Tonya Harding

I don't know what to make of Tonya Harding.

I remember back in my junior high days, the excitement that I felt that an Olympic-caliber athlete was not only from my home-town (well, at least, from the greater metropolitan area), but also that I had a half-a-chance of seeing her practice if I ever got off my tuckus and went out to the ice rink at Clackamas Town Center.

I remember the fiasco of the Kerrigan-bashing leading up to the Olympics, followed by the Harding-Gilooly-Eckard (any spelling errors may or may not be intentional) conspiracy investigation which eventually led to the break-up of the Harding-Gilooly marriage.

I remember the Gilooly-changing-his-name-to-Stone pseudo-news event while he was in prison boot-camp.

I remember the infamous Harding-Gilooly sex-tape, a harbinger of bigger, grosser things to come (Pam Anderson and most of her partners, Paris Hilton, and others of that ilk).

I remember the boxing career, leading to a none-too-convincing win on Celebrity Boxing, along with a series of none-too-surprising losses and/or no-shows at less-interesting events.

I remember the hub-cap throwing arrest.

I remember her telling Dan Patrick, on his radio show, that she wasn't going to make a "skeptical" of her past.

All-in-all, Tonya's is a story of a life full of promise which led to a future full of miserable decline.

Case in point: Here's the latest on Tonya.

At what point do we just put her out of our misery?