So the Mrs. was working Saturday night in the ER. A little boy, about 8 comes in. They put him in a room. He complains loudly. Not because of the ailment, but because there was no T.V. in that particular room. He was scared he couldn't watch Phelps win gold. Then the Mrs. started talking to him about the races. This kid, 8 years old, then came back with the awesomeness that was that 100M Butterfly finish. About how he took that last half-stroke. About how he touched the wall an infinite minuteness before the other guy. The Mrs. said his facing was beaming.
That's why I love the Olympics. I worked at them in '02; been there, done that. I didn't enjoy the Olympics that year. Though I saw every event and heard the finishes and stood directly next to the take-off point for the Gold Medal ski-jump (a hill I later slid down) -- I even rode the lift back up the mountain with the jumpers (I had all access passes for the ski jump and luge). I even saw a moose. But it wasn't the same. And until Phelps' run, my Olympic awe had been spoiled by everything wrong the the Games. Then the Mrs. told me the story and I remembered my own story and I remembered why I love the Games:
In '02 Jimmy Shea made an improbable run at Gold in the Men's Skeleton I was working down the hill from the track in the Media Compound (I could see the finish area from where we were located). The place was brimming with buzz. Everyone was walking up to see the final run. But the peon that I was, I had to stay put in the trailer in case something was needed. So me and a few other peons were forced to watch it on a small T.V. We couldn't even walk across the compound to the Japanese Trailer that had HD. But as he was coming down we began to hear the roar. Instead of watching it, I walked outside and listened to it. Coming down the mountain. A load, ominous, snow-echoing roar. I started screaming in my solitude for Shea. Screaming for him to win. I knew the second he did. I could hear it. I still can. I heard the roars when Phelps won every medal. That something great and grand was going on. I felt connected, hearing the story hours later, with that little boy in the hospital sick at not being able to watch it. We don't know if did get to see the final race. Though I'm sure, I'm positive, he heard it.
2 comments:
Forget the guys in the speedos.
I prefer to watch and tivo everyone of the girls beach volleyball games.
Phelps is a great swimmer and watching him attain those goals are inspiring. I still prefer Mark Spitz and his swimming ability over Phelps.
His nickname was 'Smiley.' All he wanted to do at Camp Sebago was play baseball but all he could do was watch because of leg braces that acted like shackels around the joyful heart of this 10 year old boy. Each day, the therapists worked with him in the water, bending the legs, stretching the muscles, encouraging him to walk further, straighter, longer. By the end of the sixth day, doctors were pleased with his progress so much so that they gave Smiley approval to get up at 5am with the camp staff and play softball. Coming up to bat was a sight to see. Smiley was serious about hitting the ball. All the adjustments a pro would make before stepping into the box, Smiley repeated: checking the bat, tapping the plate, taking some swings, tapping his braces. He was going to get a hit. The first pitch he let go by, so did the second and third. He wasn't afraid of hitting, just waiting for the pitch, and it soon came. Smiley took the wildest swing you can imagine a body inhibited by metal cages around his legs could do. As the bat struck the ball, the ball flew a few feet down the third base line but Smiley flew down the first base line with legs wildly kicking outwardly, his arms pushing hard, his voice screaming at the top of his lungs. It was a legitimate it, no bobbled ball to give him a chance, no errors, legit. Smiley strode across first base...safe! There was more noise of praise and happiness at 6am that morning in 1975 that all the thousands in Beijing can muster.
Smiley had played baseball and was safe at first.
The doctors took him out for a pinch runner but Smiley didn't care and we didn't either. We all ran over and gave him high fives, hugs and all laughed together.
That's a victory!
And Smiley, where ever you are this some 32 years later, thank you!
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