An Olympic Reflection (Just for Fun)

In case you've been living in a cave for the past, I don't know, 3 years, allow me to inform you that the Olympics are about to be held in Beijing, China. I don't know about you, but I typically don't get too hyped about the Olympics. Sure, it's great that we can all come together out of love and competition, but I generally don't care how far a guy can throw a pie pan. Really. Don't care. In fact, I haven't really been into the Olympics since Dan Vs. Dave. Remember that marketing ploy? Anybody ever wonder where they are today? Me neither.

However, the Olympics do occasionally produce some wonderful, and dare I say inspiring, story lines. Jesse Owens winning everything and the kitchen sink during the 1936 games in Berlin is just such an example. Or who can forget America's Golden Boy, Dan Jansen, finally grasping the gold after years of tumbling about the ice. I can still see him circling the pond in Lillehammer, his torso draped in an American Flag.

While heartwarming, all of these events pale in comparison to one monumental Olympic moment. Allow me to set the stage. Well, before that, allow me to explain how this whole event came to be. I, being younger than my sister by 2 years, was oftentimes forced (upon threats of imminent death) to relinquish all rights to the television. My parents, being the wonderful and loving folks that they are, devised a system by which we (as their children) could determine (somewhat peacefully) who would control the magic box for the evening. Their solution was that whoever fed the dog that day would have unequivocal rights to television control. Archaic? Perhaps. Effective? Definitely. And so, on this particular night in question, my sister had the remote and I was forced to watch the Olympics. *Sigh* Put a starter pistol to my head.

But, anyway, back to setting the stage. The United States Women's Gymnastic Team held to a commanding lead over the Commies. (Ok, so the Cold War was over, but indulge me. I mean, I was really bored and had to invent some side stories. It was gymnastics for crying out loud. How can it be a sport? There's not even a ball involved!). Anyway, since it was the Russian team (who possibly could have been on steroids), no lead was enough. In order to maintain the lead, and seal the gold, the team needed to nail their vault routine. Enter Kerri Strug, all 5 feet 65 pounds of her.

On her first vault attempt Strug sprinted down the padded runway, nailed the springboard, flipped over the pommel, spun through her routine, and biffed the landing. Yep, totally biffed the thing. In fact, biffed it so bad that she twister her ankle. Not a good thing. Now, if I'm honest, I was a young teenage boy who was slightly immature at the time. Ok, really immature. So, I can remember making some crack about Kerri's misfortune. I can also remember my sister coming at me like a ninja wielding a pillow, but *shudder* we've moved on.

Strug now face a dilemma; should she withdraw from the competition or throw caution to the wind and attempt a second vault. In great American fashion, she decided to go for it. An entire nation held it's collective breath as we all watched this tiny girl prepare for certain death. If I'm honest, I was riveted to the screen. I'd just seen this girl bend her ankle 90 degrees the wrong way. If she had enough guts to do this again, I would gain a newfound respect for little girls doing crazy flips.

I can still replay the moment in my mind. Strug approached the runway, steeled her petite figure, and hurled her body toward the springboard. Total mind over matter. She hit the springboard at a dead sprint, vaulted over the pommel, spun through her routine, and nailed the landing. Absolutely nailed it! The crowd roared, her teammates cheered, I shed a small, but noticeable tear. In a rare moment of complete and uninhibited jubilation, I hugged my sister! And then Strug collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain. The world stopped. We all paused, fearing the worst. Would she ever walk again? Could she recover in time to do the uneven bars?

Her coach, Bela Karolyi, rushed to her side. I can still see him picking up her frame and helping her off the stage to receive medical care. I can even remember him carrying her to the medal stand; her ankle wrapped in an ace bandage. The moment was simply electric. As the national anthem began to play, I can remember thinking about my newfound respect for the Olympics and for gymnastics. It is a moment that I will never forget.

Now, with all of that being said, you may be wondering if I will be tuning into the Olympics this year. Will I be waiting with baited breath to watch this crop of young gymnasts? Will I again be riveted to my T.V. screen, awaiting hours of floor, vault, and the balance beam routines? Will I stay up until ungodly hours to, perhaps, catch history live via the internet? No, not at all. Not unless my sister feeds that dog that day.