Humor by John Christmann
The Thrill of Victory
Watching premier athletes compete on TV always brings a tear to my eye. There is nothing quite like witnessing an athlete who has devoted his entire life to be the best in his particular sport stand on the podium in front of the whole world and apologize for his indiscretions so that he might one day play golf again.
The Olympics are pretty cool too. I love watching the drama and the interviews and the inspiring stories on TV. And after I turn off Oprah, there is even time to catch a round of curling.
Kidding aside, I am an Olympic nut. That is to say, I am nuts about the Winter Olympics. Every four years I sit down with my family for two weeks and watch truly inspired athletic performances on ice and snow.
Who can not be impressed watching Shaun White launch himself in endless twists off the lip of the Halfpipe without once losing his lunch? Who can not be pleased to see Bode Miller redeem himself with blistering downhill runs over dangerous sheets of ice or hope that golden girl Lindsey Vonn overcomes her painful injuries to stand victorious atop the medal podium, earning the right to represent Under Armor, or better yet, Victoria’s Secret? And who does not harbor a fleeting desire to go down the bobsled track on a flying saucer?
These are the Winter Olympics; the chance to watch the best athletes in the world compete in obscure sports held in Canadian mountains on snow imported from Washington, DC. And I love it all. Even, I am not embarrassed to admit, men’s figure skating.
For my ignorant male companions who pooh-pooh this artistic event because they somehow feel their manhood is threatened, let me explain men’s figure skating this way. Imagine, if you will, a hockey game with only one player, say, Wayne Gretzky. Now take away his hockey stick and imagine him standing in tight black leotards laced with shiny sequins, or maybe pink fur.
Now coiffe his hair, apply some faint eye liner and—if he will let you—a spray tan, and let him skate his way off a closed rink.
Of course, The Great One has to do more than just show his speed and athletic skating prowess. He has to score triple hat tricks. He has to tie his laces with triple toe loops and drive a truck with triple axles and then check into the hospital for a triple bypass. He has to leap and spin and prance to tinny music that Shaun White would be embarrassed to place on his iPod. And he has to smile while doing it.
Then, when the music ends, he must sit in a penalty box holding hands with his coach, a Russian woman who really is a hockey player, and smile as he waits for his score while he receives flowers and waves to the camera and silently mouths hello to people we don’t know.
You can understand then, why earning a medal in men’s figure skating really is an Olympic achievement.
And speaking of hockey, how about that win over team Canada?
Next to the snowboard events, and the downhill, and the mogul runs, and the slalom, and hockey, and bobsledding, and the event where they ski cross country while taking short breaks to shoot rifles, the most exciting event has to be the ski jump.
The reason for this is simple. Like many people, I grew up watching a tireless Wide World of Sports film clip of some poor guy doing cart wheels off the end of a ski jump. The ensuing human yard sale became forever known as The Agony of Defeat, and it gave the Thrill of Victory a whole new perspective.
It seems to me there a lot less painful ways to suffer The Agony of Defeat, like say, receiving a wedgie in the men’s locker room from an irate Wayne Gretzky, but I also understand that without consequences, the Thrill of Victory in the Winter Olympics seems a little wimpy. Why else would we watch a bunch of Norwegians launch themselves off a steep ramp with two-by-fours strapped to their feet?
Given the tragic events surrounding this Olympics, I think we can all do with a little less agony in defeat. But we still need some downside to keep the Winter Olympics exciting, even if all we see is Wayne Gretzky execute a triple Klutz during the opening ceremony and fall on the ice. Personally, I don’t want The Agony of Defeat to be re-defined by Tiger Woods.
And if you don’t believe me, consider this. Just think how much more exciting sweeping the kitchen would be if you were at risk of being run over by a forty-four pound curling stone.
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