Post-Olympic commentary

It's been a while since the Olympics. My memories of the Olympics usually involve staying up late at night just to watch the games live. But I also remember my very first Olympics experience, when my relatives in the US sent us Betamax tapes of the 1984 Los Angeles games, complete with American commercials. I remember being enamored of gymnastics, and swimming, and diving, track and field, and basketball. Bouginskaya, Kristin Otto (and her unshaven pits), Popov, Carl Lewis, and Louganis were my idols. I rooted for Larry Bird and his Dream Team. And I discovered a lot of obscure sports, back before there were cable TV and professional leagues for just about everything. I watched archery, and water polo, and cycling, Greco-roman wrestling, and rowing. I watched them all, and I watched them in the dark with the glare of the TV to keep me company.



The Barcelona Games in 1992 were my favorite. The opening ceremony was glorious, and it still provided the most spectacular and breath-taking Olympic flame-lighting ever, when a Spanish archer, from the middle of the Olympic field, with raised bow and enflamed arrow, shot and lit a cauldron at the top of the stadium. It gave me goosebumps and sighs for days.

This year's Olympics was a big deal for me, and not just for the reasons why China being host was lauded for. To me, it meant a return of the Games to Asia. Only three Asian cities have hosted the Summer Games so far – Tokyo, Seoul, and now Beijing. So it was a big deal to me, despite the fact that it meant scheduling nightmares for US broadcasters.

We rarely broadcast the Games live. NBC would spotlight those high-profile sports, and relegate the rest to Internet streaming or to their roster or obscure cable channels. Which was not so bad, considering just how many sports there are on the Olympic roster nowadays. I saw the Philippine efforts in taekwondo live over the Internet, at around 10PM. I saw the Redeem Team finally capture the gold at 4 in the morning. Live telecasts were not so bad. But forcing all the games to air at primetime was kind of a nightmare for all of us who had work (or school) the next morning.

And there was the specter of Michael Phelps all throughout the Olympics. It was understandable. He is an American, a decent boy from a decent family. He displayed incomparable work ethic, and a charming humility up to the end. He was also a team player. But most importantly, all humility aside, he was competitive and insanely ambitious. Eight golds in a single Games? That was Mark Spitz's bailiwick. And yet he did it. The eighth gold was rather anti-climactic. But it was, if I recall correctly, the fourth and seventh golds that were won in dramatic fashion. A split second tag at the wall. A fortunate break in the relay that was won, not by Michael, but by a superhuman named Lezak.

So Michael Phelps was the face of the Americans' glory at the Olympics, and probably the face of the international athlete. And it became all too much to bear as the Games went on. Swimming was over, and yet commentators continued to sneak in Michael's name in the most inane way possible. At track and field events, at diving, basketball, and even beach volleyball. It started to get old reeeeeally really quickly.

And there was too much emphasis on too few games. I grew sick and tired of beach volleyball and Kelly Walsh's kinetic tape. Of Usain Bolt's fancy posturings. Where were the martial arts, the BMX debut? I wanted to see the drama unfold amidst wind and rain-battered sails. I wanted to see the over-the-top jubilation that was the staple of fencing. There were none of those.

But there were some moments. Like tiny Henry Cejudo literally wrestling the gold away from his opponent. Or the very gorgeous-looking Aussie Matthew Mitcham coming from nowhere to snatch the platform diving gold medal and preventing a Chinese sweep of the events. Or the Redeem Team piling on their gold medals around Coach K's neck – a beautiful tribute to the unsung heroes of the Olympics, the coaches. And my very favorite Olympic moment of all in Beijing – seemingly undefeatable Roger Federer finally winning his very first Olympic gold medal in tennis doubles. The sight of him on the podium during the awarding ceremony, all teeth and grin, a bit teary-eyed, and simply loving the moment. It was that scene that showed that the Olympics is still something to aspire for, even if you have every Grand Slam title in the books and earned millions. A gold medal is seemingly worth more than that.

Sadly, there was more to dramatic glory. There was also, as they usually say, "agony in defeat". The US relay runners dropping their batons. Gymnast Sacramone repeatedly falling on her bum during the Team event. And the lovely Dara Torres just barely losing in her final bid for an individual gold medal. Hopefully, we will see them back in London in four years. If not, may they realize that everything's not lost.

I cannot wait to see the London Summer Games in 2012.