"FINDING THE TRUE OLYMPIC SPIRIT"
http://www.MelvinDurai.com/olympics3.htm 


One of my favorite Olympic moments came at the 1996 games in
Atlanta when Fatuma Roba of Ethiopia became the first
African woman to win gold in the marathon. Several ecstatic
fans ran alongside her for part of the race, screaming and
waving the Ethiopian flag, while she smiled like she had
just gotten her hair done. And been given, naturally, a
shortcut.


For a few minutes, I was an Ethiopian, cheering for this
graceful woman who was proudly representing her
famine-stricken country, outrunning some of the world's best
marathoners, even a few who looked well-fed.


While the Olympic Games often seem a contest to see which
country can win the most medals and people get caught up in
national pride, their true essence is the celebration of
athletic achievement and the brotherhood of nations. A great
Olympian can command respect from everyone, whether she's a
Fatuma from Ethiopia, a Fatima from Pakistan or a Fat-Emma
from Britain.


If you watched the 2000 Olympics in Sidney and weren't
touched by Cathy Freeman's performance, her victory in the
400-meter race and momentous display of both the Aboriginal
and Australian flags, you are either lacking in Olympic
spirit or still peeved that she dumped you in high school.


Finding Olympic spirit isn't always easy. Just ask the Irish
journalist who spent three days searching the shelves of an
Athens spirits store. "There'd be a lot of demand for
Olympic spirit," he later said, "but only if you could
bottle it."


Television directors need more of that spirit. Perhaps then
they'd understand that our appreciation of athletes often
crosses borders, that we can find pleasure in watching
foreigners such as sprinter Kaitinano Mwemweata of Kiribati,
even if we have no idea which planet Kiribati is on.


When the directors cut away from a Russian shot-putter who
has just dominated her opponents and is tearfully hugging
her supporters, they rob us of a special moment. Never mind
that she's from Russia -- her joy is universal. (And so is
the joy of an American male who opens his mailbox and finds
an Anna Kournikova swimsuit calendar.)


The directors also rob us when they decide, during a medal
ceremony, to focus on the gold medalist from America,
showing barely a glimpse of the teary-eyed bronze medalist
who has just won the first swimming medal in the history of
his South Asian country, where almost everyone is known to
swim, but only during the monsoon.


I love to watch Olympic athletes celebrating their
achievements, knowing that they trained extremely hard,
whether they're Kenyans who ran up and down the mountain or
Chinese who ran up and down Yao Ming. I also love to watch
them congratulating each other, knowing that they're all
winners, every last one of them who didn't pop something
illegal.


They can all call themselves Olympians. It's a great honor,
being selected to represent your country. I consider myself
fairly athletic, but I'd have to train day and night, get
myself a personal coach, just to represent my end of the
street. (Some of my neighbors are pretty fast -- you should
see them chase the ice-cream truck.)


If I won a medal of any sort, I'd ask my opponents to take a
victory lap with me, even the ones from Kiribati. And I'd
throw a party immediately -- not just after I passed the
drug test.


The Olympics are often depicted as US versus THEM, but
perhaps their greatest lesson is that all of THEM are so
much like US.


-------------------------------
(c) Copyright 2004 Melvin Durai

- Forwarded by www.goa-world.com 




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