Hang with the analogy for a minute: You take a relatively obscure sport (in terms of American mainstream awareness), add an American athlete who soundly whups the world in a way nobody's ever done before, and throw in a heaping helping of hero-worship media hype. Granted, Phelps loses points for not reaching his astounding achievement after battling back from almost-certain death, but other than that little detail, it's a pretty similar narrative.
Assuming the Phelps/Armstrong parallel holds, here's what I predict for swimming in America over the next few years based on what Lance did for American cycling:
- LSS (Local Swimming Shops) will be overrun by pudgy guys in their 40s with too much disposable income trying to wedge themselves into those American flag neck-to-ankle swimsuits, convinced that wearing Michael's suit will help them beat their buddies to the other end of the pool at the Y. To capitalize on this trend, the maker of these suits will come out with a special "Gold" version that features eight Olympic gold medals silkscreened across the front -- the "faux Maillot Jaune" of swimming.
- Pools across the nation will be packed to capacity with people who can't swim a stroke to save their lives. Diehard swimmers who once had the water to themselves now won't be able to swing an arm without getting kicked in the head by three Phelps-wannabes who can't stay in one half of the pool, much less one lane.
- Phelps will want to use his newfound stardom to benefit a cause. However, with all the good diseases, genocides, and natural disasters already spoken for (damn you, Bono, snagging Darfur!), Phelps will have to aim a little lower. Still, his light-blue "Swimstrong" rubber bracelets (with proceeds benefiting MPFPSE: the Michael Phelps Foundation to Prevent Swimmer's Ear) will take the worlds of sports and fashion by storm.
- Ever the contrarian, Grant Petersen will expand his Rivendell retro-empire into the world of swimming. His "underswimming" concept will be based on the style of Mark Spitz: banana-hammock trunks, no cap, and no goggles (because the burning sensation of chlorine in your eyes keeps you "more connected to the water"). Petersen will also prototype a Spitz-style fake mustache, made in the USA of hand-woven, 100% Merino wool. However, he takes so long to come up with a cutesy name for it (the "Splashy 'Stachey") that Surly is able to produce and sell thousands of its Taiwanese knockoff (the "Lip Tickler") before one Rivendell mustache goes to market.
Remember, you saw it here first.
As I watch even more of the Olympics I swore I wouldn't watch, I can't help but remember my elementary school principal and old friend, Phil Hunsberger.
Phil was (and is) a force of nature, perpetually smiling behind his thick beard, guitar always at the ready, prowling the lunchroom in search of unattended Cheetos, and known for spontaneous attacks of "happy feet." Imagine a 60s idealist turned public educator and administrator who never lost one iota of that idealism. That's Phil.
At any sort of performance -- music, sports, guest speakers, plays -- Franklin School students were expected to follow one simple rule:
"You may choose not to clap, but you do not boo."
As a 10-year-old, I just knew that a violation of this rule was one of the few things that would make Phil upset. With a few decades of hindsight, it shows itself to be such a perfect expression of the Phil Way. Franklin School was no dictatorship. If you didn't like what you saw, you didn't have to clap for it. That was your choice. But an outward expression of displeasure, of hostility toward the performer, that was unacceptable. You could choose to elevate the other person or not, but to lessen that person was taboo.
Call me the idealist if you will, but that's a pretty good rule to live by.
I really wanted to hate the Olympics this year.
There's the whole Chinese political thing. And the pollution thing. And the typical uber-nationalist coverage from NBC where nothing interesting happens in any event unless it's happening to an American ("Yawn... so somebody with a name I can't pronounce from a country I couldn't find with Wikipedia and a GPS just set a world record... BUT LOOK AT THE HEART BEING SHOWN BY AMERICAN BOB SMITH, PROUDLY STRUGGLING TO A LAST PLACE FINISH ON THE ANKLE HE BROKE DURING LAST NIGHT'S BEER BENDER! TRULY, THIS IS ONE FOR THE AGES!")
But dammit, I keep watching. And I've even been sucked into the local angle, West Des Moines gymnast Shawn Johnson, the Mary Lou of ought-eight. How can you not love a kid who's been immortalized in butter sculpture at our State Fair?
Still, I have noted a couple things with my usual level of snarkiness.
One, isn't it interesting that American corporations are actually paying for the privilege of doing Chinese propaganda? Just watch for the pro-China subtext in the advertising and ask yourself how much NBC charged for that time. The Chinese government must be laughing all the way to Tibet watching U.S. companies shell out big bucks (relatively big, that is -- they are American bucks, after all) to give China a more positive brand identity.
Two, I love the choice of sponsors for an athletic event. "Years of rigorous training, hours of workouts each day, all leading to this one extraordinary feat of athleticism... and now a word from McDonalds, Coca-Cola, and Budweiser." Seeing as cycling is an Olympic event (though you wouldn't know it from watching NBC, which leads me to believe that no Americans bothered to enter those races), I intend to change my training regimen to the Olympic Sponsor Diet: Big Macs, Cherry Coke, and Bud Light. I'm sure it will shave precious seconds off my personal best time-to-vomit.
I'm putting my fixed gear up for sale to fund a potential addition to the bike fleet -- damn you, one-bike-in, one-bike-out rule!
Details are in my Craigslist posting.
Obviously, I'd rather move this thing locally, but if you're salivating over it AND I know you through some other connection (like the iBOB mailing list) or you can be vouched for by someone I know, ping me through the Craigslist ad and let's talk.
