The Sporting Life:
The Public Professor’s Sports Column
Here’s what I tweeted earlier this week:
Apparently people still watch the Summer Olympics. Huh. Who knew?
Truthfully, I haven’t watched a single second of any of it. In fact, the last Summer Olympics I paid attention to was Montreal 1976.
I mean sure, I see the occasional 100 meter dash final or catch a glimpse of some flip-flopping on a gymnastics mat now and again. But for the most part, I don’t bother.
You see, when I really wanted to care, as a 12 year old back in 1980, we boycotted the Moscow games. President Jimmy Carter was upset about the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, which if you think of it now, is just beyond irony. And when I was 16, the 1984 LA games were tainted by the payback boycott of not only the Soviet Union but the entire eastern bloc.
By the time the 1988 Seoul games rolled around, I was almost 22. In other words, old enough to know better. My entire teen years had been absent of meaningful Summer Olympics, and encountering it as an adult, I just didn’t care.
Hammer toss? Discus? Javelin? Synchronized Swimming? Target Shooting?
Honestly. Who gives a shit?
And something I could actually get behind, like boxing? It was at the 1988 Seoul games when corrupt officiating cost Roy Jones, Jr. the gold medal after he absolutely dismembered a local South Korean fighter. All the while, eastern European athletes were doping to the max.
So when I hear about the recent badminton scandal or latest boxing fiasco, I’m nonplussed. Of course that’s the kind of thing that goes on at the Olympics. Of course.
As far as the sentimentality and romance of the games, re-encountering them in 1988 was too late. I was already an angry young man by then. The traditions only seemed saccharine and hypocritical. For example, it was watching those Olympics that I learned the U.S. delegation is the only country not to respectfully tip its flag while passing the host nation’s pavilion during the opening ceremony.
Honorable tradition? No. Total dick move. You’re a guest. Show some fucking respect. Take off your hat when you enter someone else’s home. Self-righteous, spoiled pricks.
And the idea that I’m supposed to get warm and fuzzy when someone gives it their all and comes in last? That’s a notch above celebrating people who go to work everyday, bust their hump, and remain mired in abject poverty. The only feeling that stirs inside me is nausea.
The rich countries win most of the medals. Get it?
And when some poor schnook from a developing nation pulls a bronze in Greco-Roman square dancing, it doesn’t strike me as a moment of uplifting triumph. It’s the exception that proves the rule, and a reminder of just how stacked the whole system is in favor of wealthy nations that care way too much like the U.S. and China.
After watching a little bit of Seoul in 1988, I was done. I saw almost none of Barcelona(?) in 1996. And to be honest, I couldn’t even tell you where the 2000, 2004, and 2008 games were. Maybe somewhere in Australia? I dunno.
But in 1976, almost-eight year old me was riveted by the spectacle of thousands of athletes competing for shiny medals in some far-off and exotic city like Montreal.
My memories are, of c
ourse, a bit foggy. I remember Bruce Jenner winning the decathlon, though I was far too young to realize he was such a huge fan of The Village People. And I remember a young Sugar Ray Leonard being the belle of the ball for many Americans. Other than that, it’s hazy.
And you know what? As far as the Summer Olympics are concerned, I’m happy to leave it at that. A gossamer pastiche of fragmentary childhood memories is about all the Summer Olympics I need. You can keep London. This summer, Baltimore’s good enough for me.
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UPDATE, August 6: I took the time to watch last night. Now I see why everyone is complaining so bitterly about NBC’s coverage. Absolutely abysmal on so many levels, ranging from tape delay in the age of social media to the saccharine fluff pieces. From an aesthetic point of view alone, NBC’s presentation of the Olympics is truly hideous.