I've been experiencing shortness of breath lately, and I'm tiring easily. I'm pretty sure I know what's going on; it happens every two years or so.

I've got Olympics fever.

I love me some Olympics. I've never really understood why, but I feel compelled to watch them, as if it's a part of the social contract. I have a moral responsibility to watch the women's 3,000-meter steeplechase. If Reese Hoffa chucks a cannon ball to Macau, I need to watch. It is my duty.

I'm especially looking forward to watching this year because I'm living in Britain. London newspaper The Guardian has suggested that coverage provided by the British Broadcasting Corp. will be "stultifyingly tedious," but I suspect it will still somehow come in behind the excess that Americans are used to.

That said, the BBC is certainly giving it its best effort. We are promised wall-to-wall coverage via TV, radio, online and mobile phones. Huge television screens have been erected in a number of city centers across the country. And a terrifying animated kung-fu monkey has been unveiled to promote the event.

In Britain, we are required by law to pay $275 a year for the privilege of watching television. This is where our money goes.

I'm particularly amused by the kung-fu monkey, whose name is ... Monkey. A two-minute cartoon of his traveling to the Bird's Nest with a pig and strange water zombie has been airing with increasing frequency over the past few weeks. It is surreal every time I see it.

But perhaps it is in the spirit of the event's location. The official mascots for Beijing are five strange cartoon creatures with cutely redundant names like BeiBei, YingYing and, my favorite, JingJing. On the event's official Web site, the characters are accompanied by long descriptions written in that strangely appealing prose that so often comes as a result of translating things into English:

"You can see (JingJing's) joy in the charming naivety of his dancing pose and the lovely wave of his black and white fur."

Perhaps that works better in Chinese. To me it reads something like: "JingJing is a bit stupid. But we love him anyway."

I am most looking forward to seeing how and if the perspective is different in British coverage. It will be interesting to see the Olympics as viewed from a people who, erm, well ... aren't used to winning.

Although the British invented all kinds of sports -- soccer, tennis, etc. -- they're not particularly great at them. The British are good at sports that are not actually sports, like snooker and darts. Things you can do while intoxicated. When it comes to things like track events, I suspect that wide camera angles will have to be used if British athletes are to be kept in the shot.

I wonder if British athletes sometimes find themselves more so watching an event than actually taking part. When I played rugby, I was unquestionably ungood, and the line between participant and spectator was frequently crossed. Some fella would dodge my tackle and I'd find myself chasing behind, not so much with intent to catch him but to have a good vantage point when he finally scored the try.

I can imagine a British sprinter lining up for the 100-meter, looking over at Asafa Powell, Tyson Gay and Usain Bolt and thinking, "This is going to be a brilliant race! And I get to see it from only a few feet behind."

It wouldn't surprise me. The British have a great "have a go" attitude that I think embodies the true spirit of the Olympics -- the spirit of amateurism. When you see them competing at other occasions, such as the World Championships, they'll come in sixth but with a huge grin on their face because they've achieved a personal best.

And that's probably what I'm looking forward to the most -- why I feel so compelled to watch -- it's getting the chance to see people achieve their best. Good grief, that's a cheesy sentiment, but it's true. Increasingly hidden behind towers of money and superstars and political wrangling and strange cartoon animals is that sentiment of a human being pushing him- or herself to be really, really good at something.

I can't help but love that; I can't help but want to support it.

So, for the next two weeks or so, don't bother trying to get in touch with me: I'll be camped out in front of my television, or in Cardiff city center, or in front of my mobile phone. I've got a fever, and the only prescription is endless Olympics coverage.

Chris Cope lives with his wife in Cardiff, Wales. His column appears every other Tuesday.