Humanity Goals: The Olympics

Growing up, I was not a fan of sports. In school there were a great many things I was not good at: chess and woodwork spring to mind, but I didn’t hate those subjects. Sports, however, I detested.

I don’t think it was simply the fact that I was bad at sports. Being the literal proverbial ‘last picked’ for the sports team is unfortunate, but I was never bullied or made to feel bad about this by others. But I hated being let down by my body and not being able to succeed in the way I wanted due to something out of my control.

As I did not enjoy playing sports, this extended into loathing sports TV. I did not see the point of it. As the great sporting events (Wimbledon, the football cups etc) usually coincided with the summer holidays, I would resent the few channels of terrestrial TV being taken over by unappealling sports broadcasting. Why were the filler Westerns of daytime TV being shunted over in favour of 5 days of test match cricket, I would ask myself?

But the Olympics was different.

Every four years our household would tune in on Opening night to see the latest spectacle and reach pinnacle excitement when the small band of Sri Lankan athletes would appear in the line-up. We would wait hours for the fleeting twenty second spotlight, yelling to whoever happened to be on an unfortunately timed loo-break, ‘you’re missing it!.’

And then for two weeks we would intermittently tune in, fair weather friends who would prioritise the classics events: the swimming, the gymnastics and of course, the athletics. The more I watched, the more I wanted to watch and the more point I saw to it.

A few decades later and it’s Olympics time again. A lot has changed in the intervening years, not least the fact that I see increasing meaning to sports and value exercise in my own life. During this time I have run a half-marathon, become a Zumba aficionado and had my life changed by attending a Millwall game. But there is something special about the Olympics that reminds me of that excitement from my childhood.

A few nights ago, I cycled down to the Royal Naval College with husband and toddler in tow and parked up in front of the public viewing screens. It was a balmy night and with an Aperol Spritz in hand, I sat down to see the Parisian take on an Olympic opening ceremony. Despite the rain lashing the other side of the Channel, it was still completely magical.

What impresses me is that every Olympic host tries to put on an amazing ceremony in their own style. Be it Beijing’s mind-boggling coordinated dances or London’s ‘Best of British’ showcase, every event has its own take and its own impact. And when it came to Paris’ city-wide extravaganza, I felt like a child at the circus, marvelling at the varied spectacle performed against the most incredible backdrops.

And amidst the opera singers, the acrobats and parkour, boat after boat of athletes sailed down the Seine (a Parisian take on the usual march into the stadium). How simple and yet how lovely to see the nations of the world, represented by beaming faces, all with an equal opportunity and value in the competition. For me, this was humanity at its best, everyone showing up and taking part in good spirit, like an exaggerated school sports day.

It seems hard to imagine that in a world as conflicted as ours is today, humanity has a chance at peace and stability. But then I think about the Olympics opening ceremony, about the parade of hopeful faces, all mingling in the same vicinity before the mother of all parties, and I think maybe we’re not too far off.

My own little bit of humanity watching the opening ceremony outside the naval college