I realize now why the Olympics come only every four years. It is not just the preparation, the bidding for venue, and the endless merchandising that occurs in the in between years. It is the fact that by the time the Olympics end, you really have had enough and don’t care to see anymore of it for another four years.
It seems since 1972 and the tragic Munich games every Olympic Meet begins with the questions as to whether the hosting country will finish construction of the Olympic facilities on time. This is accommodated by the fanned flames and speculation on all the terrorist activity. Then there are the reports on security, the lack of security and more speculation on which groups will demonstrate to showcase their cause to the rest of the world.
Then there is more shameless merchandising, coupled with the over amped depiction of the humanitarian efforts of every corporation who is a “proud sponsor” of the Olympics. We are suddenly aware of the giving world around us, so that it seems nothing is done for branding or profit. Then we get the predictions on the outcomes, from the major events to the nose picking meets that in the end never do make the television. I suppose with the Internet to capture all the events not shown on TV you can zero in at three in the morning at just about any event you so desperately want to see.
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Look, I love the Olympics. And there is not enough praise we can lavish on Michael Phelps and his ground breaking accomplishment. Well, not enough praise…up to a point. He had done some amazing things, but after the ninth time around on how he was picked on in high school, the bonding of his school principal mother and her young ADD son, we get it. I saw more of Debbie Phelps than I did some of the more major athletes at the Olympic Games. Debbie raised a child and no doubt she did it well. But to focus so much time on she and her son makes me wonder if they are trying to pump this story up for ulterior motives. The television network? Never.
The Olympic athletes are young kids, for the most part. It is one thing to tell their story, but quite another to chronicle over and over again like you would Winston Churchill. Once you get the point of twenty odd years lived on the planet and considering we Americans suffer from dog-like memory, our thoughts and prayers will linger only in the ether of the spirit plane. We won’t remember much. We will barely remember who won what.
But then we will be reminded during the next Olympics. The athletes, still competing and retired, will be dragged out once again like an old wedding dress so that their glory is revisited between commercials.
