What I learned during the Winter Olympics

The Beijing Winter Olympics and all their awesome flippy-spinny s*** are over. Two weeks of incredible skills, guts and glory. These guys are amazing. They really know how to put on a show. But, of course, I mean the athletes, not the suckers organising, sponsoring, profiting, or simply meddling for notoriety. Here, most of these are sports disciplines where you need to put your health on the firing line – curling aside, that is. If only these athletes were compensated financially according to the risks associated with their practice… *sigh.

With the summer and winter games so close together this time, somehow, I got used to my daily doses of inspiration. Now I will struggle to find that motivation until the next ones arrive. And no, I am not advocating for having the Olympics every other year. In my humble opinion, that would drastically reduce their value. Plus, these guys deserve a gap year to recover before starting a new Olympic cycle. So, I guess I will have to find other sources of inspiration before the footie galore makes me retch even the last flake I ingested with my first ever bowl of porridge.

Grateful I am. I learned sooooo much during the last couple of weeks. So good to have the legends of the past introducing us to some of those yet unfamiliar sports, alongside the life-long, all-knowing commentators. For instance, I learned that ‘once you go out there and do what you are supposed to do, you’re in a good position.’ Even in curling. What a great piece of advice! And there was me trying to deliver my stones using a snooker cue. Now I totally get it! I also always wondered why my team never managed to win a footie game with a 1-1-8 formation… Damn!

But not everything was about sports, nope. I also had the opportunity to learn about Sociology and the intricacies of dual national identities. For instance, if you are a Scot representing Team GB and do rubbish, you are most certainly referred to as the Scottish guy. But if you happen to win a medal, oh man, God Save the Queen and the almighty British Empire. Tri-colour confetti, some BoJo mumbling and all. I also noticed that if you are born anywhere other than the country you are currently representing, the commentators will kindly remind us, every other second, where in the world your mom went through the pains of bringing you to this party. However, if you are lucky enough to represent Team GB, be aware that Somalia, Samoa, Jamaica, South Africa or even Australia may all well be classified, somehow, as London boroughs. For the record.

I also found out that mental wellbeing concerns are relative. Shouting into the four winds, on a daily basis for ten days, that a 15-year-old girl should be stripped of a medal and sent home packing with a big fat sign of ‘shame on you, you cheating dirty Russian’… is OK. However, reminding her, in the heat of the battle while still keeping a hand around her shoulder, that you should never ever give up… is an outrageous act of human hostility and total disregard for the athlete’s wellbeing. Lucky me. I do not know what my life would be like without the wisdom imparted by these pundits when it comes to mental wellbeing.

I learned about Linguistics too, and how fast Norwegians must speak. Or at least, how much info you can convey in just a couple of words in their language. Man! One of their incredible skiers went by in a flash while being caught by the French in third. Yet, according to the commentator’s speculation, his coach might have just told him: ‘Now it is the time to take a moment. The Russian is well ahead, and the gold is now gone. What you should do now is regather your reserves, sit behind the French skier for a while and make your move when you approach the final climb….’ Wow. Hat off to the Norwegian language, or at least to their vocalisation genes. That, or who knows? Maybe the Norwegians are now so successful by having digital implants to process a s***-load of info in real-time via wireless technology. In any case, a very well-deserved congratulations to them for their success. Bra gjort.

I also noticed that there are different ways to approach your giant slalom skiing. I do not know if it also applies to the traditional slalom or even the Super G. But there seems to be an ‘intelligent giant slalom skiing‘, as opposed, I guess, to dumb GS skiing. I need to expand my research into this. For the time being, I can only assume that the latter has to do with going out there on a single ski – heron style- or dragging an ice-cream van, or with your willy dangling side to side while hitting pole after pole… Otherwise, I didn’t get it, I am afraid. Paradoxically, the intelligent giant slalom skier only finished tenth. So, go figure. I promise to keep you posted.

And what a pleasure was to finish the two weeks of awesomeness with Mr Whatever’s closing speech. What a source of wisdom, inspiration and integrity. I want to thank him for reminding me that political stances have no place in the Olympic movement. I guess that is why the hosting of this edition was awarded to a city with as much snow as Rango’s town of Dirt. But, hey, an unparalleled winter sports tradition. They certainly serve your soda with ice cubes there! Fact. Or for reminding me that in the Olympic movement, we are all equal. I have no doubt that the athletes representing those nations at the bottom of the medal table will go back to their state-of-the-art facilities to prepare for the following games in absolutely identical conditions as the athletes from Norway, Germany, the USA, GB and the likes. I hear blank cheques are raining down all over the world at this very moment for those who, rather than funding their training themselves, would prefer to have some sort of stable financial support. Go figure. Why would you when you can do it the hard way? Oh, wait. There is always the chance to move to one of those countries at the top to compete for them… so long you are not bothered by the UK pundit having a dig at you if you happen to choose anywhere else to go!

P.S. Shout-out, Ozzy Man!