It is time for the Olympics again. There is the song with kettle drums and trumpet fanfare. There are the five rings, where supposedly, every nation's flag is represented by at least one of those colors. We have athletes who amaze us with their talent. We also have the medals; gold, silver, and bronze. Oh yeah...and we have politics.
I was fanatical about sports as a child. I especially loved the Olympics; but they were always tainted. I was unable to understand as a seven year old why a black man would raise his fist in the air. I watched in horror as Jewish athletes were taken from their dormitory and killed. I was disappointed when differences could not be resolved and that conflict led to the boycotts of 1980 and 1984.
In those days it seemed that every victory was a national tribute and every loss a disgrace; especially against Russia. The basketball travesty in 1972 was erased by the Miracle on Ice. The cold war of my child hood elevated [or deflated] the Olympics much beyond such a sporting event. This was war.
I watch the Olympics with new eyes. I see the joy of athletic competition. I watched a sixteen year old snow boarder from Stowe, Vermont. My wife and I had coffee at the snow lodge where she learned her craft. She fell on her second run, lost her chance at a medal, shrugged her shoulders and smiled. She will be back in four years.
This was no national incident. It was a sixteen year old who gave it her all and fell just a little short...and I was proud. Not just proud to be an Amercian; but proud of her and her work ethic and her ability to put aside the "agony of defeat" and soak in the moment.
There are still politics. There are fears of terrorism. Accommodations have been woeful in places. The Russians have accused American reporters of reporting these issues to disparage Russia's good name. In reality, we as Americans are somewhat spoiled and reporters are used to having toilet paper and light bulbs. Go figure.
The problem goes deeper than politics. Adults have a way of "projecting" their emotions onto young athletes. What would posses a fifty year old man of wealth to call a nineteen year old basketball player a "piece of crap?" Why would people send death threats to an Alabama kicker for missing a field goal against arch rival Auburn? Why do parents of nine year olds scream at their children at Little League games?
Sports give us an outlet. They allow us to project our anger and insecurity and fears and frustrations on athletes who could not care less how we think or feel. Brad Creed once said: "A college basketball game is 10,000 horribly out of shape fans yelling at ten kids to kill themselves for the sake of glory of their beloved institutions."
Surely we can rise about such sophomoric behavior? Probably not. But this much I know.
The Olympic Games are at their best when they are just that. Games.
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