At the time I’m writing this in June/July of 2012, every muscle of my middle aged body is aware that this is an Olympic year. Which means that if the TV network that airs the Olympics in the US doesn’t screw it up like in previous years, I will be transfixed and transported in front of the TV again, just as I was when I was a kid. To me nothing compares to the Olympics. There is no other sporting event, no post season madness, bowl game, or cup final that compares to the romance, heart and drive the Summer Olympics have for me. It’s where I learned things that school would never teach me. Sitting in front of my black and white TV as a 10 year old in 1968, I was there. The glow of the cathode ray tube may have been in South Philadelphia, but in ‘68 my soul was in Mexico City.
“Yes grandpop, he’s black.”
“And what about that guy?”
“No he’s from Poland – not black.”
“Are you sure? Play with that knob on the side again.”
“I can play with the contrast knob all day grandpop, but the Polish guy is not black.”
Even though my Mexico City Olympic experience was seen from an acute angle in order to see around my grandpop, whose forehead kissed the screen, I was still transported.
|Jim Hines winning the 100m dash.|
|And that other guy? Australian Peter Norman won|
silver and on the podium wore the badge for the
Olympic Project for Human Rights. He was left
off the 1972 Australian team.