Olympic Preview: Part 1

Guys, I'm excited. Really excited. Squeal-like-a-young-child-while-jumping-up-and-down excited. Why? Because the Olympics begin soon.

As the ridiculous sports fanatic I am, I eagerly await this event with even more anticipation than the next Dave Matthews Band CD. Despite my unhealthy obsessions with football and NHL hockey, I truly believe there is no better contest in sports than the Olympic games. Every four years, the games provide accomplished American athletes with the toughest competition the globe has to offer. With the eyes of the world focused on the events, the stakes could not be higher and what results is often inspirational and heartbreaking, dramatic and controversial, tragic and awe-inspiring.

My torrid love affair with the Olympics began with the 1996 Games in Atlanta. Although I was only eight at the time, I vividly remember the emotional opening ceremony, which ended with Muhammad Ali lighting the Olympic torch. I remember the horror, drama, and fear surrounding the Centennial Park bombing. I remember watching Michael Johnson cross the finish line in record time. Mostly, however, I remember the Magnificent 7, the U.S. Women's Gymnastics team.



Every night of the competition, I would sit glued to the TV, watching these girls, some only twice my age, flip, jump, and twirl across the screen. I desperately wished I could do a balance beam routine like Shannon Miller, but deep-down, I knew the closest I'd ever get was a crooked somersault. So, I lived vicariously through them, memorized their names and biographies, and cheered for them alongside the rest of the country. Although I recall multiple performances from these Games, it was one moment in particular that changed my life forever.

After closely watching the team competition for hours, the U.S. was just within reach of the gold medal. It all came down to one last gymnast: Kerri Strug. On her first vault, her ankle was severely injured when she under-rotated the landing. However, despite the excruciating pain and unsure of her team's standing, Strug heroically attempted a second vault. I remember watching with bated breath as she limped to the runway, more nervous and excited for an athletic event than I'd ever been before. I will never forget the feeling I had when she stuck the landing, giving the U.S. its first Olympic Gymnastics Team Gold. Immediately, she hopped to her good foot before collapsing to her knees in tears. Watching Coach Bela Karolyi carry her to the medals podium filled me with unmistakable feelings of national pride and overwhelming joy. It was my first taste of the emotional roller coaster experienced while watching sports. For the first time, I was aware of the excitement, the anxiety, the heart-rending reality of injury, the triumph of victory, and the intense emotional spectrum endured by sports fans. I've been addicted to it ever since.


Chills. All. Day.

Following the Olympic games, I wrote letters to the gymnasts, thanking them on behalf of the country as eloquently as an 8-year-old possibly could. In return, I got a couple of their autographs, and, in a strange foreshadowing of my future fanaticism over athletes, I traveled to gymnastics competitions (with my dad as chauffeur) to watch them compete in person.

Yes, folks. I started early with the athlete stalking. Just wait for my Michael Phelps stories...