THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, August 4, 1996 TAG: 9608020091
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E10 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Opinion
SOURCE: BY ANN G. SJOERDSMA
LENGTH: 65 lines
AROUND THIS TIME, every four years, I'm preparing to go into withdrawal, a victim of Post-Olympic Stress Disorder (POSD).
When the Olympic flame is extinguished, I usually go out with it. For evenings on end, I wander about the house, wondering where life's meaning suddenly went.
But this time, the Olympics - NBC'sbloated-Oprah-MTV-``this-is-entertainment- Olympics - were not addictive. I'm free of video eyeballs. Free of DT's.
I broke the habit last Wednesday when I fell asleep before midnight.
``Next up, the women's springboard diving finals. Will 17-year-old Fu Mingxia win double-gold?,'' the announcer teased.
Fu Mingxia - I mumbled into my pillow - ripped from her mother's side at 9, took that sad train ride into Olympics history, became the second-youngest diving gold medalist ever in Barcelona a few weeks shy of her 14th birthday. Makes American Becky Ruehl look like egg foo young.
But I couldn't keep my eyes open. And I had even bonded with the fearless Fu. As NBC had hoped.
I bonded with few others, however, despite the up-close-and-personal profiles that the network nightly spoonfed us. And repeated. Even classy track star Jackie Joyner-Kersee lost some luster after husband Bobby told us again and again that as her husband, not her coach, he just couldn't let her go on.
And if the coverage wasn't gooshy, it was MTV-fast and manic. I learned from the rock-'n'-roll packaging of men's road-race cycling how to change two flats in 10 seconds: Find an Olympian. Better than a state trooper. But cycling itself? I didn't see much of it.
The Olympics are captured in moments. The moment most of us will probably remember from these Centennial Games will be tiny Kerri Strug's valiant vault on one good leg. And coach Bela Karolyi carrying her to a must-have photo-op and the gold-medal podium.
I love elite gymnastics. It's the only venue on Earth in which women don't want big breasts. In fact, they don't even want to be women. (Now there's a novel concept.)
But after 746 replays of the dislocated ankle, Strug and her heroics did not make the list of ``Sjoerdsma moments.'' Here are a few that did:
Carl Lewis' 27-foot-10 3/4-inch gold-medal-winning jump: Lewis sneaked past the qualifying round on his last jump, then soared to a fourth consecutive victory, leaving world champion Mike Powell face-down in the sand. (Unfortunately, NBC ran into the ground a close-up shot of the defeated Powell.)
The home-run-that-wasn't in the U.S. women's 2-1 softball loss to Australia: The ball sailed over the fence, but third baseman Dani Tyler's foot sailed over home plate and the competitive Aussies cried foul. Aye, a tough business, this one. The Americans later captured the gold, but spent more air time chatting with Bob Costas than running the bases.
Michael Johnson leading the field, whatever field. And handing his golden Mercury slippers to Mom and Pop.
But none captured the true spirit of international competition and camaraderie better for me than an image from the opening Parade of (197) Nations: a regal Mongolian, clad in full native garb, and golden splendor, proudly carrying his nation's flag.
For the past 17 days, we've fed off of the nectar and ambrosia of the gods on Mount Olympus. Now it's back to the franks and beans of our lives. To prime time without prime-time athletes.
No more Olympic Games.
I may not be in withdrawal, but I'll go Down Under in 2000. I suppose any way they're packaged, the Olympics are still the greatest triumph on Earth. MEMO: Ann G. Sjoerdsma is book editor of The Virginian-Pilot. by CNB