I
wrote this column after the 2002 Winter Games. Since that time,
Dancing with the Stars and other worthless programming has proven me
to be a prophet.
I wasn't hoping to make prophesy so much as profitcy. Oh well…
Hey,
I managed to get through another even numbered year without viewing
the spectacular tedium that is, opening and closing ceremonies.
Don’t
get me wrong, I like the Olympics. Where else am I going to get my
fix of water polo? The spectacle of finely tuned athletes playing
beach ball keep away without a parent shouting, “Don’t play like
that, you’re making waves!” satisfies something basic and
juvenile in my soul.
I
also enjoy the guys zipping around as fast as they can on
cross-country skis with automatic weapons strapped to their backs.
This may be an everyday event in Bosnia but it’s a novelty for me.
Oh,
and the skeletons, named after the remains of the first dozen idiots
who tried it. With these sleds getting constantly smaller will we
eventually have people sliding faster than my Yugo ever dreamed of
going on two sharpened credit cards held in Vaseline coated
isotoners?
Of
course the star attraction of the winter games is the ice-skating and
this is where I get confused. Like most guys, I watch and enjoy the
women’s program (no straight men watch the guys). We find the
lady’s costumes, er, culturally stimulating and when we turn the
down the commentary and crank up the Led Zeppelin, it’s pretty
cool.
Then
comes the judging. For me, the judging is an opportunity to check
the refrigerator and see if it truly is as devoid of beer and cheese
whiz as it appeared to be half an hour ago. There’s no point in
actually watching it. You’re just going to hear Scott Hamilton or
Peggy Fleming complain about how low the scores were and that the
judge from Crackinthewallia has been paid off and should be shot.
Instead of listening to them agonize, I walk over to the CD player
and program it to skip Stairway to Heaven.
Somebody
should tell these people that figure skating is not a sport. The
artists who figure skate are very athletic but they aren't doing a
sport.
What
amazes me is how angry some people get when I say that. Mikhail
Baryshnikov was one of the most athletic people of the 70s but he wasn't a sportsman. Should dance be entered as an event on the
2004 summer games? Will the true fans of the art form appreciate it
more because this year the Alvin Alley School hopes to knock off the
Bolshoi in the medal round?
I
understand the desire to be considered the best in your field but
should every aspiring artist now become a competitor?
“Mr.
Pollock, we’re giving you high points for originality but you
really crapped out on technical merit. Perhaps you should re-read
the IOC booklet on brushstroke compulsories.”
“Thank
you parents for attending our third grade production of “The Pink
Siamese.” Please refrain from videotaping as it may interfere with
the judging.”
“It’s
a good story Mr. Steinbeck, but I think it’ll impress the judges
more if you make the ending a little more - upbeat.”
“Man,
I was hoping to get into Julliard, but I got low marks in the trials
because my French horn clashed with my sequins.”
“I
can’t hear you, I have souffle in my ear. I made the mistake of
giving Julia Childs a 4.3.”
“And
as the Temple of Faith choir gently sings, “Just as I am,” give
Jesus a 6.0 by asking him to take the gold medal podium in your
heart.”
“There’s
great excitement here in London as George Harrison will be
challenging Jimi Hendricks’ 30 year stranglehold in the guitar
riffs by dead peoples competition.”
Art
is by its very nature, innovative. Each generation must build upon
and revolutionize the best of what came before. Are we willing to
sacrifice a Degas, a Dali or even a Mapplethorpe just because some
international board decides to make Michelangelo the standard?
There’s
beauty in the unpopular. Rarely does truth lie in the will of the
masses.
I
look at figure skating now and I see a lovely diversion, sweet,
sometimes over-sweet. Could it be that the muckety mucks of
international competitions have strangled a true art form? Might
there have been a Balanchine on blades - past by - for the hope of gold and national glory?
Maybe
someday, a brave soul will pause in the midst of her triple lutzes
and double toe loops, take a breath, see beyond the rink, feel the
ice beneath her feet and bring us something truly wonderful.
Maybe
even take a page from the guys playing water polo, ignoring those
well meaning parents, making those waves.
My nephew - Horrid Hauser, assures me that the actors in this vid are training for the 2016 Summer Games.
No comments:
Post a Comment