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We've been taught a lot about sportsmanship, heartbreak and triumph
By Marjorie Cortez
Deseret News staff writer
A Westerner by birth and at heart, I cherish wide, open spaces. I rather enjoy the idea of driving my car on a rural highway where I don't encounter another car for 20 miles. I like the look of the night sky when it is unobstructed by city lights.
But suddenly, I find myself very much at home in large crowds. Instead of being annoyed at the long waits in security lines or being stuck in traffic in downtown Salt Lake City, I've been charmed by it.
I think it's because I know it's temporary. Mostly, it's because our streets are filled with people from all over the world. Seemingly, an international crowd is a lot more palatable than the run-of-the-mill Utah crowd. Perhaps that's because I don't know what most of our visitors are saying. I just like that they don't say it in English. Little ol' Utah feels so cosmopolitan.
I must say, I'm not looking forward to Monday when things start to return to normal. In Sydney, the Aussies described the days after the Olympics as a collective hangover. That description doesn't quite fit Utah. I expect Utahns, instead, to collapse into an exhausted heap.
It's safe to say we learned a lot about the world of sports these past few weeks. We got a glimpse of some profoundly gracious athletes who won and lost. We saw some not-so-gallant displays from athletes. Stories of heartbreak, triumph and, alas, poor sportsmanship abound.
While I'm bursting with pride over the unprecedented success of the American competitors, my favorite memories these Games will be of international competitors and visitors.
First, the underdog men's hockey team from Belarus. Their team was so depleted from injury that they had only two lines to face powerhouse Sweden in the first round of the medals tournament. When they got so tired they couldn't skate competitively, they would knock the puck to the other end of the ice to give themselves a few seconds to catch their breath before they'd have to defend their goal again. Then, the unthinkable happened. In the waning minutes of the game, a Belarusian Vladimir Kopat flipped a low-percentage shot over Swedish goalie Tommy Salo's head to win the game 4-3. Even though I was sitting in the office at the time, I couldn't help but let out a yelp of joy.
Another of my fabulous memories was the Sweden-Czech Republic men's hockey game I attended with my husband on Feb. 17.
My husband is a longtime hockey fan. I'm a recent convert. We had remarkable seats at center ice, right behind Sweden's bench. What an intense experience. The big ice of international hockey makes for a vastly different game than NHL play. Our vantage point gave us a unique view of the strategy, line changes and raw emotion of the players and coaches.
As fabulous as that was, the element that made the game so memorable were the Czech and Swedish fans. At times, the E-Center was mind-numbingly loud with song and cheers I didn't understand but savored just the same. The Swedes and Czechs beat drums, wore wigs fashioned from pompons, painted their faces, waved flags and paraded signs with the names of their favorite players. While Utahns have in past years exhibited wacky behavior during Jazz playoffs, this was different. This was unadulterated national pride.
But I've also learned during these Games that too much national pride (i.e. not seeing the big picture) can be a problem. When Australia's Steven Bradbury coasted across the finish line in the 1,000-meter short-track speedskating finals, the mostly American crowd in the Delta Center booed loudly.
Into the final turn, the race was Ohno's. But a wild crash sent him and three other skaters crashing into the boards. Somehow, Ohno collected himself enough to stagger over the line to win the silver.
Cue the ugly Americans: "It's not fair," groused a woman sitting nearby. "The only reason that Australian guy was even in the finals was because skaters in his heat were disqualified."
That may be true, but don't Olympic athletes have to qualify for these competitions? Don't you have to be a world-class athlete to even take part?
I would later learn that Bradbury owns a company that manufactures skates. Ohno is a client and a friend. Before the start of the 1,000-meter race, Bradbury had asked Ohno if he'd endorse the skates when he won his medal.
It wasn't Bradbury's fault it turned out the way it did. It was just one of those things. There was no international conspiracy, just a day in the life of short-track speedskating.
No one looked more sheepish on the medals stand than Bradbury. And no one looked happier than Ohno.
The ugly Americans among us could learn a lot from that kid.
Marjorie Cortez is a Deseret News editorial writer. E-mail her at marjorie@desnews.com.
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February 23, 2002
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