Lugnasa Hiroshima Moon
The beach-volleyball Olympics. That’s how I’ll the remember games of the last Olympiad. Seemed like every time Kate or I turned on the TV, which we rarely do these days, to watch, there was Kerri and Mitzi. Wearing bikinis. Battling other well-toned women from various places: China, Australia, Italy.
Then there was the closing day. What was the lead off memory piece? Beach volleyball. And a lot of it.
Not sure, but the amount of skin might have had something to do with it? Also not sure, had I ever watched a complete beach volleyball match before? Yes, they were good. Yes, it was athletic and tiring. But beach volleyball and BMX racing? Guess the young, male watcher must be sought after.
I liked Usain and his bow and arrow impressions. Michael Phelps, collecting himself from a loss right out of the blocks. Boudina coming back from 18th to win gold. OK, I didn’t watch that because diving, as I said before, doesn’t grab me, but still.
Having the US, plucky little country, come out with more medals that great big rising superpower, China, did tickle my nationalistic pride. Maybe a bit too much though our scattershot funding model does pale beside the state run models of China and Russia.
The opening ceremony. It was the best I’ve ever seen. It renewed a serious case of Anglophilia and reminded me that I’ve spent a good bit of the last ten years gazing east, reading Chinese books, getting educated about Asian art, traveling in Southeast Asia. Might be time to revisit Dickens, the Pre-Raphs, English history.
There is a bit of push-back in me though; it comes from the genetic Celt within and the miserable track-record (sorry about that one) the English have with Ireland, Scotland, Wales, the Isle of Mann, even old Cornwall. Even so, their xenophobia does not need to blind me to their culture achievements. A renewal of that will probably be the lasting impact of this Olympics for me.
