Michael Phelps
While I’m processing news, I just had to take a minute to discuss Michael Phelps — or, more accurately, Michael Phelps and how I’m watching the Olympics.
I first tuned into the Olympics in 1972, when I was 11. In those days, and for many Olympics thereafter, the Olympics was a tight package of fair traditional events (no beach volleyball in those days). The network recorded the events during the day, and then presented Americans with a beautifully constructed three hour show every evening that had human interest stories mixed in with a good balance of each event: the highs, the lows, the emotional moments, the humor, etc. There was, as always, too much talk, but you always felt that you were seeing everything that was important — even if that wasn’t really true.
Of late, I find the Olympics way too big. There are so many sports that I simply feel overwhelmed. I was charmed for a few minutes by this new (to me) sport of synchronized diving, and then got bogged down in thoughts of “what a waste of time,” and “this is kind of dull.” Beach volleyball, too, leaves me cold. I truly admire the player’s skill, but it just doesn’t strike me as an Olympic sport — it’s still, after all, beach volleyball. In my mind, too many sports simply seem to dilute the Olympic brand.
I’m also completely overwhelmed by the massive coverage. Even with the help of TiVo, there’s way too much. Instead of a nice, tidy 3 hour package, it seems as if there are dozens of hours daily trying to take over the TiVo hard drive — and since so much of it is volleyball and synchronized diving and other stuff that just doesn’t float my boat, I end up fast forwarding frantically.
In the old days, I used to watch the Olympics for the gymnastics. That, too, is leaving me cold. The tension amongst the young men and women is so enormous, I can’t sit back and relax.
I also find the Chinese team creepy — it’s a repeat of the old Soviet bloc teams, only with an even more abusive feel, and more cheating. The thought of a state trolling the countryside for three year old boys and girls, removing those children from their families, and raising them to be gymnastic machines so that their minutes in the sun can redound to the permanent glory of the state just horrifies me. I look at these children — and it was so obvious that the Chinese were lying about their ages — and I don’t see young people who are living out their passions. Instead, I see frightened little automatons who are very worried about what will happen to them or their families if they fail. I’m glad for these children’s sake that they’ve been delivering the Gold, but it certainly makes even cheaper an event that’s always been exceptionally prey to the worst of Cold War politics.
All of which gets me to Michael Phelps. Thanks to the beauty of TiVo, I’ve managed to reduce my hours and hours of Olympic recordings to just a few events: the Michael Phelps races. The United States did not force Michael Phelps to become a swimmer, but its enormous freedoms (and capitalist-grown wealth) created the environment in which a naturally talented and highly motivated young man could flourish. He’s at these Olympics, not because he was kidnapped from his home and forced to do so, but because swimming is his passion.
I find watching him swim incredibly satisfying. He has the most beautiful stroke I’ve ever seen, despite that crazy 1-2 pause 1-2 pause 1-2 rhythm. He has extraordinary discipline when he swims, which I admire greatly. And he is doing what he does with very real and apparent pleasure. Watching him move through the water is to watch something very, very special.
It’s also clear that he inspires those around him. My favorite event to date has been the 800 meter freestyle relay. Rather unusually, Phelps led off the relay. It’s more normal in the relay to save the strongest swimmer for the anchor, to clean up after the others have gotten a bit bogged down. But this time, there was Phelps, diving in first, and creating about a 20 foot lead. I expected that, as the next three Americans swam their four laps, that lead would shrink and shrink, until it was a very tight race indeed. Instead, the lead grew. The race’s excitement didn’t come because of a photo finish; it came because each of the young men in the relay was inspired, and was swimming beyond ordinary boundaries. I felt touched by that strength and magic just watching it. Michael Phelps is a reminder that, behind the spectacle and the money and the statism and the cheating, there is still some very real magic at the Olympics.
