In a matter of days, 24 to be exact, the summer games begin in London. I am a hgue Olympics fan and have been watching all the trials at various venues aroound the United States. So, I nearly died from laughter when I read a column in the June 25th issue of The New Yorker under The Talk Of The Town section. Titled "Team Spirit" I shall share only the first part:
We are about to enter that period, which occurs every four years, when Americans become passionate about athletics we have never heard of participating in games we do not follow trying to please judges we cannot see according to rules we do not know. The fullness of our ignorance never diminishes the pitch of our Olympic enthusiasm. Those cute girls with the ribbons - rhythmic gymnasts, that's what they are called - and the synchoronized swimmers, mimicking one another's every move, like Harpo and Groucho in the mirror scene in "Duck Soup," will briefly become as beloved as any Yankee shortstop or Celtics forward. "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" we chant, until the two weeks of games are over, and even the most prominent Olympians may find themselves making their way home from the top step of the podium to the bottom rung of the D-list. (Ask Bruce Jenner, once the world's greatest all-round athlete - with the medals to show for it - now playing for Team Kardashian.) This year, only one American rhythmic gymnast, the courageous Julie Zetlin, who came back from a serious meniscus injury, made the Olympic cut to carry the nation's hope upon her sequin-covered armbands.
My thanks to Adam Gopnik for such a wonderful word painted image of which I am oh so totally guilty of and at the same time, totlly in love with. Heck, I even have my official NBC Olympic coffee mug ready to go. And so goes another day, Cheers!
No comments:
Post a Comment