not a huge fan of any combat sport, but it turns out I'm even less of a fan of combat sports where you are forbidden from doing anything more violent than slightly agitated hugging.
There was a lot of judo on TV in the opening week, and for every match I saw, the most exciting question was when the official was going to make them tuck their bathrobes back in: "Now? How about now? Wow, it's really untucked now; he's got to re-tuck soon. What drama!"
One of these days that robe is going to come right off and we'll all be exposed to judo bollocks.
Now that would really be pants.
