Archive for February, 2010

In what are probably the last races of Apolo’s Olympic career (sniff, sniff), he earned a team bronze and a personal DQ (in exchange for the silver medal which he enjoyed for a almost a full minute).  And now, it’s time for him to make out with someone other than an ice rink.  I only ask that it’s not Lindsey Lohan.  Yes, Apolo Anton Ohno is sending  the golden years of his career  (marked also by a silver rush and a Bronze Age) back on the plane for home.  They will be forever parted.  They will remember their time together fondly, but the years of training, fouling, and triumph will be summed up in one confusing, unsatisfying statement:  Here’s looking at you kid.

At a time like this, the only option is to quote Robert Frost (just ask S.E. Hinton or the writers of daytime television drama).

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature’s first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Okay that felt good.  No matter how much this poem has been exploited and abused by bad writers (not you S.E. Hinton), you can’t argue with these words.  And you can’t argue with the fact that short track is about to become boring again.

When I first saw Apolo skate in the Olympics, I was  three months pregnant with our first child.  That was when she was still a boy and dangerously close to being named Apolo, though we would have honored the Greeks with a correct spelling.  (We could have name her Apolla, I suppose.  Apolla Antonia Ohnoyoudidn’t Koenigin.)   I was on Winter Break from my job as a high school teacher, and in a lasting bout of pregnancy nausea, I endured the hours of the week on the couch that felt much more like a boat.  Apolo eased my pain.

Well since that time, our baby Apolla has grown to be seven years old.  My child can be used as a unit of measurement for Apolo’s career.  Judging by her height and her ability to sing harmony, Apolo’s done well for himself in Olympic racing.  Perhaps that’s why I find his decline or exit so sad.  When I became a mom, he became an Olympian.  I suppose it’s good that he’s retiring.  I don’t want to have a fourth child at the age of 42, though it’s certainly possible…hmmmmnn.

Though in the end, we must all kiss certain things good-bye.  Our youth, our reproductive years, the ability to unload groceries without saying ‘ouch’.  And there is a very fleeting period of perfection in the pieces of our lives.  Perfection that is so easy, delicate, sumptuous.  Like the time during which our children are old enough to watch Sponge Bob so we can sleep in, but young enough to still want hugs all the time.  Or when you are young enough to look good, but old enough to not be so dumb.  Or when you directed that wonderful high school theater production, with that magic minute-and-a-half where the meaning of the play flooded the audience with inspiration and emotion.  And your mother-in-law was there watching.  And now she isn’t anywhere.

That’s not to say old people don’t have fun.  When Apolo is 58 he’s going to be happily drinking margaritas and eating chips and salsa with Kate Hudson, and he will be much happier than he was when he was courting the ice.  Talk about cold.  Lifeless.  Just lays there.  But those moments of brilliance or triumph can’t be canned, jarred, preserved or even tape-delayed.  Unless you’re a visual artist, but they dress weird.  And even then, the triumph is not on the canvas that hangs in wanna-be permanence before the crowds that don’t get it.  Or think it’s nice or love it.  The triumph is in the moment that the tube of ochre screamed to be squirted on the otherwise cool palette, and threatened to destroy the comfort of blue fading to gray, and did and was.  perfect.  Those moments can’t be frozen in canvas or on ice or in archives.  Those moments exist for a fractions of minutes of our days.

At the risk of sounding more Ohno-centric this Olympics, I would like to thank Apolo for enlivening our spirits for the past eight years.  I wish him well as he begins the next phase of his life.  And I wish all of us well as we find a new hero or heroine on which our hopes can hitch a ride.  Lindsey Vonn has crashed way too many times for this honor.  It’s scary riding in her fannypack.  And if I cry with her about any more of her victories, I won’t be able to respect myself.

Here’s looking at you, kid.

Image via Wikipedia

South Korea’s astonishingly graceful and precise Kim Yu-Na won gold in women’s figure skating, scoring a world-record breaking 228.56, thus smashing, kicking, and insulting the previous record by 18 points.  The record held by Kim Yu-Na.  What does this mean?  Never in the history of Olympic skating have all the judges been in such a good mood.  JUST KIDDING.  Yu-Na earned every hundredth of a point of that score by quite literally flying above the competition, like a rotating swan, injected with helium, and maneuvered by a pre-programmed weight counterbalance system switched to the ‘on’ position by her coach, Canadian silver-medal Olympian, Brian Orser.  He was that other Brian, who in a fierce battle of blading Brians in the 1988 Winter Games,  lost to the very tall, thin one named Boitano, who took gold and went on to be lovingly satirized by the South Park creators, famous for their revolutionary, cinematic triumphs:  pooing and vomiting puppets.  Brian O. said that the loss only haunted him for about…10 years.  Whoa.  Is it inappropriate to ask what would Brian Boitano have done?

But now Brian O. can take some credit for helping Yu-Na usher in the gold that he narrowly missed.  Now if you are feeling the temptation to say, “Those who can’t do, teach,” I will quickly reply, “Those who can’t do and can’t teach say, ‘Those who can’t do, teach,’” so please don’t say that.  It’s simplistic, and it’s not nice.  And it’s okay to be the second best in THE WORLD.  That doesn’t put you in the “can’t do” category.  It just puts you in the won’t quite be Scott Hamilton category.  Or Nadia Comenici.  Even she couldn’t be Scott Hamilton in the 1980 Olympics.  Did you see her decline?  In the end, she really wanted to be Bart Conner anyway, which is why she married him and had his baby.  If you can’t be them, replicate them.  I’m sure Yoko Ono felt the same.

But back to the superstar, please.  Yu-Na brings in eight-million dollars a year and, according to the media, has had enormous pressure to earn gold in order to keep her sponsors, her biggest being Nike, Kookmin Bank, and Hyundai.  Really?  Drop Kim Yu-Na, who threatens even Scott Hamilton’s place on the podium in the event called Olympic cuteness? This just goes to show you that winning a silver medal is far more reprehensible than telling your wife that you’re getting ice cream, but really you’re dining out from a menu of cocktail waitresses, porn stars, and gold diggers.  (Nike did not dump Tiger Woods, for the record.)

So South Korea has one more reason to smile, even wider.  Add that to the fact that they have a train that can travel 217 mph.  At least the US still gets to keep Apolo Anton Ohno, even though his first name has only one ‘l’.  And unfortunately, Dancing With The Stars isn’t going anywhere either.

Visit Saving Private Mommy tomorrow for more Olympic coverage and, quite possibly, another irrelevant mention of Apolo Anto Ohno.

And your Babble vote wouldn’t hurt either.  Thanks for reading this far.  You are an Olympic reader.

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Image via Wikipedia

1.  Lindsey Vonn broke her pinkie after another day of crashing into the mountain side at 60 miles an hour.  There were whiteout conditions on Whistler Mountain, but with all these injuries, it might be time for her to consider that, maybe, skiing just isn’t her thing.  I quit the PTA over much less.

2.  Lindsey Vonn and Julia Mancuso have been described as “frenemies.”  Why does this surprise anyone?  When a blond and a brunette spend a lot of time together, no matter what the arena, the brunette is going to be resentful at some point.

3.  South Korea was disqualified in the women’s 1500 meter relay, and yielded the gold to China, the silver to Canada, and the bronzy spot on the podium to the US team who looked like they also thought they were a joke.  Why do I think Apolo is going to have to pay for this in the 500 meter sprint?

4.  I’m completely stressed out for Dutch coach Gerard Kempkers who, in the 10,000 meter speedskating race, directed his would-be gold medal skater, Sven Kramer, to change lanes which DISQUALIFIED HIM.  I can’t imagine the level of guilt that poor coach feels.  Ruining someone’s life is not a great thing for a coach to do.  I felt the same way when I was a high school drama teacher and I would post the cast list.  I can be credited with giving the world a few more surgeons.  You’re welcome, world.

5.  My husband indirectly stated that the women on the bobsled teams have nice butts.  I asked him how he noticed since I was so busy worrying about how they were surviving riding the track upside down with their helmets carving the ice and being EJECTED from the bobsled onto the frozen chute.  He said that it was SO EASY TO SEE what their butts look like, and he reenacted the departure where they push the bobsled back and fourth to get momentum and their butts bob up and down.  Click here to see this action with a wardrobe malfunction bonus.  My husband tried to make up for this remark by saying that he wanted me to be an Olympic bobsledder for Halloween.  There really are so many ways to say, I love you.

6.  I would like to give a shout out to the real heroes of the Olympics: the unsung champions of the biathlon and curling.  It’s true, these athletes are uncelebrated  because no one watches them.  They conquer in obscurity.  You could run into a three-time gold medal biathlete at Safeway and never even know it.  It’s one thing to fail in private, it’s another to be the best in the world IN PRIVATE.  You could die from the irony alone.  And it sort of defeats the purpose of conquering the world if no one knows about it.  And while we are in the safety of our living rooms or having a pleasant experience buying dishes at Target, they are having the (race?  what do you call it?) of their lives.  And we don’t even KNOW we’re missing it.  We just shop away while they ski, breathe heavily, and shoot things.  Or push things while lunging as their teammates sweep ice, quite furiously.  On the other hand, Apolo Anton Ohno eats a burrito and we all know about it.  It’s on the news at 5, 11 and it continues to be replayed into the wee hours of the morning.  Yes, he’s good at what he does, but it’s the unsung heroes of the sports we don’t even try to like who are the truest champions.

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Canadian Olympic skater Joannie Rochette lost her mother to a heart attack early Sunday morning.  Her mother was her number one fan.  On Tuesday, she skated through pain and stifled tears to achieve the greatest performance of her career.

The Canadian brotherhood present in the rink extended palpable warmth and support through their claps and cheers.  When the universe seems unfathomably cruel, it is nice to know that we can answer back in stunning grace, skill and style.  Mlle. Rochette, you did just that, and our hearts are with you.

Commentator Scott Hamilton gave a very quiet show of support:  silence.  Rochette skated her entire short program without any comment by Hamilton or his colleagues on all the elements that suddenly seemed so pointless in a time of such loss:  jumps, landings, turns, artistry.  Perhaps the choice to be silent was obvious, but the lack of discussion was so pronounced and unusual that it RESOUNDED on the airwaves.  Sometimes it’s not what we do, but what we don’t do that is the strongest action.

Here’s to a mother’s love.  RIP Therese Rochette.

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Monday, Canada had its day to squat on a patch of the Olympic hosting country’s mantra:  own the podium.  Ice dancers Scott Moir and Tessa Virtue won the gold medal in an elegant bloodbath of ice, sequins, lifts, and chiffon against dueling diva pairs from the United States and Russia.  Who could not love Canada as the crowd sang ‘Oh Canada‘ in Canada for Canada?  And we Americans all thought NO ONE knew the words to that song, except maybe Celine Dion and the people who hear her take showers.

Canada is like that girl who runs in the second tier of popularity in school.  She’s kind (the one who shares her health care with you), and visible (everyone puts maple syrup of their waffles), yet not too impressive or intimidating to resent (no one fears a Canadian invasion).  She’s the dark horse in the race for Homecoming Queen.  And in the endgame of popularity, Canada is a ferocious competitor and earns the tiara right off our ostentatious American head.

This leads me to another sleeper, shocker or even wolf in sheep’s clothing:  Olympic ice dancing.  Many, including me, have insisted that ice dancing is not a sport.  As a former sixth grade basketball player and runner of a twelve-minute mile, I say with confidence, even indignation, that those fluffy, giddy, sparkly DANCERS who claim to be Olympians are kidding themselves.  My husband disagrees with me citing strenuous pose after lift after jump after drag after fall after jazz hands as indisputable evidence of their athleticism.  While I admit that even my dreams are too flabby and unmotivated to perform these stunts, I still wouldn’t call an event in which you dress like a phoenix or an Aborigne to be a sport.  There is one thing, though, that turns me into a believer.  Their game on the podium.

That’s right.  In a week of tears and lip biting and emotion over one’s own victory, the Canadian ice dancing duo proved themselves to be the true warriors of the medal ceremony.  The duo won gold at their first Olympics.  They danced like pixies and they dressed like divas, but they listened to their national anthem like champions.  Not a grimace or drop of the head to hide emotion.  They were happy like Olympic winners should be.

Then there’s the Russian couple who probably felt that gold was stolen from them.  The couple mastered the stance of the non-verbal “You are fools.  Ull ov you!  Vaht ez Canada?  Not evahn a Sputnik to your name!  Blah! “  Oksana Domnina managed to eke out a trace of a smile for the kind lackey who awarded her that wretched disc of bronze.  This is one tough Baltic beauty.  If I were lost in a dark alley, I would chose to run into Lindsey Vonn over this ice swan.

Canadians and ice dancers provide a good lesson in not judging books by their covers.  Just because someone exhibits grace and softness, does not mean they won’t icefish their way to world dominance.

Chose Greta for your alternative Olympic coverage.  Check back tomorrow!

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