NOT to brag but I was right all along. The Tokyo Olympics will be postponed.

All the wrong reasons were there for it to push through in July.

Until the most sane reason came along: Covid-19 is for real.

And so, finally, Thomas Bach, the Olympic top gun, listened to reason. Not to indecision.

He would have been crucified—literally, if you will.

Who would watch athletes practically unprepared had Bach allowed the Games to proceed four months from now?

Bach must really be as crazy as Hitler if he had had his way.

Didn’t Bach, the German president of the International Olympic Committee (IOC), insist on clinging to that hopeless hope to declare open the Olympics on July 24?

Yes, he was tone deaf, as one of his fellow IOC officials had said.

But now, finally again, he could hear—and listened to an angry world hollering for the Olympiad’s transfer to 2021.

Hail to a Bastille-like mob that knew better.

OK, Bach and his ilk would still call it the 2020 Tokyo Olympics. I can live with that—even if it would inflict some confusion to the young not keen on history.

Call a rose by any name, it will always smell sweet.

But if only for argument’s sake, what’s wrong with calling it the 2021 Olympics when it’s actually what it is: The Olympiad being really staged in the year 2021, barring another obstacle of global disaster such as the Covid-19 tragedy?

What’s one year between Olympians?

Ah, forget it. I can live with that as I said.

The thing is, we are all at peace now—despite the virus being still very much around.

You train but for what?

No Olympics in another year.

You travel but nowhere to go.

The world is practically closed to anyone; only ghosts can now roam free.

Training’s stopped because the virus has imprisoned you at home. If you have dumb bells, be thankful.

You can’t fly to your designated high-value scientific preparation as all wide-body jets have been grounded.

Love your home. Stay in shape there. Bend some more. God is watching. Before you know it, the Passover will be over.