Olympic Withdrawal

By Richard Howe

Is anyone else experiencing Olympic withdrawal? It’s the feeling that something is missing in your daily entertainment diet. I am, and the August swoon of the Red Sox and the rebuilding woes of the Patriots aren’t easing the loss.

I’ve only ever been a casual observer of the Olympics, but this year felt a little different. The setting helped. I love Paris although I’ve only been there twice (in 1983 and 2004, which means I must be due for another every-two-decade visit), but I still feel a connection with the place, mostly because of its history but also for its long and ongoing role in world culture. That made the opening ceremony the first highlight for me although because I still have a job, I had to watch most of it on replay.

Even with the torrential rain, the procession of athlete-filled boats cruising along the Seine, the great entertainment pieces that were interwoven, and the inspirational torch relay of white-clad French athletes who, other than former NBA great Tony Parker, were unknown to me, were all terrific to watch. (Although not one to pay much attention to fashion, I did note that the athletes in the relay wore calf high white athletic socks, a former wardrobe staple of mine that I recently purged from the sock draw in favor of the more stylish no-show variety, which proves once again that my sense of style remains behind the times.)

During the torch relay, I noted that one of the athletes involved was identified as “one of the most beloved handball stars in France.” Handball? An Olympic sport? Thirty years ago, I went through a racquetball phase (who else remembers the Courthouse Racquetball Club at Drum Hill in Chelmsford?) and I always assumed that handball was just racquetball played without racquets. But then I watched a match during this Olympics. I’d never seen or heard of this sport before. It was like a combination of basketball and street hockey with no sticks. I didn’t understand the rules beyond you score by throwing the ball in your opponent’s net, but the competition was intense and exciting to watch. Perhaps that’s what made the Olympics so interesting to me. It’s like the lead in to the long ago ABC Wide World of Sports, a 90-minute show that aired each Saturday afternoon for 37 years that always opened with a montage of amazing video clips overlaid with Jim McKay’s melodic voice saying, “Spanning the globe to bring you the constant variety of sport! The thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat!”

Perhaps the greatest and most condensed manifestation of the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat at this Olympics came early in the games at the end of the bronze medal match in women’s sevens rugby. As time wound down, the heavily favored Australian team was methodically moving to pad their lead with insurance points against the underdog Americans. As the Aussies neared the American goal line, the ball came loose and was knocked back to the American side of the gaggle (I would use “scrum” here because that’s an actual thing in rugby and might be incorrect usage here.) One of the blue-clad American players, athletically built although less stout than some of her teammates, scooped up the ball and wheeled to the right. Two yellow and green uniformed Australians immediately grabbed her, but the American lowered her head and began driving her legs like a football player pushing the blocking sled. Suddenly, the American broke free of the two Australians and she was off with the plumpish white ball tucked under her arm and her ponytail flapping behind her. There was no one between her and the opponent’s goal line and she motored along unimpeded. Drama arose when a pursuing super speedy Australian kept closing the gap. Finally, five yards from the goal line, the American took flight and slid on her belly across the line with the ball still firmly under her arm.

The TV producers immediately cut to multiple reaction shots. Everyone on both sides seemed to be crying, although a closer view disclosed distress on the faces of the Australians and disbelief on those of the Americans. Although I still have no clue how scoring works in rugby, that action apparently tied the game and with no time left on the clock, the American casually kicked the ball through the goalposts, which seemed the equivalent of an extra point in an American football game. The American won the match and the bronze medal, the first Olympic medal ever for US women’s rugby. Now, every time that clip pops into my YouTube feed I watch it, and I’ve become a committed fan of women’s rugby.

I already was a lifelong fan of basketball and in recent years experienced a revival of my interest in the NBA. Having the Celtics win the NBA title this year helped, but I also became a big fan of formerly despised opponent turned insightful commentator Charles Barkley, and I also like the way the NBA highlights the personality of the players more so than in other sports. And while there are undoubtedly plenty of Trump-supporting billionaire owners of NBA teams, they keep in the background in contrast to NFL publicity seekers like Jerry Jones and Bob Kraft.

And while I’m a complete fan of the Celtics, I didn’t get wrapped up in the Olympics drama that embraced the team, like when Jaylen Brown wasn’t selected, and when Jayson Tatum was left on the bench through most of the tournament. That was partly because my favorite Celtic, Jrue Holliday, did get plenty of playing time, but also because coach Steve Kerr, who was made out to be the villain by some in the Boston media, coached the team to the gold medal against some stiff competition. As Bill Parcells said, “You are what your record says you are.” Plus, any dormant ill-feelings I had towards Kerr were erased when he spoke at the Democratic National Convention. (I understand why sports and cultural figures avoid politics since, as Michael Jordan once said, “Republicans buy sneakers too” so when one does step up and supports my side, I appreciate the reputational hit they are taking in the broader national culture.)

What can I say about women’s basketball. Months before the Olympics, attention paid to both the WNBA and at the college level, has been elevated like never before. (Too bad their salaries don’t move in tandem.) In Paris, the US women’s team won the gold with a dramatic victory over a tough French team.

Since the last World Cup, I’ve followed soccer more closely, but find it hard to do because to fully appreciate a soccer game you have to watch the entire thing and you have to watch it closely. It’s not like most of the bigger American sports where you can be looking at your phone or a magazine and glance up when the cheering starts. In soccer, it’s minute upon minute of boredom when suddenly something critical happens and it’s over in an instant. I finally realized that’s what makes soccer such a popular sport around the world. But watching it with that understanding means devoting a multi-hour chunk of time in one sitting which is tough for me to do right now.

I did catch several matches played by the American women’s soccer team and liked the vibe they exuded, particularly their three big scorers, Sophia Smith, Mallory Swanson, and Trinity Rodman, three names I’d never heard before. I take that back, I’ve heard the name Rodman before in the guise of an NBA player, Dennis, who was a fearsome defender and rebounder who played for the hated Detroit Pistons and later the Chicago Bulls and more recently has been in the news as a pal of Kim Jong Un, the supreme leader of North Korea. To quote Tim Walz in another context, Dennis Rodman “was just weird.” Imagine my surprise at learning that Trinity is the daughter of Dennis, further evidence that unlike diabetes, the gene for athletic excellence does not skip a generation. Anyway, I was delighted when the American women won the gold medal in soccer.

I was always on the lookout for Massachusetts connections and was thrilled to learn that gold medal sprinter Gabby Thomas was from Northampton and bronze medal gymnast (and Clark Kent look alike) Stephen Nedoroscik was from Worcester. (Shout out to Central Mass!)

But I’m not a complete nationalist when it comes to sport. I enjoyed Mondo Duplantis, the Swedish pole vaulter; the Cuban men’s beach volleyball duo who made their American opponents seem like JV talent; the Irish two-man rowing team that won a gold medal, and many others.

I’m already looking forward to the 2028 summer games in LA and still miss the Wide World of Sports.