Someone sent me a photo of Rodney Dangerfield’s tombstone the other day. The funnyman apparently wrote his own epitaph because on it is simply etched his name and the phrase, “There goes the neighborhood.”

That got me thinking about other interesting messages those who have passed on left as their final statement. You’ve probably all seen some clever ones. Many feature famous last words, while others were obviously written by their survivors. Some of my favorites include:

“Honey, that dress makes you look fat.” “Hey, Mom, watch this.” “He was a good husband, a wonderful father, but a bad electrician.” “Here lies Scotty Fife for foolin’ around with the Marshal’s wife.” “I bet you can’t do this.” “Here lies Clyde. His life was full. Until he tried to milk a bull.”

Because of death-defying feats, I actually thought about some of those epitaphs this week while watching coverage of the Olympics. Most especially, I keyed in on some of those that probably involved a stupid action on the part of the dearly departed that led immediately to his or her departure.

What really prompted such thinking was watching skiers, jumpers, snow boarders, and lugers fly down ice-covered mountains, half-pipes and tubes with very little in the way of protection surrounding their bodies. It wasn’t so much that I was fearful for their lives, although there have been some nasty spills, but more about what were they thinking that would make them want to do this in the first place.

More to the point, what prompted someone somewhere long ago to first attempt such adventure. I’m thinking there’s probably a Norwegian or two buried in some snowy Oslo outpost with a gravestone that reads, “Let’s see how fast we can get down this hill.”

I know no one actually starts a career by strapping on a pair of skis and immediately heads to a Black Diamond run high atop a Swiss Alp. And most young kids think it’s thrilling enough to sit on a Radio Flyer wooden sled and zip down the small incline of a snow-covered driveway. Olympic athletes train for years to perfect techniques that garner more and more speed, working their way up from bunny slopes and neighborhood hills to monumental moguls and tubes of frozen tundra.

Even still, it’s really interesting to me to see people who are willing to pretty much risk life and limb to compete in events with descriptions that would make most sane individuals quickly turn away.

For example, what if you saw a description of what it is like to be a two-person luge competitor. It might read something like this: “You and a partner will lie down on a sled. Neither of you can really see where you’re going. Once you get moving, you will hit speeds of about 80 mph as you negotiate an ice-covered tube full of turns and high banks on the sides. Just ignore the waiting ambulance and rescue team at the bottom of the course.”

Other than being able to see, the same basic description could go for downhill skiers as well. Lightning speed, ice-covered mountain, twists and turns, and little ramps that send you airborne. What could possibly go wrong?

Perhaps my favorite what-were-you-thinking event, though, is the ski jump. “Okay, Bob, here’s the deal. Put these really long skis on your feet. You don’t need poles. Now, sit on this bench, dangle your feet, push off, and head down to the end of the runway there. Don’t panic. Once you run out of real estate, just leap up in the air as high as you can. No, there’s no net. You have to fly the rest of the way. It’s best if you keep your skis together and pointed up a little. Put your arms at your side and ignore the gale-force wind trying to move your body upright. Just kind of act like you’re diving into a swimming pool . . . leading with your head. Enjoy the view, and don’t fall over when you land.”

Hey, sign me up for that right now.

I’m pretty certain the Olympic competitors aren’t all certifiably crazy. But it occurs to me that many would volunteer to be shot out of a cannon at the circus.

Fortunately, I don’t have to be among their number, and can watch their exploits from the comfort of my living room. As a writer, however, I want each of them to know, I’m available for epitaph duty should it come to that. And here’s a free one: “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

©MMXVIII. William J. Lewis, III – Freelance Writer in Atlanta