Greed, vanity render some athletes unworthy of hallowed flag
02/09/2002
SALT LAKE CITY – Over the last few days, much distress and
consternation arose over whether a torn and tattered U.S. flag should be
allowed to flap in the bitter breeze at Rice-Eccles Olympic Stadium. A
compromise eventually was struck, tempers cooled and the flag won its
rightful place.
But in the hours leading up to Friday's opening ceremonies, as ego and vanity and greed became the focal point again, a thought nagged at you:
Do these Olympic Games rate the symbolic heroism this particular piece of Old Glory represents?
The people we once called heroes make you wonder sometimes.
Even as the Olympic torch was wending its way across the country, Utah's Karl Malone told us he wasn't interested in any part of the relay except the home stretch, which Olympic officials said was a moot point because he wasn't in the plans, anyway.
Then Eric Heiden, perhaps the greatest of all U.S. Winter Olympians, winner of five gold medals, showed us his true mettle. Now 43, team doctor for U.S. speedskaters and a man of considerable accomplishment, he seems to have everything he could want.
Except one thing, apparently. Asked if would like the honor of being one of the last into the stadium with the torch, Heiden said he wanted to be the last one.
Told it wasn't a possibility, Heiden informed Olympic officials, "Well, then I have other things to do."
Like Malone, Picabo Street didn't wait to be asked. Street, carving one last memory out of the slopes in her third and final Olympics, let it be known that she wanted to be the official flag bearer for the U.S. team or at the very least carry the Ground Zero flag into the stadium.
Actually, Street did a little more than drop a hint. She campaigned. She commandeered microphones, shook hands, kissed babies, all but promised to smooth all those nasty bumps out of the moguls.
"Obviously, if my fellow Olympians see me as the most worthy candidate to carry our team flag, then that will be the largest honor I've ever had in my life," she had said Thursday at a news conference. "And if they don't see me worthy of that I believe I'll be honored with being part of the honor guard that carries in the 9-11 flag as well, so I'm lucky on that one."
Street's brazen wishes symbolized an Olympics christened by some as the "Molympics" because of Utah's Mormon population. But it might as well represent the more, more, more atmosphere the Games have come to mean: hotel rooms going for three times the normal rate, a six-buck beer and organizers disappointed to find $800 tickets to the opening ceremonies going for less than half price.
In all its excess, the glory and the gluttony, the Olympics are still a rousing spectacle. But sometimes it takes something small to remind us of what they mean.
L. Jay Silvester was no Eric Heiden. Never won a gold medal. But he made four Olympic teams in the discus, winning a bronze in '76 and a silver in Munich, making his home state of Utah proud.
Still, he didn't learn until Wednesday that officials wanted him to run a relay segment in Salt Lake County.
Silvester didn't complain about the late notice. He didn't say he had other plans or try to muscle someone.
And Thursday morning, when officials told him they had another idea, that they wanted him to run through the Capitol with the torch, through the rotunda and down the steps, he didn't say go get someone else.
"When I received word they had a spot for me," he told reporters, "I felt very much at peace."
Above all else, you want them to feel humbled. For good or bad, these Games have come to represent something more than a sporting event involving 77 countries.
"Your nation is overcoming a horrific tragedy," Jacques Rogge, the new IOC president, told the crowd and a world audience during Friday's ceremony. "We stand united with you."
His words drowned in cheers. You hope these athletes understand that sentiment, what it means, what it portends for the next two weeks and beyond. Amid all the pomp and ceremony Friday, a tattered flag still reminds us.
Kevin Sherrington is a columnist for The Dallas Morning News.