Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.
NBC will broadcasting every minute of the London Olympics this year. I watched the opening last night until I just couldn't stay awake. It appeared that the Queen might have had the same problem. I was afraid I might dream of gigantic Mary Poppins and Voldemorts doing battle, or my bed lighting up with a strange glow, but was graciously spared. I didn't need to stay up late watching the ceremony. I had to rest up for the actual competition. I've already watched some cycling and swimming this morning. Time for a rest.
For the next few days millions, maybe billions of couch potatoes world-wide will become experts at athletic events that we know nothing about.
Fencing will become more than post-holes and barbed wire. Those of us who take pride in our finely honed swimming pool dives (cannonballs, watermelons, and can-openers), judged by the magnitude of the water splashed upon nearby sunbathers, will adjust our sensibilities, cheering splashless perfectly vertical entries. Disregarding our history of being mired up to the axles in a recently rain-soaked field, we will offer critiques of whether gymnasts' landings have been properly stuck. The flamingo pose of synchronized swimmers will replace our image of pink, plastic lawn decorations. We will muse whether Michael Phelps is really the super-hero Elastic Man. Have you watched this guy stretch before he swims? I think he could touch the other side of the pool without diving in . . . We will remember that Olympic Handball is not played against a wall down at the gym, and will try to understand that Dressage is more than regular horses playing dress-up because it may help us to better understand Mitt Romney. And futball? That takes some adjustment.
For a few days we couch potatoes will indulge in the fantasy that we know about the Olympics because we watch them and learn the language. It will be fun. And we need some fun.
It is a wonderful thing to celebrate the achievements of the athletes. It is inspiring to be reminded of the ability of humanity to go beyond what was previously thought unattainable.
And as much fun as we will have learning the lingo and judging the performances, we know that we are really on the outside looking in. We know that most of these athletes have led a different life than us. These wonderful performances that we will see, some lasting only a few seconds, represent a lifetime of work, a lifetime of sacrifice.
Every athlete must be prepared. But that's not enough. When the game begins, there are decisions to be made that depend on the circumstances of the moment. When to stay in the pack and wait for your chance. When to kick. When to be conservative. When to take a chance.
More often than not, the gold will hang around the neck of the one who made the correct decisions during the games. A fall or stumble or bad exchange may require a full sprint instead of a comfortable pace. A great performance by an opponent may require an unexpectedly difficult dive or exercise. I don't know what might be the considerations of a Dressage competitor, but I imagine the dynamics are the same.
And it is a general truth that there will be no gold for the ones who rely on the way things have always been done, or the magnificence of performances past. World records may last for awhile, but not forever. Techniques change. Training regimens evolve. Strategies adjust.
Resting on laurels will result in being run over.
C'est la vie.
Excuse me, I'm missing something I know, so back to the TV.
And finally, of course.
USA.
.
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