If you, like me, have become addicted to the Olympics this week -- like any good fan of American exceptionalism and morally questionable human anatomy experiments and lengthy, emotive Coca-Cola commercials really should -- you've probably found yourself gazing into the calming, steel-grey eyes of one Bob Costas as he carries us easily from archery semifinals to rhythmic gymnastics like some kind of soothing Olympics doula.
You may have lost track of the time in this hypnotized state, or even the year. A simultaneously unnerving and reassuring sense of déjà vu, the feeling that time's unrelenting passage has been suddenly rendered meaningless, may descend. Is it 1996? you may find yourself uttering, if you, in this example, are me. I swear I recall watching this exact same programming on this day in August 1996, getting excited about gymnastics, and yet -- here I am, a 32-year-old woman instead of a 12-year-old child. Economies have collapsed and been rebuilt; countries invaded; yesterday's babies are today's pop stars.
So how does Bob Costas stay exactly the same?
According to several online profiles, Robert Quinlan Costas, human man, was born in Queens, New York, on March 22, 1952, making him currently 64 years of age. And yet, hairstyles and temporary pinkeye aside, his face remains unchanged, miraculously unmarked by history's normally unforgiving forward march. It was with this paradox in mind -- a nagging little quandary that hatched under my skin sometime last week only to grow into a full-fledged obsession in the ensuing days, consuming my every waking thought -- that I decided to do some digging.
Is it possible, I wondered, that Bob Costas is actually a 1,000-year-old vampire? You may call this an unlikely explanation. I will not disagree with you. I will say this: Is it any more unlikely than anything Simone Biles does?