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Ah, the Olympic dream What's an athlete without a sad tale of redemption?Posted: Wednesday February 13, 2002 2:44 PM
The trouble always starts on these NBC nightly broadcasts of the Winter Olympics when the producers put us in the wayback machine. Some music starts playing -- John Williams unleashing some symphonic flourishes, Lee Greenwood serenading the virtues of apple pie, some big voice hitting the big notes -- and an inspirational story is unraveled before our very eyes. Name an American Winter Olympics name, from Picabo Street to Todd Eldredge to any one of the new-sport, hotdog daredevils, and there is a tale of high points, low points and (ta-da!) the all-important search for redemption. There always are pictures of great natural beauty, many involving mountains and tall pine trees, and there always is an earnest narrator and there always are some tears from the interviewed subject and there always is (ta-da!) great resolve in the final frame. It goes something like this: Timmy always had an Olympic dream, growing up in the Great Frozen Heartland. While he peddled his bike, delivering newspapers every morning, accompanied by his pet dog, Rusty, he visualized the moment when he would win Olympic gold. Rusty always encouraged him. Then one frozen day, as Timmy dropped off a copy of the Times-Herald at Mrs. Peterson's house, Rusty wandered onto the road, just as an 18-wheeler from the feed store came hurtling down the hill. Now Timmy skis, skates, puts his fat butt on a sled and tries to fill out the dream. For himself and for Rusty, too. All I can say -- indeed, all any of us can say -- is "Go get 'em, Timmy." And pass the Maalox. Leigh Montville's commentaries appear regularly on CNN/Sports Illustrated. The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer.
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