July, 6, 2024
The Summer Olympic Games is a major, international, multi-sport event held every four years. The first Games took place in 1896 in Athens, Greece, and the most recent Games were held in 2021 in Tokyo, Japan. The next Games will be held in Paris starting July 26th. My first recollection of the Summer Olympics was watching the 1960 games from Rome on a tiny, black and white TV. The pseudo-amateurs of the Soviet Union won the medal count, which was a huge issue at the height of the Cold War. Sputnik had been launched just three years earlier. The Cuban Missile Crisis would come two years later. The 1960 Olympics are remembered for Wilma Rudolph, a Tennessee A&M track star, who won three gold medals after battling childhood polio. Abebe Bikele from Ethiopia won the marathon running barefoot. German Armen Hary upset the American favorite and world number one, Ray Norton, in the 100 meters. Boston University’s own, John Thomas, was upset by Russian Valeriy Brumel in the high jump. The original, gold medal-winning, dream team of 1960 had Jerry West, Oscar Robertson, Jerry Lucas, and Walt Bellamy among others. Apologies to Larry Bird, Michael Jordan, and Magic Johnson. And who can forget, if you were actually alive, the decathlon duel between Rafer Johnson of the U.S. and C.K. Yang of Taiwan?
Recently, I have been watching the Olympic trials in swimming from Indianapolis, IN, diving from Knoxville, TN, and track and field from Eugene, OR. The human stories are almost as compelling as the athletic ones. There are stories of athletes who gave up on themselves, but came back because the people around them did not. There are women who recently went through child birth. There have been upsets. There is the thrill of victory epitomized by Ana Hall in the Heptathlon, and the agony of defeat as Athing Mu, the 2021 gold medalist in the 800 meters, tripped and fell in the finals. Fourteen year olds are competing in their first trials, and forty-seven year olds in their last. You have men racing against high school boys, one of whom qualified for the 4X400 relay team, and women swimming against high school girls. You have the abject fear of diving off of a ten meter, three story platform, or launching yourself nineteen to twenty feet into the air on a fiberglass pole.
When I watch these athletes from all over the country, I don’t see an America in decline. I don’t see American carnage. I don’t see an America infested with vermin that’s rotting from within. Eugene, OR is not a hellscape. I don’t see athletes who think that everything is rigged, and demand recounts if they lose. Politics is not involved. If you perform, you make the team. I see winners, and not losers. I see athletes whose parents have come from the four corners of the world. Parents came here to give their children a better opportunity as parents have done for generations. One female athlete sought political asylum from Eritrea. There are white, black, Hispanic, and Asian athletes. There are gay athletes. Nikki Hiltz, the trans and non-binary runner, thrilled the crowd in the 1500 meters. The American dream is alive in all of them. You can’t tell them that America is an awful place to live. When they win their events, they wrap themselves up in the American flag, and pose proudly for all to see. They are filled with the satisfaction of a job well done, and the belief of a better future. Rather than bad-mouthing our way of life, we should be celebrating it. For all our faults, we are still the most formidable athletic powerhouse in the world. There are no red athletes, and there are no blue athletes. There are just red, white and blue athletes. China and Russia may tug on our sweatsuits, but we are still number one, which is not too bad for a country that is, according to some, riddled with uncontrollable crime, and saddled with an abysmal economy. Athletes regularly thank their parents, their teammates, their coaches, their country, and God for their success. I don’t see godlessness. I see godliness.
Paul Chiampa
The Spin Doctor 