I had always imagined that when thousands of athletes, brimming with thighs that could pull a train into a station, are gathered in a confined space, striking up a flirtatious conversation wouldn't be difficult.
Perhaps they don't even have to talk. They merely look at each other and all the inner chemicals that bristle within them do the rest.
Sometimes I am horribly mistaken.
It seems as if instant attraction and carnal confluence need an app to oil their joyous path.
My inveterate and active reading of US Weekly tells me that there is one chosen app among the young and the vestless of Sochi: Tinder.
US gold medalist snowboarder Jamie Anderson (who is female, in case you were unaware) told US Weekly that Olympians bathe in the Tinderizer.
Yes, they make contact with each other by tendering their interest on the app that most reflects the cheery truth of modern dating. Which might roughly be described as: "Want some by the halfpipe in the next five minutes?"
She said: "Tinder in the Olympic Village is next level. It's all athletes! In the mountain village it's all athletes. It's hilarious. There are some cuties on there."
I have heard my engineer friend George on several occasions muttering: "No! No! No! No! No! Yes! No! No!" from an adjacent room.
I wonder if he has company. Then I walk in and realize he is merely clutching his phone and making visual judgments on the women of Tinder.
Anderson admits that she became so drawn to the Tinderizer that "I deleted my account to focus on the Olympics."
So deleting your Tinder can get you a gold medal.
But what success might reactivating it get you?