I must say, I'm a fan of the Summer Olympics. First, it gives me something else to watch besides the Twins handing away their late inning leads. Secondly, this is possibly your only opportunity to watch sports such as sabre, archery, and team handball for the next four years. Isn't that glorious, the opportunity to watch all these obscure sports? Sports that when you think about it, some of them are pretty ancient. Pretty basic.
Like track and field. What is more elemental to the human experience than running? Running away from a woolly mammoth, running away from an approaching army, running to reach a destination before someone else. No implements, no nothing. Just legs and determination. The will to succeed. The strength to endure.
People are always talking about how the Olympics rise against politics, yada, yada, yada. For example, Russia has just recently invaded Georgia, but a Russian and a Georgian athlete were hugging on the podium of some air rifle competition. It's an interesting theory, I don't know if I quite believe it. Apparently members of the US basketball team were ready to make a statement on Darfur in Beijing, but now they've decided that they're just there to play basketball, not make statements. Which is entirely their option. And I don't know if I think US athletes should necessarily speak out about Tibet, Darfur, whatever. It seems hypocritical to do so, when we ourselves have done unspeakable things in Iraq. So, I don't know. This conversation is going nowhere.
I'm looking forward to watching our baseball team. Fun fact, I once met the manager of the British national baseball team. He actually gave me some tips on my swing, in my single glorious season as an amateur English baseball star. I guess that doesn't mean much, considering Britain didn't even qualify.
I spent Christmas 2006 in Geneva, Switzerland. I wouldn't recommend going to Geneva for more than say, 2 days. It's kind of like a French city, minus the charm, joie de vivre, and general attractiveness. Seeing that I was there for 3 or 4, one morning I took the train to Lausanne, in a singular pursuit of the Musee Olympique. I was alone in my quest, others were preoccupied with someone or something or God knows what else. And it was, well, it was an interesting morning. A morning I think I'll always remember. Since no one else was there, it's only mine. Well, kind of. You know the feeling when you're so self-reflective, so absorbed in your own thought, it's like you're with another companion? That was what it was like. Can't quite remember why.
That's a brazen lie. I can remember why, but I'm not telling the internet.
Back to the story, I ambled aimlessly down towards Lake Geneva, hoping to run into the museum which I sought, really in no rush to be anywhere.
Eventually, I came across the museum, which you entered through an Olympic Park. I had an album of Olympic fanfares on my iPod, which I listened to. The park had a variety of sculptures, signifying the Olympic spirit, praising the glories of human competition, of peace. It had a very dignified entrance, a repository for the Olympic flame was nearby. I had expected a museum celebrating the glories of games past, which I naively thought would have a distinctive American flair. That was incorrect.
Instead, the museum was a testament to the world, to the universal spirit of camaraderie and competition. I remember feeling a little out of place, I was alone in the midst of many families, almost all speaking foreign tongues. Unlike the British Museum, or the Archaeological Museum in Athens, the Olympic Museum had no specific national agenda. When I think back, this is what made it unique. It celebrated the world, not one nation or another. It seemed to intimate that through the spirit of competition, individual countries created something much greater than themselves. Like a magical sporting wonderland. An unspoken utopia, if only for 2 weeks at a time.
Of course, this utopia is just that, a utopia. Like Tom Paine's cosmopolitan democratic world. But, it's a nice thought. And I think, that's what I needed that day. Pissed off at being stuck in Geneva, wanting to be somewhere, anywhere else. Enraged that my fucking coffee cost 8 fucking dollars. Bored on Christmas, frustrated at more than a few things. Starting to get worn out. Wanting to go back to England.
I've thought about England a lot lately. Maybe it's the cosmopolitan nature of the Olympics. Maybe it's because of an e-mail I got today, something sent out by an acquaintance in the Peace Corps. Wishing I was out adventuring again. I'd kill for a pint of Roaring Meg at The Lion, followed by a quiet walk down Wilkinson Street.
I'm tired. Big week ahead.
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