Olympic Fever: Contract it!

I have to admit that I’m not a huge fan of the Olympics as a general rule. It’s not as if I dislike the games. They serve a valuable function in terms of bringing the world a little bit closer and in their ability to ease tensions by making us all realize that whether we follow one god or many, whether of dark or light skin, whether man or woman, what matters is that we are young, attractive, and athletic.

I jest, of course. Humankind has always come closer and loosened the chains that held disparate groups apart when we freed our inherent love of play.

Despite my respect for the games on a more inter-personal level, most of the events don’t interest me all that much. I can watch skiers and snowboarders and won’t get bored, but if I don’t see them, I won’t really miss them. Of all Olympic sports, there are only two that I feel that I must watch: gymnastics and figure skating. Of those, skating takes the cake as my favorite.

The cynical side of me says that my love for these sports has something to do with attractive (and bendy) women in tight clothes. The slightly more upscale parts of my mind would rather I believe that I have a fondness for feats of human grace.

Most Olympic sports seem to center around brute abilities like strength and speed. Who can run the fastest? Who can lift the most weight? Skating seems less about speed and brute physical prowess than it does about a quieter sort of strength.

Figure skating is a squishy sport, just like psychology is a squishy science. It is harder to quantify and has elements that are purely subjective (artistic elements and the like). But in a real way, this is what I enjoy about the sport. What better competition than a competition where quiet beauty will take the gold?

I’ve never been moved by a hockey game. A pole-vaulter may elicit a ‘Yeah!’ from me after a good jump, but I’ll never be entranced by the act. With most sports, it seems more important who wins or loses, and I’m sure in skating it is no different for the participants. But for me, when I catch myself hanging with baited breath at the end of a performance, who wins or loses is of far less consequence than whether what they accomplished was a brief flicker of beauty against the backdrop of the roaring crowd. If basketball amounts to a fever-pitched, adrenaline-fueled fumbling, then skating seems closer to a slow caress down the small of the back in a candlelit room.

Four years ago, I watched what had to be one of the most moving performances I’d ever seen. While most of the skaters I’d watched did impressive physical feats on the ice, the Canadian duo moved with a certain raw sensuality and grace that left me (and most watchers, by the roars of the crowd following their performance) emotionally exhausted. They exuded adoration, longing, fear of loss, and heartfelt love in every touch, move, and sidelong glance (even if it was all just pretend). Then, of course, they were initially robbed of the gold medal to a Russian pair who did impressive physical feats but had eyes that were as cold as a Siberian winter.

This year, a Russian couple took my heart in their performance. While certainly not as powerful as I remember the Canadians as having been four years prior, the Russian pair moved with a certain slow and beautiful stately elegance that charmed me. What really made me affirm my judgment of the beauty of their routine was in fact what happened immediately after it ended. Most skaters will bow, curtsy, or wave to the crowd. Some will hug their partner. In this one, the male skater (Marinin) fell to his knees with tears in his eyes, and kissed the hands of his female partner. Tell me that’s not beautiful.

Unlike four years ago (despite the post-event compromise) I was not disappointed. They took the gold.