Ode to the Olympic Games or Why I Finally Get It

Image from Stock Xchng

I’ve never been a big fan of the Olympic Games. My rabid sports fan dad tired me of it early. I know I was on his list of things to attend to, but I fell somewhere below my brothers, his work, … and sports.

I saw all those bodies in spandex or protective gear, tossing about on the TV screen, hitting objects into nets and hoops, as meaningless distractions.

But something changed over the years. I began to see the joy in hockey through the eyes of a husband who wanted to share the game with me rather than shut me out.

Soon, I knew the perverse pleasure of being a Sens fan living with a proponent of the Maple Leafs.

Hubby has remained steadfast in favouring the Toronto team, despite my suggestion that psychiatric help could rid him of the denial that causes him to approach each Saturday night game with an insane kind of hope not remotely based on statistical reality.

When the Canadian Olympic Committee gave a preview of the Vancouver Games at Turin, I thought, “This might not suck too badly.”

But I was not prepared for the wave of misty-eyed patriotism that overwhelmed me during the many special moments of the Games. Clara Hughes and Joannie Rochette were just a few of the Canadians who made me think that there was more to sport than physical prowess, that there was passion, emotional strength, and forbearance – the same qualities I admired in spiritual leaders of the past and present.

I’ll always remember where I was the day the US tied the game for gold. I was 30 minutes from home, buying takeout at Dong Nai in downtown Kingston.

Unheeding of the other patrons, I vocalized my despair when the American team got its second goal. When my meals to go were ready, I grabbed my purchase and ran to my car.

Traffic was light as I pushed the gas pedal into the floor, making my way home along the waterfront, heading to Bath. I joined other drivers in honking at the kids standing in front of a house at Collins Bay, holding their “Honk for Canada” sign.

I flowed effortlessly with the traffic, zipping along the waterfront toward Bath. We all had the same goal in mind, to get home to see the rest of the game.

It seemed only minutes later that I arrived home – the food was still hot and the game was just getting back into play.

Hubby and I have relived the joy over and over of that winning goal, Crosby’s elation and that of his team ecstatically pummeling him against the boards.

At the closing ceremonies, the irreverent Vegas-style send-up of all things Canadian was fitting. The Americans need never know that the majority of Canadians think it’s uncool to like Nickelback, despite their “all in, balls out” performance.

We can only hope they’ll forgive us for William Shatner and Avril Lavigne  and remember instead the flying moose and sparkling audience, each shining their own light with Canadian pride.

Bookmark & Share