Yes, it’s Winter Olympics season again, time for NBC to dust off ex-Olympians like Scott Hamilton and Dick Button, treat them like VIPs for two weeks, then return them to the closet of obscurity for another four years, not unlike Al Gore.
Time for our country to celebrate world unity, then faster than you can say “Apollo Ohno,” turn around and demonstrate the kind of American ethnocentrism usually reserved for wartime and trips to France. Sure we all watched as Lindsey Jacobellis threw away her gold medal chances, but what of the other two racers who suffered spectacular crashes? Apparently, no one cares about the health of non-American snowboarders when we can be treated to replay after replay of Jacobellis’ mid-air hijinks, her pained reaction, her lame excuses, her gold-medal-winning counterpart’s reaction, the size of Johnny Weir’s sunglasses, the Tonight Show lineup, and other important Olympic American headlines.
For my son, who is six and too young to appreciate the concept of “every four years” as anything short of a lifetime, this is all-new stuff. And it’s great fun to see him become a sudden fan of figure skater Evan Lysacek, even if it’s solely because they share a first name and an interest in superhero tights. Parents often have a common experience during the Olympics: we imagine our own sons and daughters out there, skating and skiing and…curling and…shooting… for glory. We all understand the anxiety that comes with watching a child skate on thin ice, propelled by her own initiative, always one leap from success, and one misstep from disaster. It just comes with the territory. Of course, if my genes have anything to say about it, my children are not destined for kickball glory, much less Olympic glory. So, I also have fantasies of them winning big on “Jeopardy,” or failing that, “Fear Factor.” Really, anything to pay for our retirement cruise.
My son didn’t seem to care when Evan Lysacek took fourth place, losing his chance to pal around with Costas, grace a box of Wheaties, or star in a lame reality show, but he recently and exuberantly recognized his Dad’s heroism in fixing the TiVo for the umpteenth time. Perhaps there’s another lesson we can learn from our children: that Olympic-size adoration is well-deserved by more people than world-class athletes and celebrity superstars. We all know magnificent individuals who sacrifice and succeed and nobly fail as much in their own personal ways as Olympic athletes do in theirs. Maybe it’s the always-cheerful mailman, or the phenomenally patient elementary school principal, or the sacrificing single mother, or my accountant Dennis who has to feed not only his children but also an all-consuming New Jersey Devils obsession.
When the Winter Olympics have come and gone, the medal counts tallied, Scott Hamilton returned to whatever suspended animation chamber he stays in, let’s try to transfer some of our enthusiastic appreciation from the athletic elite to people performing everyday acts of courage on the short track of life. Feel free to throw in some extra style points as well, for Scotty’s sake.
See how this article appeared in the 2/23/06 News-Record
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