As the story is presented to us…Not as it comes down, goes down, went down, but as it’s presented..that’s how we remember. The details are left for each imagination no matter how many renderings, angles or replays. They will resonate within each viewer’s minds eye and take hold, get forgotten, drip slowly, or gush from adrenals as needed. Torch carried and passed, the flame of inspiration fed.
A hunter with unrivaled prowess, and beauty, which includes grace, stamina, inventiveness, perseverance, arrives at last on high at the image of himself. His broadcasted self. Reflected in a hundred million screens and more, he cannot look away. So entranced is he by his victory, by his own ascendance, it’s a transfixing moment, a defiance of time. And the hunter, as hero, he can’t look away. Nor can we without effort.
These games are the great tapestry, we have the whole wash of endeavor. Moments of magnificence and ignominy. Diving across the line, surging to the wall, arching intrusive body parts out of the way, fine balances and balletic flips, sheer guts and machinelike execution— it’s all there. On display. But we don’t see it all. Only what is parsed, and shown and dwelt upon. A melange of souls coursing through Global Times Square becomes a display of boastful marquees. A show of Nationalism. Specifically, one nation’s ism’s to be particular. Testament to an uneven field.
It would have been so great to see all the life at the pond; from crickets, leeches, and loons, to rainbows, beavers and bears. But we only are focused on the Victor, Narcisuss, keen on himself, caught in his moment of glory. He can’t break away, or at least it’s made most difficult. Even were he to extract himself, his encoded triumph will persist for future highlight reels, and patriotic posters.
The tale ends at the pond. The hunter, supremely golden beholds the image of himself. He has given much. To others as well, but that doesn’t help him escape. He is alone with himself, stuck on himself, and dies wed to his hero’s pose. Yet across the way, a paddleboarder, an older person, not fully realized or perfected in flesh or form, strikes a few random yogic poses in the sunny afternoon. It’s a delight for his body and spirit. Two women in a boat happen to be paddling past, and offer compliments. The paddler does not feel like a hero, or one of the greats. The simple act of attempting something delightful for no gain other than pleasure is more than enough.
all gold, all the time
You are talking of the TV show where Americans win Gold Medals? I saw that!
The effort and skill it it takes to eliminate most of the rest of the world is astounding. Try filming a sporting event and only showing one team. Not a simple task.
For example, gymnastics. The American girls were competing with China. The camera showed the Americans come out, the Americans huddle and comfort one another, the Americans compete, and oh, there is one foreign competitor that we know will lose… and they lose… and the Americans win! Phew! That was close!
(I’m told our winning gymnast has a million dollar training facility all for herself.)
Also, almost all coverage shows winning. Yawn. We kids of a certain age crave the agony of defeat as much as the thrill of victory. But now there is an event, and Americans, and we win! Losing seems edited out.
For example, swimming. There were 7 or 8 swimmers, but cameras focused on the American, who, you won’t believe this… won! Glad I didn’t waste any time learning about swimmers from other countries.
Big Pool
“In psychology, you’re supposed to grow out of childish narcissism. Now Donald . . . from The Washington Post”
Another take from today’s op ed pages..about aspiring Kingfish, the splashes they make, and wakes they leave.
http://wpo.st/5HMt1
Oh, that one...
Well, there’s that narcissist, too.
Kinda goes hand in hand though… a narcissistic wanna-be leader for a country that can only watch itself win gold medals.
We’re reaching a new level of unreality.
Related – there were recent stampedes at JOK Airport. Cheering for Usain Bolt led someone to think there was a terror attack, a woman yelled about a gun, then suddenly the entire airport was going nuts. People knocked over the metal security poles that hold the lane markers, which others heard as gunshots, which scared them more.
I suppose this is why we should only see American athletes on TV.
But, in the middle of the night, who do you want to be able to open a jar of pickles? That is the issue.
…
Additional thought: perhaps we are all Narcissus.
“Gay men love the Olympics”
It takes a lot work to sculpt yourself where you know you look good…
Full Text and Photo: Two swimmers in Speedos: http://www.nytimes.com/2016/08/14/fashion/rio-olympics-gay-men-athletes-audience.html?_r=0
It did not take a record number of publicly out athletes competing at the Rio Games to draw the gay community’s attention. It did not take a shirtless and lubed flag-bearer from Tonga, or photographs of gymnasts on the beach, or divers taking post-plunge showers.
Also, many Olympic sports possess an outsider’s sensibility that gay men can appreciate. Many sports are filled with artistry often missing from the usual weekend sports selection on television.
And, for some, admittedly, the attraction is physical.
“A big part of it is the skin factor, for sure,” Mr. Zeigler said.
That happens across the spectrum. People gaze at the physiques of the divers in small Speedos. They marvel at the tiny bikinis on the women of beach volleyball.
body of work
You reminded me of the Trojan condom commercial from a while back, themed to the Olympics. You can find them online, I won’t link here.
Basically they had some male-female “events” that looked much like Olympic events, but no one was wearing pants, and the mounts/dismounts were uh, unusual.
The second oldest competition
NYT, not exactly Pulitzer quality work there. The article didn’t even mention wrestling.
Body Contact
lol ! Historically, the ultimate “body contact” sport. And, oftentimes, naked, as well!