Like clockwork, there has been one thing every two years that my family has bonded over. Whether in the summer or winter, we’d see the date approaching and there would be this quiet uproar between all of us. We’d gather around the TV and curse the name Bob Costas as we watched the latest country to host the Olympics.
There is this excitement of seeing a country represent themselves on a global scale. There is an unparalleled pageantry that comes with the opening ceremony, where the world comes alive. After the opening number where half the country moves to majestic choreography, we watch the ceremony of flags, predicting what each country would look like. As the third-world countries appeared, we’d definitely tell Bob Costas to shut up because that guy is a buzz kill. Still, we’d be there with anticipation about the days to come, wondering who the victors will be.
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| Adam Rippon |
The Olympics are a special moment in my family’s life because we’re all unified around this curiosity, of this history of figures that have come before. We all remember that time that Ryan Lochte lost all of our respect. We remember The Final Five dominate on the mat. So many small moments become part of our collective memory, something that we’ll talk about as we wait for next year’s ceremony. My sister and I still talk about Adam Rippon because while he may have not always been the most skilled figure skater, he was one of the most endearing.
Except for the guy who got Pooh thrown at him.
But there was something especially exciting about 2020’s Olympics because this was going to be in Tokyo, Japan. When the ceremony took place in London, England, I still remember that ceremony vividly, being impressed with how it stuck in everything from Mr. Bean and James Bond to an elaborate dance number about children’s hospitals set to “Tubular Bells” (if you know The Exorcist (1973), you’ll know how weird that plays). There’s something exciting about watching how these countries represented themselves.
And it is what made the presentation for Japan at Rio in 2016 so exciting. I joked at the time that it was going to be entirely funded by Pokémon Go because their presentation felt like a fever dream. Japan is the home to many things including anime and video games that have permeated the world over. You want to know if they’ll stick in references to Pikachu, Gojira, and Studio Ghibli alongside more cultural landmarks. Much like their presentation, there’s this sense that it will all be an interactive 3D advertisement for Nintendo. If nothing else, Japan has potential to be one of the trendiest presentations since London back in 2012.
But as you know and we all know, that is not happening anytime soon. Despite there being initial plans to start the traditional activities, they were reasonably postponed. This isn’t a case of being canceled entirely, or where any one country bows out. After all, this isn’t like when Jimmy Carter boycotted the Olympics in 1980 because A. It was in Moscow, Russia; and B. The Cold War was still a thing. This is done more out of health reasons, where a conclave of people could fall victim to a virus and wipe out – and we don’t want to lose Katie Ledecky. Trust me, she’s a real sweetheart.
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| Katie Ledecy |
So, what can we do to pass the time? You could be like me and have a mother who actually ran the torch during the Los Angeles 1984 Olympics, telling you stories about how she prepared for things. Or, if you’re not lucky enough to know someone who has this decades-long investment, you can consume media. After all, it’s an event broadcasted publicly and there’s a good chance that YouTube videos from any of the biggest moments are out there.
But, if you want to get into the history of it all, I highly recommend going through the world of documentaries and find these older moments that will make you appreciate things more. To me, it’s as much about loving the feeling of watching live as it is watching history for yourself. Not everyone has the capability to have watched Kerri Strug in action. Some of us have to see it later. It doesn’t make their accomplishments any less amazing. It just means that you get to see an achievement of human potential.
A great place to start is the collected works of Bud Greenspan. As a documentarian, he has chronicled many of the ceremonies between 1968 and his death in 2010. Nobody has collected as much information and footage as he has for the 20th century’s collective view of the ceremony. There have been others who have shaped these stories in our collective consciousness, but Greenspan’s work is a literal transportation back to the time and moments that mattered at the time. He’s down there, interviewing athletes in the run-up to their career-defining moments. We’re drawn in because it becomes an underdog story even for the most skilled athletes, and every time he teaches us to care. We’ve seen these events played out millions of times before, but with a deeper context, a simple act of running becomes this deeper, more emotional moment that we long to see break out in triumph.
Greenspan is not obsessed with any one country. To him, he’s more interested in the figure whose story can be created into a riveting journey. He is first and foremost a storyteller, as sympathetic to his subject as he is an audience who wants to see why the Olympics matter at all. That is why he feels essential. This isn’t a story about one athlete, but the whole program writ large. It’s about feeling the significance of preparing your whole life for one special moment. As a selected group of documentaries put it, this is “16 days of glory,” and you can read that in everyone’s smile.
If you want a good starting point, you’d do well to explore the 1994 Lillehammer Olympics in Lillehammer ’94: 16 Days of Glory (1994). Over the course of three hours, Greenspan runs through dozens of stories, presenting athletes who are competing for this deeper respect. We see the opening ceremony which is quite something considering that it takes place in Norway. Not to trivialize the majesty of the ceremony, but it feels like a majestic forest landscape out of Frozen (2013) with sleighs being pulled by reindeer. It’s so wonderful and sets you up for what this ceremony will be like. It’s more than just about who ice skates the best. It’s about feeling the warmth of the world coming together, of seeing the Norwegian culture come to life in their architecture and mascots (oh, the mascots).
But if you really want to get at the heart of what made the Lillehammer Olympics one for the books, it comes with one name in particular. Due to the recent film I, Tonya (2017), her whole career has been reassessed from the white trash misfit into a woman abused by the media. Ladies and gentlemen, how can you forget Tonya Harding? She is the bad girl of figure skating who was known for her flamboyant outfits and, at one point, doing a whole routine to Danny Elfman’s Batman (1989) score. I could do a whole piece on why figure skating is the sport with the greatest taste in music, but that’s counterintuitive to my point.
We know Harding not because she is the first woman to land the triple-axel while in competition. We know her maybe because of her reputation, but more because of her fellow teammate Nancy Kerrigan. Even if you don’t follow the sport, you know Harding and Kerrigan’s name because it was said that Harding put a hit out on Kerrigan. Why? To better Harding’s actual chances. It made sense and explains why the media jumped on it.
There’s even a little saying that will help you remember that it happened here: “Harding hit her with a Lillehammer.”
There have been endless amounts of footage and ink spilled on the subject. The great ESPN series 30 for 30 even has the documentary The Price of Gold (2014) dedicated to exploring this in greater detail. Still, it’s the media circus that distracted from the other events of the ceremony. Much like Lochte’s idiocy two decades later, it’s one of those negative moments when sports transcended their field and became a piece of hot gossip.
Greenspan isn’t here to revolutionize our perception of Team America. He knows to include Harding and Kerrigan in 16 Days of Glory because they were the breakout stars. They had one of the most compelling arcs, but they’re supporting players in somebody else’s big story: Ukraine’s Oksana Baiul.
Here’s the craziest part of things. Because of how the media covered this scandal, we genuinely think that either Kerrigan or Harding won. After all, it’s the perfect comeback story on par with Strug. We want to believe that Kerrigan came back and did this phenomenal routine. Despite injuries, she was able to persevere. That’s… only kind of true. She did get a medal for the ceremony, but she was beaten by Baiul.
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| Oksana Baiul |
Holy cow was the figure skating Olympics of 1994 fierce. You’d think that Kerrigan’s busted leg would be the worst that things got, but it was only the starting point. On the bright side, Baiul had more trustworthy teammates and didn’t have to watch her back. However, there was a moment prior to the competition in which she injured her leg.
You wouldn’t think that Baiul would stand a chance after that. But, with the power of stitches and pain killers, she was there on game day, ready to give her all. To think that gold and silver went to two women barely holding on is amazing. It’s the type of drama that makes you understand why the Olympics are seen as important. Some people train their lives to get to this moment, and they’ll overcome any hurdle just for a shot. That’s what makes Baiul’s story particularly endearing. It’s why the whole Harding hullaballoo tends to bother me. We’re ignoring a greater, more inspiring story.
And that’s what value Greenspan gives us. Not everyone in 16 Days of Glory is working on a busted leg. Some have more conventional economic strife or family tragedy motivating them. We are all people working to be our best selves, and it’s why I’m never bored when a story ends and the next one begins. This is like a collage of short films, where every subject is pleading their case for relevance. Some are more interesting than others, but they’re all important to the bigger picture. Once the flag goes down and the race starts, watching the footage becomes riveting, knowing what sacrifices they made in their lives to get there. I love how Greenspan does it because it gives a more fulfilling context to something that we often take for granted.
There are endless alternatives for those who want to get more specific fixes. Besides Greenspan, there is the iconic Olympia (1938) that looks at the Berlin, Germany ceremony where Jesse Owens famously won the relay race. There are also places like the Olympic Channel, which is currently going through old ceremonies and showing the figure skating competitions. If you love watching top athletes compete, there’s nothing better. I can’t guarantee that it’s on when you’re reading this, but I’m sure that there are a lot of alternatives that you could use to get your Olympics fix. There are even fiction versions of these stories, such as I, Tonya, Cool Runnings (1993) Unbroken (2014), Miracle (2004), Foxcatcher (2014), Munich (2005), and Eddie the Eagle (2015) to name a few.
Though for me, a man who loves the history of the game, I will probably be spending the downtime working my way through old Greenspan documentaries. There will be nothing like discovering a story of an athlete you took for granted and elevating them to the status of someone deserving of your respect. It’s what makes this endearing, and there’s a good chance that it changes how I watch the Tokyo Olympics whenever it returns next year. For those who want to watch Greenspan’s work, there are plenty to choose from on The Criterion Collection (or on YouTube here), which also houses a lot of the best in world cinema. Why not take this quarantine to appreciate the athletes of yesteryear? I know that I will be.
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