Au Revoir Paris and hello Los Angeles.
I’ve always loved the Olympics, and this year was another treat. Back in the day, mom and dad watched and thus a sports-obsessed kid was easily hooked. Mary Lou’s perfect 10. Zola Budd tripping Mary Decker. Carl Lewis and FloJo. Classic memories. And now, some XLIV years later, I’m still captivated. (top secret: I love the winter games just as much as the summer ones).
From the pool to the track to the beam and bars, I’ve been completely stuck-the-landing-glued. This year’s crop of American athletes has been captivating. I wish I could list and recognize them all. But I figure since they dedicated zillions of hours perfecting their crafts to get to Paris, I can devote three hours each night to cheering them on.
I preferred watching the Paris in Primetime episodes. Watching during the day would distract me from my own summer Olympic pentathlon: kickboxing, 1600-meter dog-walking, one-man pool lounging, post-cruise Covid couch surfing, and diving into great books.
Each night, Beautiful Karla and I waited until about 9:00 p.m. to watch what Mike Tirico and Snoop Dogg had on the menu. We avoided all the commercials and wrapped things up in time for bed. Of course, sometimes being eight hours behind is problematic. So, it takes some gold-medal discipline to avoid getting results in real time. Sometimes I forgot and accidentally got an update when checking the baseball scores. And other times, things were out of my control. True story: the men’s 100m was about to start. It’s the cornerstone track and field event. The crowning of the fastest man alive. Noah Lyles, who hadn’t won any of his heats is leaning into his blocks. I’m on the edge of my seat, I turn and nervously say to BK, “I feel like he’s going to lose.”
Without hesitating, she says, “No, he wins.” I nearly triple piked over the back of the sofa. The photo-finish excitement of the race was at least a saving grace. It was the biggest spoiler since going to see The Empire Strikes Back with my dad in 1980. We’re in line for the tickets and the guy in front of us turns to his wife and says, “By the way, Darth is Luke’s father.”
George Lucas couldn’t have dreamed up a more exciting Olympic fortnight. A few random thoughts:
Dan Hicks and Rowdy Gaines are the best announcers in sports. If they called soccer matches, I might actually watch one. And if the execs at NBC were smart, they’d get Dan and Rowdy doing football on Sundays.
France has a great national anthem. Who knew?
Lyles contracted Covid and still earned a bronze in the 200m. I couldn’t walk around the block with Covid.
Favorite moments: Gold -- Simone Biles and Jordan Chiles bowing to Brazilian gold medalist Rebecca Andrade on the podium for the women’s floor medals presentation. Silver -- Steven Nedoroscik’s reactions after his pommel horse performances. Bronze -- every time an American won a medal!
Jamaican hurdler Hansle Parchment owns my favorite name of the games. Followed closely by Femke Bol, who produced one of the most exciting moments on the track when she came from a million meters behind to grab the gold for the Netherland in the mixed relay. She looked like she was wearing a jetpack.
Two things blow my mind while watching the Olympics.
1. The times. I can’t wrap my mind around missing a place on the podium by hundredths of a second. I don’t know what’s worse, coming in fourth by a hundredth or missing a gold medal by a hundredth? All that work. All that time. Dedicating yourself for four years, all day, every day and then come up a milli-fraction of a second short. Try this out: open the stopwatch on your phone. Hit start and stop in rapid succession as quickly as possible. What time did you get? My fastest is .13 seconds. That’s an eternity in the Olympics.
2. The fearlessness from the gymnasts. Many sports are dangerous and ghastly injuries are common. A crushing tackle from a 250-pound linebacker. A 100-mph fastball to the head. Football players have been paralyzed. A baseball player died from getting beaned … 100 years ago. But gymnasts risk breaking their necks during every routine. In practice. In warm-ups. Being able to block that out and do what they do is mind-boggling. The same goes for downhill skiers. I liken it to someone who has a sky-diving bucket list item. For most, it’s a one-and-done occurrence. But gymnasts and downhill skiers are jumping out of that airplane, all day, every day. Without a parachute.
There’s a cool website that reveals your optimal Olympic event based on your height and weight. It said I’m a good height for diving, but just a smidge (ok, like 40 pounds) overweight to challenge the Chinese divers. Stretch me out six inches and I’m perfectly built for rowing (Big Tones in the Boat). I was hoping for handball, because that sport looks like it’s a blast. My result: judo. I don’t know a thing about judo, but it’s close to ju-jitsu, which I can do at my kickboxing gym. Let the training begin! The USA has won 14 medals in judo, but none since 2016. I’m ready to bring back the judo glory to the land of the free in 2028. South Korea’s Dae-Nam Song is the oldest athlete to win a judo medal. He was 33 years old. I’ll be 60 in four years, but I’ve always been a bit of a late bloomer.
The 2028 games are going to be in my backyard. If my judo career doesn’t pan out, I’m going to see if I can volunteer. How fun would it be to work the swimming events at Stade de Sofi? I can see myself inching my way to the booth to photobomb Dan Hicks and Rowdy Gaines. When the swimming has concluded, I’ll invite them both over for dinner and to watch Track and Field on the flatscreen. The primetime telecasts will be live. Which is good thing, because then there won’t be any spoilers.
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