Hey, cold open! Specifically, we are staring at two cars in the DM parking lot as Michael explains that he's both a night owl and an early bird. Hmm. "So I'm wise, and I have worms." Hey, one for two isn't bad. Or...actually, it is. We come inside his office, where Ryan is entering with the breakfast sandwich Michael asked him to pick up. With that out of the way, Ryan asks what Michael needed him to come in early for. It was...just the sandwich, as it turns out. Michael couldn't...go through the drive-through? Guess not. Michael encourages Ryan to run wild in the office for a few hours in his underpants. No, he really does...but he seems to think he can tie it to Risky Business. A glaring Ryan says he'll just be sleeping in his car until it's time for work. Left alone, Michael peels off half the biscuit ("Healthier!") and takes a big bite.
Credits. Wait, who circles things with highlighter? That's misuse of highlighter, is what that is.
Michael tells us that this is the day he becomes a homeowner. Dwight, over his shoulder, is throwing in helpful little comments about how smart ownership is. Michael mentions that in the olden days, you couldn't even vote if you didn't own property -- they'd put you in the stocks! Dwight thinks they should bring back the stocks. I have a feeling that if you asked him, Dwight would happily build the stocks himself, as a matter of fact.
Out at his desk, Jim appears to be working away normally, but then he dramatically swoons forward, dropping his face on his keyboard. Pam smiles. She THs that sometimes, in the middle of the day, Jim dies of boredom, and it's her job to revive him. We find him at reception, where she's explaining that one of the things she enjoys doing is trying to throw things into Dwight's coffee mug when he's not there. Jim finds this very promising. They try a Post-It and a paper clip, and then one of Dwight's messages.
Michael is getting ready to leave for his new condo, and Dwight is (naturally) begging to come along. Dwight argues that he's always Michael's right-hand guy at work, but Michael scoffs that this isn't about work. Ever the slightly passive-aggressive apple-polisher, Dwight asks whether that means he's taking personal time for it. This, of course, motivates Michael to switch gears and explain how his condo actually is related to work, and finally, he allows Dwight to tag along. Dwight THs that he and Michael are a great team. They could be a famous team. Michael? He's like Mozart. Dwight? He's like..."Mozart's friend." I think the great shirt will just say "I'm Like Mozart's Friend." Undeterred as usual by his own senselessness, Dwight tries again: "I'm like Butch Cassidy. And Michael is like...Mozart." You have to admit, that would be a good movie. Lots of flutes and revolvers.
Michael tells Pam that he and Dwight are on the way out for a while, and everyone should do expense reports while he's gone. Seems likely. Michael also asks whether Pam had his magazines changed to his new address (in anticipation of his big move, which you may have heard about). Although that really wouldn't be Pam's job, she confirms that she did it. With all the magazines. Small Businessman and American Way, which we knew about, Maxim, which we could have guessed about, and Cracked, which...we shake our heads at, but also could have guessed about. When Pam confirms that she took care of Cracked, she does so just pointedly enough that a taste of her disdain even makes it to the back of Michael's oblivious brain. Thus, Michael asks whether she changed something called Fine Arts...Aficionado...Monthly. Surprisingly enough, she hasn't changed that one, so he tells her to get on it. "I don't just read Cracked," he says scornfully.
In the car, Dwight asks about the shocks, then puts the top down. Michael despises him.
Jim comes by Oscar's desk and asks a question about the expense reports. Jim notices a scrawling that says "2005 Season" and asks what it means. Oscar explains that he and Kevin like to play paper football when Michael's not there ("Or when we're bored," Kevin adds), and when Jim moves some papers, he sees that the game has a long and storied history. "This goes back two years," Jim marvels. "We're bored a lot," Kevin says. Jim tries the game out for himself and loves it. "I really like the paper-triangle flicking-and-hitting-things game," he announces happily. "We call it hateball," Kevin says. "Because of how much Angela hates it." I enjoy both the name "hateball" and the intriguing fact that Angela apparently has nothing but contempt for this activity, but she doesn't bust them for playing, which she easily could. She's a specific kind of fun-killer, that one. Jim asks if they have any other games, and Kevin says that they sometimes play Who Can Put The Most M&Ms In Their Mouth. "You play that," Angela snots from off-screen. Oscar tells Jim he should ask Toby to teach him to play Dunderball. Jim is intrigued.
Michael shows off his condo to Dwight. He loves it. He can picture himself there. He sees his future. Oh, wait. That's not his. His is the one across the street.
Jim and Toby play Dunderball, which involves bouncing a ball against the wall, back and forth between two adjacent cubicles. "So that's what this sound is all day," Jim says between thumps of the ball.
At the condo, Michael's real-estate agent introduces him to the head of the condo association. Because the guy's name is Bill, Michael puts him through a series of "Mr. Bill" jokes. It's a disease, I tell you. Dwight comments on the fact that the condo is smaller than Michael's current place, but Michael counters that it's "still an upgrade," since he'll own instead of renting, not that Dwight could understand this. In a TH, Dwight says he does actually own property -- specifically, he has a sixty-acre beet farm left to him by his grandfather. He runs it with his cousin Mose. With whom he sells beets. "Sometimes, teenagers use it for sex," Dwight says of the farm.
Dwight wants to ask Bill some condo questions, and Bill assures Dwight and Michael that the place is accepting of "all lifestyles." "It's very gay-friendly," the agent adds. Michael is glad, but he doesn't really understand why they're telling him this. What does his condo have to do with gay-friendly? What an odd thing to say!
Jim asks Stanley if he plays any games. Stanley says he's always up for a good round of "work hard, so my kids can go to college." Stanley doesn't know what he's missing. "Fair enough," Jim says, and he gives an "all-righty, then" look to us. I actually think that game sounds like more fun than golf.
Michael takes us on a tour of his condo. He refers to the very slightly sloped ceilings as "cathedral." Oy. And the condo is cable-ready! Essentially, it looks like every suburban apartment you've ever seen, with the beige carpets and the white walls, and I suspect it will continue to look like that for some time. This despite the fact that he promises us that he intends to "pimp this place out." In fact, Michael knows right where he wants his plasma TV, but Dwight says he can't put it against a shared wall. Dwight is also concerned about the fact that he can hear the -door neighbor. Michael begins to look ill.
And now, we arrive at the episode's beating heart, where Jim has gathered everyone in the break room to open the Dunder Mifflin Olympics. Pam has even made a banner. Jim is singing the Olympic theme and everything, and he's even lighting a torch. Well...a candle. Jim does the echoing announcement (providing his own echo) of the opening of the games. The candle, he explains, represents "the eternal...burning...of competition, or something!" "It smells like cookies," Kevin Ralph-Wiggums. Jim announces that they'll be competing today for gold, silver, and bronze yogurt lids. The bronze ones are blue, and they're just the reverse side of the gold ones, so, as Pam explains, there is "no flipping." Angela enters to remove her lunch from the refrigerator. She leaves. Angela THs that she does play games. She sings, and she plays with her cats. She just doesn't play games at work! Everyone else follows Jim out of the break room, applauding -- including Toby, who demonstrates that he's a pretty good HR guy by worrying less about the lost work time and more about the fact that for once, everyone is happy and on the same side.
At the condo, it's time for Michael to sign some papers. Dwight wants to know what kind of mortgage Michael has, which leads to some confusion about exactly how many years it's going to take him to pay this place off. The answer is thirty years, but Michael was thinking it was ten. That makes this moment pretty sobering for him. Unaware that he's actually upsetting Michael, since Michael almost never pays attention to him, Dwight hassles Michael about how long it will take him to get out of debt. Dwight supposes that if Michael never meets anyone, his nurse can live in the other bedroom. The agent prods Michael to get moving on the paperwork. "Hey look, cool, carpenter ants!" Dwight suddenly says happily. What's a new home, after all, without an infestation? Michael needs a breather. Dwight THs that Michael is "buying a coffin," and if he were doing that, he'd get one with thicker walls.
Back at the office, Jim has the pleasant task of introducing his co-workers to "the national sport of Icelandic paper companies." He "can't remember" the name, and he looks to Pam. "Jim," she says seriously, "they refer to it as...flonkerton. In English, 'box of paper snowshoe racing.'" In a TH, Pam explains that what's great about Jim is the way he has of getting wonderfully excited about doing something fun and cool and then doing an absolutely great job with it. The problem, of course, is that "he works here, so...that hardly ever happens." Did you feel that extra thump in your heart? Jim needs someone to take on Kevin in flonkerton. From the doorway, Phyllis volunteers. It's an interesting contrast between how Michael rejected and mocked her for wanting to play basketball, but Jim welcomes her to the first heat of flonkerton. This sport, as you can imagine from the English translation, involves standing on boxes of paper, having them bound to your feet, and shuffling along as fast as you can. Not a sport for the weak of legs. "You just put your foot right here," Jim tells Phyllis. "Right through the flonk." I actually find myself thinking...flonkerton would be really hard, wouldn't it?
At the condo, Michael complains about the ceilings. He's now convinced that things have changed from the unit he saw last week. He's not even sure this is the same one. He doesn't see the hot people he was promised, and as he THs, he's heard that it's not good to be the best-looking person in a development. The agent asks whether it's a financial issue, because he could always rent out the third bedroom. He says no -- he wants the price dropped, or he's not buying. The agent explains that he's too far along in the process, and backing out would mean losing $7000. Michael blanches.
thing you know, Dwight and Michael are sitting on the floor having a picnic, and Michael is glad he signed, and now he's a homeowner. And they're having fun! "Can you imagine those poor saps stuck at the office today?" Dwight asks. Michael agrees. Those poor saps.
Aaaand...flonkerton! Kevin and Phyllis are racing, which in this case means "shuffling as hard as they can." "Dig deep!" Jim hollers. Kevin almost topples over, but he's beaten by Phyllis, who takes the gold medal. "Gold medal in flernenton!" Jim hollers. "Flonkerton," Pam corrects. "Thank you...delegate from Iceland," says Jim. God, I love them. I truly do.
up, Kevin wins the gold medal in stuffing M&Ms into his mouth. Jim calls the competition without letting anyone else compete. It's dangerous. And tasty!
Michael tells Dwight that he has a surprise: he's going to let Dwight live in the third bedroom and pay rent. He THs that he's "rewarding" Dwight for his efforts by allowing Dwight to live there, and Dwight will reward him in return with money. I've never thought of renting in quite that way. Maybe I should. Michael suggests to Dwight a four-year lease, terminable at Michael's whim. Dwight has a question: where will his terrarium go? Michael says it will go nowhere. Dwight wants to know where his grandparents' armoires will go. Michael becomes distraught.
Back near the flonkerton venue, Pam encourages Angela to play along with everyone, but Angela won't. "Don't you have a game?" Pam asks. "I have one," Angela says coldly. "I call it Pam-pong. I count how many times Jim gets up from his desk and goes to reception to talk to you." That is a horrible, horrible moment -- a ruthless pantsing of Jim and Pam both; a violation of the most basic of social rules, which is the agreement that we all scrupulously do not notice the presence of feelings that other people are entirely appropriately choosing not to act on. Pam is mortified. "We're friends," Pam says. "Apparently," Angela observes mean-girlishly. Meanwhile, an oblivious Jim is conducting a game of horse with trashcan basketball, in which he announces that Stanley (aw, Stanley!) has H-O-R, and Phyllis has H-O. "Are you callin' me a ho?" Phyllis asks. Jim grins magnificently. "Oh my God," he says through a flood of joy. "Phyllis, coming alive! I like it."
Dwight still has questions for Michael. Can they carpool? Can they switch cars? Who's the primary on the fire insurance? With that, Michael has had too much, and he makes all manner of disgusted and frustrated noises before telling Dwight that there will be no arrangement. The whole thing is off. "Thank God," Dwight THs. "It was nice of him to offer, but I live in a nine-bedroom farmhouse. I have my own crossbow range." He does allow that the two bathrooms would have been great: "We just have the one. And it's under the porch."
Ryan, who looks bored and a bit above it all, wins a game of guess-who-will-step-off-the-elevator, and he gets a medal. As Ryan fails to bask in his victory, Pam tells Jim that she made something for later for the closing ceremonies. She's carrying it in a box, and she opens it to let Jim peek inside. "Oh my God," he enthuses. "Where did you have time to make that?" "Automatic voice mail," she says. They high-five, and she laughs. "Nice work," he tells her. He walks off, and she glows, but then she sees Angela staring at her and making a mark on a Post-It.
In the car, Dwight reminds Michael that he can always pay the mortgage off early, but Michael is still so mad that he goes wildly off the point, just blasting Dwight with irrelevant social commentary about how much everyone hates beets. Michael thinks Dwight should grow something people like. Like candy! Michael wishes he had a piece of candy, and definitely not a beet. Dwight starts to put the top down, but Michael swats his hand away. Aw.
Jim is timing a race around the office with full cups of coffee between Oscar and Toby. It's all going fine, but it ends abruptly when Michael and Dwight appear. A fearless Jim wants to keep the race going, but all the oxygen has left the room, and everyone sinks back down into their chairs. Dwight wants his stopwatch back. Jim, looking angry and defeated, hands it back and sits down. Pam watches him sympathetically. It was a race with coffee cups, but it was important.
Later, Michael pouts in his office. He fondles his keys, then he lets his head drop to his desk. Pam types, her precious yogurt-lid medals shining on her desk. Jim hands his expense report to Oscar. He THs that doing that, and closing two sales at lunchtime, was his entire productivity for the day, and it was just about as productive a day as he ever has.
Pam finds herself accidentally looking on as Ryan drops his medals into the trash. He sees her see him. He looks guilty, but he says nothing, and she says nothing. In a TH, Ryan explains that it was nice of Pam to do it and everything, but it was either throw them around now or throw them away later. What's he going to do with a medal made from a yogurt lid? What indeed, Ryan. What indeed. Jim's medals, of course, dangle from his desk lamp. Something seems to give him a second wind, because he makes his way over to reception. "I have 59 voicemails," Pam tells him. "Hmm. Hey, can you...ignore those and do something for me instead?" he asks. "Sure," she says easily, putting down the phone. Heh. He tells her that at 5:00, they're having closing ceremonies. "Really?" she says hopefully. "Notify the athletes," he says.
Later, at what we presume is 5:00, Jim visits Michael to congratulate him on the condo, but also...to ask him to come out of his office for a bit. Jim has something for him. When they get out into the office, Jim tells him "these are the closing ceremonies." And indeed, there are three platforms -- bronze, silver, and gold, made from boxes of various heights. Michael is escorted to the highest one as everyone else looks on. "Congratulations to Michael," Jim says, "because he closed on his condo, so...gold medal." He puts the paper-clip medal around Michael's neck. Everyone applauds, even Toby. Michael looks like he might cry. "I don't really know what to say," he says. "I'm not one for making speeches, but...my heart is very full at this moment." Everyone applauds. Jim puts Dwight on the silver platform, giving him the medal for helping Michael with the condo. Dwight, too, is pleased, even after Michael points out that a silver medal is not as good as a gold.
Jim himself stands on the bronze platform, and the national anthem starts to play. All put hands on hearts, including Stanley and other stiffs. "Why are you playing the national anthem?" Michael whispers. "Because your condo's in America," Jim tells him. And then Pam pulls on a pulley wire stretched beyond where Michael and the others are standing, and a strand of origami birds stretches across the space. "What the hell is that?" asks a baffled Michael. "Those are the doves," Jim says. And then, we look into the beaming faces of these often unhappy people -- Creed is smiling, Ryan is smiling in spite of himself, Phyllis is smiling with open sympathy for Michael, and Kevin is just happy to be happy. And then the camera pans up from the feet of these three men -- Dwight, stoic and determined; Michael, slightly confused and thrilled; and Jim, perfectly happy for exactly one moment. Pam looks up at Jim. Jim looks over at her, and then he grins straight ahead, holding his hand over his heart. Jim looks over at the camera, barely able to hold it all in. Michael's medal. Michael, tearing up and maybe entirely happy. It's strange; this is a genuine outpouring of affection from these people, and you realize when he tears up that one thing that makes Michael tragic is that deep down, he does know the difference between the phony approval he usually goes for and what it feels like when people actually care for you. It's not comforting, entirely, to realize that he does sense the difference, meaning he probably senses how rarely he truly connects with them.
I think this might be my favorite episode, for the simple reason that this is a much better image of a great day than most shows would be able to envision. This is what regular people experience as a day they will remember forever: somebody you love, a good time, and giving someone something meaningful. They're all so good to Michael at the end, and I think it's because happiness makes people generous. This episode -- the part in the office -- always feels to me like a succession of little miracles: the props that materialize like the medals and the doves; the fact that Angela participates in closing ceremonies; the spontaneous invention and naming of a series of silly games that take on the floaty vibe of summer camp. And, of course, a bone-deep friendship and partnership that makes Jim and Pam a little braver and more creative and more proactive than they ever are when acting alone. It's nice work.