Pop Vultures

In just a few minutes, the opening ceremonies of the 2008 summer Olympics kick off. I am stupidly excited about this.

I love the Olympics with a love that makes absolutely no sense. I’m not a sporty type at all, unless you count my high school basketball career and fierce Wii tennis skills. I rarely sit down to watch a full game of anything, and typically find the snack buffet at a Super Bowl party far more interesting than the game itself. And yet, I plan to be glued to my sofa for the next two weeks, watching everything from archery to wrestling with equal amounts of unabashed glee.

The Olympics aren’t like anything else on TV. It’s a chance for every obscure sport to have its moment in the sun. Forget about soccer or baseball — I want to see diving, rowing, pole vaulting. Hell, I want to see synchronized swimming. It’s niche programming brought to the mainstream.

There is, of course, a certain wonder in watching people do things that no human body should be able to do. These athletes show exactly what people are capable of doing if they completely devote themselves to one thing, and I can’t help but be a bit awed by that. Even more than that, though, I love the stories.

Professional sports are the stories of professional athletes, people who are lucky enough to be very good at what they do and get paid a tremendous amount of money for that talent. Most Olympic sports, however, are the stories of human perseverence, of will and determination. It doesn’t matter what anyone’s background is; they all worked harder than you or I have likely ever worked to get there. There will be athletes that come from poverty, or war. We’ll get orphans and cancer survivors and hare lips and tragic fashion sense and none of that matters. These athletes all wanted one thing, to be the best in the world, and nothing was going to stop them from trying. For most sports, there isn’t any lingering fame or fortune to accompany the win, either — just the knowledge that, for a moment, they were the greatest. I’m one of the laziest people to ever own a sofa, but even I get inspired by that.

I love the fact that everyone is represented. Sure, you get the same countries appearing over and over again on the medal stand, but everyone gets to compete. And, every now and then, someone from a country I’ve never heard of will take home the bronze medal in a sport I didn’t even know existed, and I get to watch an entire nation celebrate. I find it physically impossible to be unmoved in those moments, when one person’s work and skill makes an entire nation feel a moment of pride and belonging. I love that women’s sports, which usually get relegated to the fourth page of the sports section, get equal airtime to the men’s — and not just for beach volleyball. I love that we see 16-year-old gymnasts walking next to weightlifters who look as if they might eat them for breakfast. Though every country is sure to provide its own blatantly jingoistic coverage, it doesn’t change the fact that the Olympics belong to everyone.

So, for the next two weeks, I’m putting any sort of cynicism on hold (along with any plans to have a life) and just diving into the sporting goodness. If anyone needs to find me, I’ll be on my couch, waving my tiny flag and chanting, “USA! USA!” at key moments.

Who’s with me?*

*chanting optional, of course