Michael Zantovsky: The Old New European

It is easy to be cynical about the Olympics. Over more than a century, they have developed from the celebration of the purity of Olympic ideas and amateur zeal into a gigantic athletic enterprise, a mega media event, and a global business venture. The amount of hype appeals to the unsophisticated, the credulous, and the easily duped. The amount of money, both invested and to be made or lost is staggering. While the cameras roll, the purists are hiking in Antarctica. There is probably more snow there even in summer than in Vancouver this winter, anyway. As for the arms falling silent during the Games, Operation Moshtarak in Marja came and went, scoring a victory of sorts for the allied forces. But I digress. Back to the Olympics: The opening ceremony contained some unforgettable moments, though at a length and pace of an Oscar night. And then there was yet another Georgian tragedy.

And yet, and yet. Maybe it was the fairy tale destination of Vancouver, the beauty of the land, the mountains and the sea that even the rain and fog at the beginning of the Games could not conceal. When the sun burst out a few days later, the picture-perfect setting, the thrill of the competition and the 24/7 euphoria of the locals merged into one. Awesome.

Or perhaps it was the locals. Not known for their sense of grandeur, their power to entertain, or their geopolitical exploits, the Canadians must be on average just about the most decent, friendly, and helpful people on this planet. Their eagerness to see Canada triumph at the Games is commensurate only with their ability to bear disappointment with a smile and rejoice in the triumph of others. They are the true patriots without being nationalists. Their talent to see the good side in the most unfortunate circumstances is exemplary. To see them at their best in their own backyard also makes one remember how much good they are doing as humanitarians, peacekeepers, and volunteers around the world.

Or perhaps it was the Games themselves. In one’s lifetime, they have changed beyond recognition, arguably mostly for the better except for the ongoing drug problem (which had been there, ignored, for a long time). The merciless demands of the 90-minute TV format have made a number of previously unwatchable sports (remember the men's figure skating compulsory program?) eminently thrilling (this year’s men's skating free program was apparently run and won under the last-man-standing rule). The only throwback to a previous era was President Putin's statement of changing the silver won by Yevgeny Plushenko to gold by decree. The girls (remember the East German Olympic team?) look incomparably better, and not just because one has aged a little. Not only do they look better but they play a mean ice hockey game that is fun to watch. Next time they are likely to be ski jumping, too.

And then there are the names. In the old days, you saw the name and you knew whether they were Finnish, Chinese, or Italian, and which side of the Iron Curtain they stemmed from (only the Germans and the Koreans came down on both sides). The Games used to be scored liked the NBA All-Star East-West Game. Not any longer. There are Russians competing for Slovakia, Japanese for Russia, Ukrainians for Germany, Slovaks for the United States, and Canadians with Chinese names, which raises an interesting question whether a chunk of the precious metal should not be given to the winners’ birthplaces and ancestries, as well as to their adoptive countries. One day, when a Chinese Olympic athlete with a Czech name is on the half-pipe starting list, you can be sure the world is a better place.