Most
Americans don’t know a pommel horse from Secretariat from the plastic pony it
costs a quarter to ride outside Wal-Mart.
Yet
once every four years, most all of us suddenly become experts in not only the
pommel horse, but also in floor exercise, foil, fencing, kayak and canoe.
The
Olympics bring out the “Manifest Destiny” American in us all.
“WHAT?
How can they score him that LOW? What are the judges THINKING?”
I
don’t know, but I ask just the same. If I’m honest with myself, I have to admit
that I can’t even keep up with how many flips these people are turning in the
air. Olympians defy gravity and all logic that would suggest what a human body
should and should not be able to do.
That
must be one reason we watch the Olympics, which television ratings suggests we
surely do. The allure of the barely imaginable. Even if we aren’t sure what’s
going on.
“What do they do next?”
“Either the one
bar thing or the rings thing.”
“Are we good at
the one bar thing?”
“What do I look
like, a pommel horse? Bruce Jenner? I don’t know. I’m just trying to figure out
why all gymnasts are shorter than my grandmother.”
Why
do we watch so religiously? You could televise the 10 best gymnasts on a mat in
a cage match in prime time on a day I’m recovering from surgery, and I still
wouldn’t watch it.
World
Championships? Neg. Pan Am Games? Paint drying.
Same
thing with amateurs who could swim the English Channel with one arm and their
goggles tied behind their backs. Divers who would twist and turn from the top
of the Empire State Building into a tuna can filled with water. For 206 weeks
every four years, I don’t care.
But
for the two weeks of the summer Olympic Games, most of America will dig in. We
bring argumentative passion to The Games, either because we are patriotic,
competitive, or because ignorance is bliss. It’s quite the pleasure to be
sitting in your living room, yelling at an American swimmer you’ve just met to
“finish strong!” and notice that other people around your TV set are doing the
same thing.
If
it’s the Olympics, we’re in. Even if a Jungle Gym is as close as we’ll ever get
to the balance beam.
Plus
these are the only two weeks of the year when you can say “breaststroke” and
“shuttlecock” and not get looked at funny.
I
have watched no basketball and probably won’t. Didn’t watch any Olympic
baseball from China in ’08. No soccer. Even the bikinis on the beach volleyball
venue don’t do it for me. Seen all that.
And
as much as I love a horse, I won’t watch a guy in a suit ride his pony when the
pony looks like he’s been to the beauty shop. Don’t really get it.
Yet
that very allure of the unknown is part of the Olympic appeal. That, and the
chance to watch something you can hook history on to: “Is he as good as Mark
Spitz?” Or, “She’s good, but she’s no Mary Lou!”
The
Olympics. I’m used to the more Americanized sports, but it’s rare I see people
swim or run this fast, spin in the air this much, or dive without yelling
“Cannonball!”
So
let’s go get ’em this week, faithful viewer. Stick your landing. Stick it!
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