Excellence is electrifying, and the excitement it generates
is contagious. This is why I have made a
point during these Olympic games to be front and center watching Usain Bolt in
every one of his races. I followed his
journey through the preliminary rounds, and then sprung to attention to watch
each of his three finals. As a middle
aged woman whose limbs are forever compromised by the ravages of osteoarthritis,
watching Bolt is a vicarious thrill. I cannot imagine the exhilaration of moving at
such a speed propelled by my own forces.
I have never experienced the glory of being a long-legged beast. I have not possessed any skill that delivers
victory with such certainty. Watching
Bolt, rocket speed is a human possibility.
It makes us believe in real-life superheroes.
I confess I always had a pretty good impression of the
Jamaican champion. He normally uses his
victories to energize the crowd, turning his skill and good fortune into a
celebration for all. He is a jovial
fellow, for sure, if not also cocky.
There is a certain arrogance that is expected—even excusable—by one who
is so dominant in his sport. Personally,
I think it lacks character that he pulls back so often as he approaches the
finish line. It says, “I have the victory
even without running my best race.” But
the commentators—and they are the experts—don’t seem to be calling him on the
carpet for it. In preliminaries you need
only to qualify. Save it for the final.
After claiming golden victories in the 100 and 200 meter
distances, Bolt anchored his country’s 4 x 100 meter relay team. At the final pass of the baton, Jamaica was
neck and neck with Team USA. For once,
Bolt was given a run for his money, forcing him to accelerate and stretch into
the finish line to edge out the American who was just 2/10s of a second behind
on pace with Jamaica’s previous world record.
This was no runaway; it was an exciting race that tested the best
efforts of 8 incredible athletes.
Then, Bolt opened his mouth.
In the spirit of the moment he thought only of himself and what his
accomplishment meant to him. “Now I am a
legend,” he said. Thunk. That is the sound of my respect for this
athlete plummeting. Although the attainment
of his feats will forever be inscribed in the history books, a victory or a
world record or handful of medals does not entitle any person to ordain himself
a legend. Legendary status is publically
acknowledged and conveyed by acclamation. It is recognition of physical attainment
achieved with personal grace and humility.
It is a rare combination of qualities both on and off the field that
sets the person apart from others. It is
a standard that elevates the sport and underscores the attributes of
sportsmanship. Legendary status cannot
be self-annointed or applied for. It
should not be sought as an end in itself.
It should not be garnered as the result of an athlete’s own personal
crusade.
I was amused by the rhetoric that followed as IOC President
Rogge wisely sidestepped any efforts to apply the legend label to Bolt. Certainly Bolt is an “icon” of his
sport. But sensitive to the century of
Olympic history that includes thousands of athletes across dozens of sports, he
avoided singling out this one runner against a backdrop of outstanding individuals.
For me, Usain Bolt will always be a remarkable athlete
possessing a talent that few others share.
He will be the undisputed king of men’s short distance track for the modern
era. He will be a vibrant character that
stands as a symbol of his sport. And
although some may call him a legend, for me, he will always be somewhat of an
ass.
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