Bryan W. Alaspa 1The Olympics
October 2nd 2009 13:43
One of my earliest memories is watching the Olympics with my dad and the rest of my family. When I look back on it, it must have been the 1976 Olympics in Montreal. I was born in 1971 and, thankfully, would have been too young to really watch the 1972 Munich Olympics where the terrorists took over part of the Olympic Athletes Village and ended up murdering all of those Israeli athletes. I don’t remember much about 1976 but I must have gotten into the games because when they ended, I cried. I didn’t want them to end.
The Olympics, both summer and winter, have always been big in my family. Years ago, during the 90s, when NBC created something called the Olympic Triplecast my dad was right there on the phone to sign up for it. He wanted to be able to watch the Olympics 24 hours a day if he could. He still tries to watch as much of it as possible.
The first games I remember really getting into was the 1984 games. The games after 1976 got muddled in politics as America boycotted at least one summer Olympics and those were the ones in Moscow in 1980. Back then, the winter and summer Olympics would be held in the same year. Somewhere along the line they got split up so that we end up with an Olympic games of one sort or the other every two years.
I was watching with my folks and family when Torville and Dean did their amazing ice dancing to the tune “Bolero.” I also remember when Brian Boitano blew the roof off the joint. Before him there was Scott Hamilton, finally able to cut loose in the exhibition segment once the games had officially ended doing his signature back-flip.
I was there when Mary Lou Retton did her amazing feat and won the gold. I had a huge crush on her at the time, actually. I also remember when the first Dream Team came to the Olympics and the site of Michael Jordan wrapped in the American flag. I was screaming at the television when Michael Phelps did his amazing feat just about a year ago.
All along, there is my family, rooting and screaming along with me. We were always a diverse family. We were always into different things. I was a Sox fan and my dad and the rest of my family were Cubs fans. My mom and dad and myself always followed the Bears, but my brother could care less. For some reason, we always tended to come together when the Olympics were on. Even my brother would be there, even if he was just never quite as into it as I was.
I would get all teary-eyed and weepy when the American anthem would play. I would cheer for sports I never cared about except during the Olympics. Every four years is the only time I ever actively root for water polo, for example. I remember Michael Johnson running in golden shoes so fast it looked like his feet never touched the ground, as if he was running on air.
So, for me, the possibility of having the Olympics in Chicago is a great thing. My dad and I would both love to see the Olympics some day. We won’t be able to make it to Rio. Hell, who am I kidding, we’ll never have the chance or be able to get to some other city anywhere to actually see the games. If they come to town, though? Maybe. That would be pretty exciting and I don’t care what you say about it.
For me the Olympics is special. It always will be.
The Olympics, both summer and winter, have always been big in my family. Years ago, during the 90s, when NBC created something called the Olympic Triplecast my dad was right there on the phone to sign up for it. He wanted to be able to watch the Olympics 24 hours a day if he could. He still tries to watch as much of it as possible.
The first games I remember really getting into was the 1984 games. The games after 1976 got muddled in politics as America boycotted at least one summer Olympics and those were the ones in Moscow in 1980. Back then, the winter and summer Olympics would be held in the same year. Somewhere along the line they got split up so that we end up with an Olympic games of one sort or the other every two years.
I was watching with my folks and family when Torville and Dean did their amazing ice dancing to the tune “Bolero.” I also remember when Brian Boitano blew the roof off the joint. Before him there was Scott Hamilton, finally able to cut loose in the exhibition segment once the games had officially ended doing his signature back-flip.
I was there when Mary Lou Retton did her amazing feat and won the gold. I had a huge crush on her at the time, actually. I also remember when the first Dream Team came to the Olympics and the site of Michael Jordan wrapped in the American flag. I was screaming at the television when Michael Phelps did his amazing feat just about a year ago.
All along, there is my family, rooting and screaming along with me. We were always a diverse family. We were always into different things. I was a Sox fan and my dad and the rest of my family were Cubs fans. My mom and dad and myself always followed the Bears, but my brother could care less. For some reason, we always tended to come together when the Olympics were on. Even my brother would be there, even if he was just never quite as into it as I was.
I would get all teary-eyed and weepy when the American anthem would play. I would cheer for sports I never cared about except during the Olympics. Every four years is the only time I ever actively root for water polo, for example. I remember Michael Johnson running in golden shoes so fast it looked like his feet never touched the ground, as if he was running on air.
So, for me, the possibility of having the Olympics in Chicago is a great thing. My dad and I would both love to see the Olympics some day. We won’t be able to make it to Rio. Hell, who am I kidding, we’ll never have the chance or be able to get to some other city anywhere to actually see the games. If they come to town, though? Maybe. That would be pretty exciting and I don’t care what you say about it.
For me the Olympics is special. It always will be.
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