The Power And The Glory

I have a somewhat embarrassing confession.  For the first 10 years or so of my life, I thought the fanfare trumpet call of the Olympics was just the entrance music for Ken Patera in the WWF.  As I grew older, I finally understood that the Olympics actually had a theme.  Granted that was not due as much to my becoming a more worldly person as much as the fact that NBC plays it incessantly every time they leave to and come back from commercial.   Yes, the Olympics are back again and we are to be treated to friendly competition between the countries of the world.  We are also allowed to liberally use the word, “fortnight.”  Between the Olympics this month and Wimbledon in June, my love for all things fortnight has made this one incredible summer.

Unfortunately for London, we had to sit through the opening ceremony to this year’s games and I am still not sure if I thought the ceremony was boring or creepy.  I declare that it is not entirely London’s fault.  After all, would you want to be the country that follows Beijing with their legions of aerialists, dub-step drummers, and little bald children pushing up blocks?  If you do not know what any of this means then shame on you.  You obviously have not reached your thirties when you actually look forward to sitting at home on a Friday night watching the opening ceremony to a fortnight of millionaires gaining worldwide adulation for sometimes seconds of work.

To me, the opening ceremony was very much in line with British humor.  You either love it or you hate it and there is not much room in between.  I typically love British humor but in this case, I was not feeling the ceremony.  Men with mutton chops and top hats dancing like they were in Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation video, inflatable baby heads, and Shakespeare monologues just did not speak to me.  Now if they had somehow injected “Downton Abbey” into the performance, I would be more likely to overlook this.  My wife and I are obsessed with the show.  My wife calls me Mr. Noland in an English accent when she addresses me and I now say brilliant more often than is appropriate.  I digress. 

I was just not interested in the ceremony, except for one very important part: Mr. Bean.  If you missed this showcase, in which case you are most likely more socially inclined than myself, allow me to sum up.  A British symphony was center stage to play “Chariots of Fire” and who was there to play the one rhythmic note present throughout the piece?  Everyone’s favorite maniacal mute master of the facial contortion, that’s who.  Without uttering a word he singlehandedly, in my opinion, made the ceremony worth watching.  As I watched him race along the beach in an homage to the opening scene of the piece’s namesake, I was reminded of my college days.  My physical perfection is not natural and takes hard work and this can involve running.  If I went out for a casual jog, I often dreamt of having a pledge from my fraternity follow behind me with “Chariots Of Fire” blasting from a boom box held above his head so that I would feel motivated yet relaxed.  However if I wanted to sprint and go all in, the pledge would instead play “Eye Of The Tiger” so that I understood that nothing could defeat me, not even Mr. T.

I am at the mercy of whatever NBC and its subsidiaries decide to put on TV so I get to witness all sorts of sports I have never had the opportunity to watch.  I am not a bit ashamed to say that I was absolutely enthralled with badminton.  I feel bad for the badminton players because they get Rodney Dangerfield levels of respect.  I do not understand that.  I mean, it’s not like every single one of us did not play badminton in some distant unliked relative’s backyard pretending we were sports god of the neighborhood.  Who are we to deny these Olympic badminton studs the glory of achieving their backyard dreams as if we never wanted to feel the adulation?  Pfft.

Race walking, however, should go away and never come back.  Even though badminton players play with something called shuttlecocks, they still get to perform over-head slams and there is absolutely no way someone can over-head slam anything without being completely and totally awesome.  Race walking makes me sad, there is no dignity there.  The athletes look like people with less rhythm than me trying to dance and failing miserably while at the same time having to go poo poo.

I am looking forward to these two weeks.  Like most Olympic fans, I am excited about the swimming competition and gymnastics.  I am not sure why but I always become a little obsessed with the gymnastics, both men’s and women’s.  I think it is because there is a small part in all of us that want to know what it is like to fly through the air like they do.  Regardless, this fortnight will be wrought with tension and sport and I look forward to it.

My only hope is that Monty Python resurrects themselves to save the closing ceremony.