Olympia

It's that time of once-every-four-years again!  Olympics time!  Compared to the way we celebrated the month leading up to the Euro Cup in May, the Olympics is a pretty big let down here in Germany. In May, there were people thronging the streets in the jerseys as the rival European nations battled it out on the soccer field.  In the last two weeks, I haven't seen so much as a red, gold and black sweatshirt.

Maybe that's because Germany hasn't lived up to its potential this Olympic Games.  There has been no bigger let down for the Germans, according to the smug ex-handball stars that pass for television commentators in this day and age, than the national swim team.  Apparently Germans consider themselves to be very good at swimming.  I'm afraid that the rest of us would have to admit we've been more struck by the Phelpses and Lochtes of this world than the Biedermanns and Steffens, but for Germany, the hopes of a nation rested on this year's swim team.  And on the fencing team.  And on the judo team.  And don't forget the noble sport of ping pong.

But only the swim team failed to deliver.  Now, for a country like Canada, a less than stellar showing would be cause for a few halfhearted smiles and a long talk about the power of the Olympic spirit.  German sports commentators take a very different approach.  No montages of Olympic disappointments or downed athletes being comforted by their teammates for this television station, only could hard truth.  Nobody bore the brunt of this more than the swim team.  As the days went by without medals, and without even qualifying to be in the finals, the comments turned uglier and uglier.  Why is she smiling? they asked as an Olympic hopeful put on a brave face after failing to beat the best.  He should not be content just to sit by and watch! That I cannot understand! they blustered after another young German star, dripping wet and out of breath from sprinting underwater alongside the world's best Olympian ever, dejectedly claimed he was looking forward to cheering on his teammates in the next round - a round in which he would not be swimming.

Each day the German team poolside looked sadder and sadder.  Finally there was no more cheering, no more waving, no more smiling at the camera.  The faces of losers, intoned the commentator, showing a snap of a demoralized swimming team  checking their Facebook from their phones poolside, what went wrong? When the German swim coach came on with his tail between his legs and claimed that the swimmers were not conditioning hard enough and that they had gained bad habits early in their careers that no amount of training could break, it was all I could do to keep the television on.  Thank goodness I persevered, because I would have hated to miss seeing Michael Phelps breeze to gold for the umpteenth time.

But it's time to lighten up and think about what it means to be an Olympian.  These are the best of the best.  Each Olympic sport should have an extra lane for a normal fit person competitor, maybe a gym bunny or that friend of yours who has way too many photos of himself in a tank top, to run or swim or jump through hurdles in the middle of puddles alongside the Olympic athletes.  As he or she thrashed and stumbled along a half hour behind the athletes, those watching would realize once and for all how amazingly honed the skills of Olympians are.  I would like to volunteer the German sports commentators as the first normal fit people to hit the locker rooms and kickstart this new program, handball heroes or otherwise.

Eurovision

    Normally, in Canada, Eurovision just passes me by.  Or rather, the Eurovision of today goes largely unnoticed.  Thanks to Mark's Youtube habit, the winners of Eurovision past occasionally make an appearance in my apartment, which means I could be awakened any given morning by Abba or France Gall or this classic piece of ESL nonsense from Dutch winners Teach In.  For those of you unfamiliar with the Eurovision, it's a song contest kind of like American Idol, except instead of changing it up each week with themes like an Ashley Simpson retrospective or Songs Hillbillies Like, the contestants, who represent the creme de la creme of their European home country, sing the same song week after week for different judges and audiences.  After a series of regional, national, half, semi- and top ten finals, the winner is crowned and the song is exported to America in hopes that it will actually become a hit.
    This year, in Stuttgart, I could probably have skipped the whole Eurovision experience, if I had stopped reading magazines, listening to the radio, going grocery shopping, or watching Germany's version of ET! every day at 17:15.  (okay, I probably could do without the last one).  But, in my local grocery store, there was a large sign warning me that if I did not have enough delectable snacks, my Eurovision party would be a failure.  And this year, the stakes are high in Germany.  Number one: Germany is hosting at least part of the final series of finales in Dusseldorf.  Number two: the reigning Eurovision queen is a German by the name of Lena.  So, watching Eurovision is kind of like a national duty.
   So, in the name of cultural immersion, I watched the half finals on Tuesday.  I sat through 20 musical performances from European countries, quasi-European countries like Turkey, quasi-countries like the city-state of San Marino, and decidedly non-European states like Azerbaijan and Armenia.  How most of them ended up winning the chance to compete beyond their local pub karaoke night is beyond me.  I guess San Marino has an excuse - per capita, how much talent can they really have? (answer: not much).
But, the off-key Mariah Carey yodels, the 2000-era rap-rock, the English lyrics hot off Google Translator - it reminded me more of a high school talent show than an international competition.
   That being said, one group really got it.  The Portuguese entry, La Luta e Alegria, was performed by 6 men and women dressed up as the communist revolutionary version of the Village People, marching on the spot, waving signs in the air, and singing very emphatically about something in Portuguese.  Yes, it was more school play (or Godard movie) than future club hit (here's looking at you Ell & Nikki from Azerbaijan), but at least they didn't try to be Lady Gaga in a cheap wig.  And, even though it probably doesn't have much crossover appeal because it's in Portuguese and sounds like a children's song, at least I didn't have to waste my time trying to figure out what they thought they were saying in English.
Image credit: vorwaerts.de