Reflections on Beijing, Part I: Why I Love the Images of Defeat

With the 2008 Olympics officially coming to a close last night, I felt overwhelmed by a rush of emotions, creating a strange whirlwind of euphoria that was a potent mixture of happiness, sadness, anguish, and excitement.

While it always requires the completion of the Olympics for me to realize how much I enjoy them, I felt more so that these games in China fully affirmed why, specifically, it is that I love the games as much as I do.

With my first note on the games, I'm going to focus on the competition of the Olympic games, a pure, fully-embodied level of commitment that no sporting event, in my opinion, can match. Is it that many of the athletes will never be compensated for their efforts? that many of them work full-time jobs or go to school full-time on top of their athletic schedules? or the simple fact that they spend roughly 25-40 hours a week training for one night out of four years for their shot at Olympic gold.

Whatever the reason, the raw emotion on display during Olympic competition is something that never fails to move me. And when I write that, I do not solely refer to the moments of triumph.

Of course, I feel myself welling up with pride watching Michael Phelps' ecstasy after Jason Lezak's historic comeback in the 4 x 100 m freestyle relay, or the May/Walsh repeat of sand volleyball gold, or Shawn Johnson's brilliant smile after finally winning gold on balance beam; yet, while the flip-side of the games, the moments of failure, give me an immediate sensation of misery, it was these games in Beijing where I realized the strange and indescribable love I had for those times of disappointment.

I love the aftermath of the woman's 100 meter hurdles, seeing gold medal favorite Lolo Jones hit the ninth hurdle, finish seventh, and spend the next five minutes burying her face in her hands, kneeling on the track as if in prayer, and looking blanklessly into the sky wondering what went wrong? In that same freestyle relay, I love seeing the expression of shock on the French team's faces, how their dreams of ruining Michael Phelps' perfect Olympic games will never occur and how they will forever be remembered for blowing their lead to Jason Lezak. And with that same gymnast, I love seeing the eruption of emotion on Shawn Johnson's face after a brilliant floor routine in the All-Around final, knowing that despite her best efforts, despite a full year and countless of hours of practice, her world-champion status will be no more.

Just look at the images:


Phelps and co. rejoice after Lezak's sensational comeback in the 4 X 100 relay.

Shawn Johnson beaming after her masterful beam routine earned her the gold medal.

Lolo Jones, after her trip on the ninth hurdle cost her a gold medal. She finished seventh.

The stunned French relay team, whose goal of smashing Phelp's gold medal dream failed to materialize after Lezak's comeback.

Shawn, after a hard-fought night of stiff competition and very questionable judging gave her a second-place finish and stripping of her world champion status.

I should make a clear distinction--I do not prefer the sad moments of the games to the happy moments. I think it's the fact that I am moved by such unbridled, uncompromising focus on a particular goal, and I can empathize with the feeling of falling short of that ultimate, surreal feeling of complete accomplishment. That is why I love those moments of loss.

Despite the cameras, despite the crowds, despite the bubblegum princess sideline reporters from NBC, these athletes give us insight to pure, unadulterated human emotion. And they move me so.

And maybe it is because of the direction our culture is taking that such naked emotion affects me like it does. As our country becomes more advanced, we become more isolated. Greater communication, as the great irony demonstrates, draws us further apart. I am surely not the first person to point out this dichotomy, as many an artist and commentator have already observed how our increasing reliance on technology and machinery strip us of our inner cores and bring us closer to the metal, hollow creations that serve us unceasingly (think "Wall-E"). Maybe, when I see the emotions of the games, I'm reminded that such emotions still exist.