But I'm not sure there ever has been an Olympic Games anticipated with more fear, or less hope, than these ones.
The buzz around the upcoming Games has been mainly negative so far. First came the hurt, anger, and threats of a boycott by those who oppose Russia's views on homosexuality. Then came an onslaught of news items about the groups who pledge to deliver "a present" of violence to these Games and their participants. Terrorism experts warn to be on the lookout for so-called "Black Widows" -- women who blow themselves up along with all the innocent civilians around them.
Since the Opening Ceremonies are only a week away, I think it's time we wrangle the nasty pall that hangs over these games and start getting ready to cheer. Not just because our athletes deserve it, but because we and our children do. Sure, something awful might happen. But that's life in the 21st Century. It does us no good at all to miss out on the unique thrill that the Olympics can bring. The pride. The inspiration. Heck, the diversion from a cold, dreary February and all its otherwise-ordinariness.
Olympic Games take hold of our imagination the way few things can. Sure, there are plenty of movies about comic-book heroes like Superman that entertain children with thrilling depictions of strength of character, mind and body. But the Olympics are on a whole 'nother level. They are filled with real heroes, actual young people who are alive and breathing on the TV screen. Real people who woke up early and trained every day for years and years to make it this far. And here they are representing their countries. Before the entire world's eyes.
When I hear the word "Olympics", a montage of Olympics-past forms in my head like a slideshow. Out front, like a title-image, is the memory of a men's 100-metre race. I can hear the announcers' voices echoing over the vast stadium's loudspeakers, triggering roars of applause. "USA!!!" a man cries out from the bleachers. A Canadian flag billows from a woman's outstretched arms.
Sunlight gleams on their sculpted bodies as the runners bend and stretch their superhuman legs. They hop, and pace, and strut anxiously. Soon they descend into starting position, their limbs folded and heads bowed as if in prayer. Then the pistol fires. And, before anyone in the massive crowd of spectators can exhale, a single runner breaks away from the pack and crosses the finish line alone.
A short while later the gold medal is placed around the fastest athlete's neck. The eyes of the world are on him. Eyes filled with tears of joy and pride and admiration. And during these few glorious moments of victory, no matter what cliche your parents might have told you, winning really is everything.
There are a multitude of elite events worldwide in which these athletes compete, but the Olympics is universally accepted as the Best of the Best. Over the years, Olympic Gold has never lost one milligram of its cache. And yet, the Olympic games have brought about some of the most incredible scandals of our time. In 1988 Ben Johnson of Canada expanded our vocabularies to include the words "anabolic steroids" when he won the gold medal only to be caught up in a doping bust. And then there was the outrageous 1994 attack on Olympic figure skater Nancy Kerrigan's legs. Ms. Kerrigan's USA team mate Tonya Harding and her handlers would ultimately be held accountable, but the two skaters would still face off in Lillehammer.
But those incidents pale in comparison to what went on in Munich in 1972 where 11 members of the Israeli Olympic team and a German police officer were killed by Palestinian terrorists. If you google the words "Munich Olympics" you don't generate a list of stories about athletes and medals. At the very top of your search results you get the link to a Wikipedia page called Munich Massacre. And along with pictures of sold-out stadiums and waving flags, the black and white google images offer up scenes of terror - a gunman wearing a balaclava. Men in track-suits carrying automatic weapons. A tabloid newspaper with the headline Massacre at the Games.
I actually don't need Wikipedia to help me remember Munich, because I was there. I was only a small child, but I will never forget being in attendance at several events, including swimming. I remember how my brother and I approached strangers in the main square, collecting and trading international Olympic pins, which we affixed to our green felt Bavarian fedoras. Thanks to our parents' secrecy about the politics and terror that could easily have ruined the experience for us, we were not at all afraid. We were on top of the world with pride and excitement.
In the first sentence of a famous Dickens novel, the author writes:
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way...
And win we must. Because for two weeks this February, winning is everything.
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