Goodbye, Rio Olympics!

Yesterday over dinner my mother asked me how much of the 2016 Rio Olympics I had watched over the past two weeks. My response? “Every minute of them.”

Obviously, that wasn’t entirely possible. Over the past two weeks there have been times when Olympic events were being broadcast on up to four different cable channels. With events on two channels and that “last channel watched” button on my remote control, I was able to flip back and forth and keep up. When they were broadcasting events on three channels simultaneously, I had to pick and choose — and when there were four going, forget about it. Fortunately they seem to have dedicated one channel to golf coverage, so I was able to rule that out entirely. Still, that left me with two and sometimes three channels of nonstop Olympic coverage.

The older I get, the more I enjoy the Olympics. I love the spirit of competition and the patriotism on display, and not just from our country’s participants. I always enjoy the back stories behind the competitors. Vanderlei de Lima, the marathon runner who was tackled by a protester during a marathon in 2004 (and still managed to win the bronze medal), lit the Olympic cauldron this year. And then there was David Rudisha, the runner from Kenya who took the spirit of the Olympics back home and convinced the fellow members of his Maasai tribe that running, and not killing lions, was a better way to show who was the strongest member of the tribe (and best-qualified suitor). In my opinion, there weren’t nearly enough of these features.

When I think of the Summer Olympics I think of people running and people swimming, but I forget about all the other fantastic events. For two weeks I watched the best in the world compete in volleyball, archery, tennis, BMX racing, ping-pong, cycling, and even badminton.

Four years is enough time for me to forget almost anything, but within a few days of the opening ceremonies I had regained my crown as our home’s self-appointed expert Olympic judge. On every event. I frequently shouted “tenth of a point!” any time a gymnast faltered on the balance beam, and was able to instantly determine the number of degrees off center every single Olympic diver entered the water. I called every out-of-bounds volley correctly, and was able to quickly determine who scored first in each fencing match. If the Olympic committee doesn’t select me to be a head judge in the 2020 Tokyo Olympics, or at least to fire the starting gun before the running events — or every event, for that matter — I will be quite surprised.

Like every great adventure there were tales of victory and defeat, exhilaration and heartbreak. When 21-year-old French runner Wilhem Belocian was disqualified for a false start in the men’s 110m, he collapsed to the field in tears, devastated. It was Belocian’s first trip to the Olympics, and he was disqualified from his only race. It was hard to watch, even from thousands of miles away.

I can’t remember how old I was when I learned that not all other countries love America and Americans, but after some of the behavior that a few of our athletes displayed over the past two weeks, it’s easy to see why. The first two stories I read about our Olympic basketball team were US Olympic Basketball Team to Stay on Cruise Ship, followed by US Basketball Players leave Opening Ceremonies, Visit Local Brothel (on “accident”). For a few days it looked like American gymnast Gabby Douglas was going to be labeled the biggest spoiled brat of the Olympics as she pouted, didn’t cheer on her teammates, and didn’t salute the flag during the award ceremonies. Incredulously, Ryan Lochte’s ugly display of drunken frat boy antics while he was representing our country in the Olympics managed to upstage her. (Earlier today, both Speedo and Ralph Lauren broke sponsorship ties with Lochte.)

While I will remember those moments, I refuse to let them define my memories of the 2016 Olympics. When I remember them, I want to remember Michael Phelps’ and Katie Ledecky’s amazing performances in the water. I’ll remember watching Usain Bolt’s last three races, and watching him pull ahead from his competitors as if they were standing still. I’ll remember Simone Biles and Aly Raisman, standing hand in hand with their arms raised in victory after securing gold and silver medals. I’ll remember 20-year-old Simone Manuel, the first American black female swimmer to win medal in the Olympics. And I’ll remember Nikki Hamblin and Abbey D’Agostino, the runners who collided mid-race and helped one another to the finish line. I’ll remember for every dummy who only thinks of themselves and the gold, there are many others that not only remember the spirit of the Olympic Games, but demonstrate them for the world to see. And that’s pretty cool.

(Okay, sure — I’ll also remember the green water.)

And now, I’m off to badminton class. See you in 2020, Toyko!