I have to admit, I have a slight obsession with the Olympics. While in my heart I favor the Summer Games, come February, the Winter Olympics will do. I love the raw human emotion: the magic of seeing a dream come true. It doesn’t even matter the event. I find myself suddenly enamored by speed skating or cross country skiing (or whichever event NBC airs before I have to go off to bed). What is not to love? Getting the BEST out of yourself on a particular day against the best in the world – the stars must be aligned….tough to do.
In third grade I did an oral report on the Olympics. Carrying a sign I had made with the Olympic rings, I played a tape of the musical theme to the Olympics (I loved the tune so much I had recorded it from the previous summer’s Games off my TV set, so I could listen to it on my walkman). It was my first multi-media presentation, so proud! I remember loving the idea that the rings represented every color from all the flags of the world.
As a former collegiate athlete, I have some idea of what went into getting there, but competition at that level is something only a few can truly understand. It means a lifetime of dedication, sacrifice and hard work. Each of those athletes knew what they wanted and had the courage to go after it. They put it all on the line. It meant risking failure….falling short. If only everyone could be so bold with their dreams, instead of hiding behind their fears, the world would be a much better place.
The Olympic Games are a gathering of people who are all among the very best at what they do. Most of them competing against each other, yet at opening ceremonies, they all walk together for their country. They show up with a mutual respect for one another. Regardless of their sport, nationality or language, they have much in common. Their commitment to their sport is the culmination of a lifetime of hard work. It meant staying home to rest their body when all their friends were going out, forgoing spring break trips to Mexico for practice, getting out of bed before the sunrise to fit in a workout. While their friends got “real jobs”, these athletes and their families did whatever it took to support their passion. They all want to win, and they have dedicated their lives thus far to do it.
At a time when the world is filled with so much hate and distrust, the tradition of the Olympics brings hope. There is stability in tradition. While the modern Olympics began in 1896, written records of the Olympics date back to 776 BCE (where the champion, Coroebus ran naked….talk about ratings potential….where was NBC?!). The Olympics bring us together. When a bunch of scrappy college hockey players from the USA defeated the mighty Russians in the infamous “Miracle on Ice” amidst combustible political principles, diverse athletic principals and a global backdrop in turmoil, it triggered an unprecedented reaction in athletics perhaps never to be outmatched. Or when a young girl tragically lost her mother two days before her competition and skated the performances of her life to capture a bronze medal, she was held up by the world, regardless of her nationality.
While there is much to be skeptical about in today’s day and age – the dirty politics of the IOC, network ratings, possible use or abuse of steroids, I choose to watch with the innocence of an 8-year old and the perspective of a 34-year old. For many of these athletes, this is the pinnacle of their sports careers. Most of them will not go on to sign multi-million dollar contracts and come spring, many of their names will be off our radar entirely, but for 16 or so days every two years, these athletes inspire, unite and bring hope. For that, I am grateful.