Miles's blog

So, have you been watching the Olympics? Of course you have.  How can you not?  We all love the Olympics.  They only come around once every four years and the absolute orgy of sports overwhelms all of us.  Even those who don’t regularly watch sports, like my daughter, get caught up in the Olympics.

I admit, I engage in the jingoistic cheering for the Americans in whatever events are taking place.  I am happy when some American skeet shooter takes gold, or an American sailer crosses the finish line first.  And while I am dubious of whether those “sports” belong in the world’s greatest athletic competition, as long as they are in there I am red, white, and blue when watching.

The Olympics are special because they happen only ever four years.  I mean, do you really care who won the world championship in the 400 meter individual medley last year?  But we all thrilled to watch Ryan Lochte of Florida beat the world for the gold medal.  We remember Michael Phelps’s eight gold medals, but can anyone tell me how many world championships he won?  Who cares?

The Olympics form bookmarks in our memories.  There are so many Olympic memories, the greatest, of course, the 1980 hockey gold medal.  But who can forget Kerri Strug vaulting America to a gold medal in 1996?  Or perhaps you smile when you think about Joan Benoit winning the first women’s marathon.   Or Boulder resident Frank Shorter winning the marathon in 1976.  Who can forget the 1992 Dream Team in basketball, or Eric Heiden winning the gold in every speedskating event in the 1980 Olympics.

The Olympics often create memories of events other than those on the field of play.  The 1972 Munich Games are as much about the murder of the Israeli athletes as Mark Spitz’a seven golds.  (Ironically, Spitz was a Jewish athlete, whose greatest triumph is forever tied to the Olympics’ worst disaster.)

I recall vividly the 1968 Summer Games in Mexico City and watching as Tommie Smith and John Carlos raised gloved fists during the playing of our national anthem.  I was outraged then, and even now I have mixed feelings about their protest.  That was the first Olympics I remember well—how I laughed at the Fosbury Flop, never realizing that high jumping was changing forever before our eyes; and seeing poor Jim Ryan fail once again to win the gold medal although he was heavily favored. (Until I just now looked it up I did not realize that Ryun went on to serve ten years in the United States Congress.  I guess I can stop feeling sorry for him now.)

Ryun’s disappointment is only one of many I will not forget.  Mary Decker’s fall, the 1972 loss in basketball, and those sprinters missing their starting time. 

I plant myself in front of the tv for 17 days and get absorbed in beach and indoor volleyball (and no, not just because they women play in bikinis), rowing, cycling, and water polo.  This morning I even watched equestrian.  Tomorrow I might try to catch some team handball.  Who would ever watch this stuff without the significance of the Olympics?  (I draw the line at soccer, though, unless I am in need of a nap from trying to stay up until midnight to catch the end of the primetime broadcast.) 

So I may not blog much for the next couple of weeks.  (You are probably thinking I have not blogged much for the past couple of weeks.) I will be perusing the tv listings (seven channels!) to see what obscure competition (I hesitate to call everything a sport) is available for viewing.  Maybe an American is working on a table tennis match, or perhaps one of our guys is flipping some Russian in the judo arena.  I hope to see Misty May-Treanor compete for the gold.  She is the only athlete whose spouse I have seen in person.  (He is a catcher for the Dodgers.)  Maybe Missy Franklin from the Denver area will win a bunch of golds or perhaps someone none of us have ever heard of will pull off an upset of biblical proportions creating another memory.