Compatriot Games

Veer off the network to the lesser cable stations and there is a vast array of fascinating Olympic sports.  Don’t get me wrong, I love swimming and gymnastics, enjoying these events as they dominate prime time night after night.  But there is something inspiring about the” lesser” sports—those that fail to get TV ratings high enough to command top advertising dollars.  These is the real Olympic games, where unknown individuals give their all for a moment of glory.  They compete in badminton, air shooting, or the hammer throw.   These athletes will never front a Wheaties box, inspire a Nike clothing line, or receive an invitation to Dancing with the Stars.  They will likely return to humdrum lives and ordinary jobs, satisfied with their place as mere footnotes in athletic history.  

I love these cable-worthy sports.  Each is an all-encompassing lifestyle to a handful of nameless athletes. They sacrifice their lives for sport without lucrative sponsorships or endorsement deals.  Their events are relegated to obscurity merely because no American can dominate.  But among these we see the true Olympic spirit.  It’s a Festivus for the rest of us.  

Today I was distracted from my busy agenda by the gold medal finals of women’s table tennis—a sport so dominated by China that a pair of its countrywomen, who practice against each other daily, were the last gals standing.  One woman, Ding Ning, is the reigning world champion.  The other, Li Xiaoxia, had something to prove.  The women stood alone—no team coach was allowed to assist one over the other.  One would think that each would know the other as well as themselves. 

As athletes, the women looked rigid, standing square in their matching sneakers with angled upright arms.  Each had superstitious behaviors that preceded each serve.  Ding would compel the ball to bounce between her hand and the table along the white edge line until it practically rolled.  Left-handed, she stood at the side of the table to line up her southpaw for the serve.  Li had a more elaborate and nervous affect.  She first bounced the ball five times on her racquet, then five times along the white line before cradling it in her hand like an egg in a birds’ nest.   Next, she hurled the ball up in the air at least three feet above her head before crushing it, stomping her foot and grunting to disguise the sound of the spin.

At various points in the contest, the two women engaged in a battle of volleys that blurred before the eyes.  It would be impossible for an average brain to process the stimulus fast enough to respond intelligently.  These women were as much instinct as action, moving at lightning speed and pinpoint accuracy.   As Li applied pressure, things did not go in Ding’s favor.  The world champion was given a yellow card and then a red card—penalizing her with a point against for grabbing a towel at the wrong time.  She became uncharacteristically emotional on the world stage, an indulgence that was her undoing.  In the end, the determination of the underdog, nicknamed ‘Miss Number 2’ for her inability to prevail over Ding, overpowered the erstwhile favorite.  

Even in this obscure Olympic moment, played out at 2 in the afternoon on a cable channel with nary an American in sight, was a lesson for us all.  Sports are won and lost between the ears.  Emotions and self-doubt are an athlete’s worst enemy.  In the end, the winner is always the one that wants it the most.

Tomorrow's blog:  Cereal Killer