The Olympics is a showcase of the world's best athletes in action, and these Beijing Games have certainly not disappointed in individual and team achievements. By far, the most captivating headline of these games is Michael Phelps' pursuit of an unprecedented eight gold medals. As of today (8/15/08), he is seven for seven, the last gold coming in a thriller of a finish, out-touching Milorad Cavic by a hundredth of a second. With that victory, he tied Mark Spitz's Olympic record by capturing seven gold medals in a single Olympics, and Phelps has a chance to break that record when he races in the 4x100m medley relay.
As I've been admiring this man's athleticism and pursuit of glory, I've encountered many people who are vehemently wishing that Phelps does not break the record. I understand that Michael Phelps' character is lacking by account of eyewitnesses. I understand that he is rather proud. I understand all the knock on his personality. But these are the Olympics, and what Michael Phelps is doing is ridiculous. The guy has thirteen gold medals in two Olympics for crying out loud. He's breaking records as if it were his job. And with one more win, he'll set one more, one that seems almost improbable to break (although that's what was said of Mark Spitz's performance in the Munich Games).
I think it's time for people to get off their moral high horse and appreciate greatness when it is seen. This is a once-in-a-lifetime type of event, and it is sorry that many people are ruining the moment by wishing ill will towards a true great Olympian. Again, this is not to condone his lack of character or his immense pride issue. But the dude is good at what he does, and at the end of the day, he deserves the success he's getting after all the hard work and training he's put in all these years. I hope he gets that record; I hope to be able to say that I saw him set that record in my lifetime.
Update 8/16/08
He did it. The dude is amazing. I don't care what all the haters say about Michael Phelps. He is amazing. It was pretty disgusting to watch him tear up the last 50m on his leg of the medley. He is a freak of nature. And he deserves the glory of winning an unprecedented 8 golds. Congratulations to Phelps.
The highly anticipated Beijing Olympics are underway. Michael Phelps' pursuit of eight golds dominate the storylines, as well as the pageantry of the opening ceremonies. There are rags-to-riches stories as well as athletes exceeding expectations. The Olympics have the special ability to bring together the world in competition, even in the midst of war and conflict. It's amazing to see how countries of all sizes rally around their athletes as they compete for a medal.
That's been the case for Koreans. Park Tae Hwan became the first Korean to medal in a swimming event in the Olympics when he won gold in the 400m freestyle. Immediately, every Korean beamed with pride as the eighteen-year-old rose to the podium to receive his gold. The small country came upon a new hero right from the start, stirring up even more nationalism.
As a Korean-American, I'm torn as to which athletes to root for. On one hand, I feel an affinity towards South Korea, the place of my birth. On the other, I've been raised most of my life in the United States. Perhaps this is the heart issue for most, if not all, immigrants to America. Does one stay loyal to his/her country of origin/heritage? Or embrace the country to which they have come to live in?
When I watch the Olympics these days, I've learned to embrace both aspects of my culture, as a Korean and as an American. I cheer on the Korean archers as they dominate the bow and arrow; I cheer on the American basketball team as they trounce helpless teams. But if ever the two countries would go head to head, I believe I would have to rally behind the Koreans. Perhaps it's because Korea is the Davids among the Goliaths; perhaps it's because my parents have succeeded in indoctrinating Korean pride. I don't know what it is, but Korea is where my heart is when it comes to international sports competition.
Since the Winter Retreat, I've been thinking about this a lot.
* * *
1992. Barcelona, Spain. 400-meters.
Derek Redmond's track-and-field career had come down to this one race that he had been training for his entire life. After shattering the British record for the 400m, his career took a downturn, marred with serious injuries and knocking him out of the 1988 Seoul Olympics and other international competitions. But he was healthy again for his last shot at Olympic glory.
He coasted through his first few heats. And then tragedy struck again. With about half the race to go, he hears a pop and comes up limping in pain. He hobbles for a few more yards and then crumples to the turf. And his dreams of medaling are shot again.
Jim Redmond has traveled with his son to Barcelona. He sits in the stands, nervously watching his son race. Then he sees his son pull up, an all-too-familiar scene. He rushes down the stadium aisles, running towards his injured son. Security guards chase after him, trying to stop him. But Jim won't be stopped.
The medical stretcher arrives. Derek brushes them aside, determined to finish the race. He gets up and begins to limp on one leg towards the finish line. He was going to finish.
Jim runs on to the track and grabs Derek. "I'm here, son," he says to Derek. "We'll finish together." In front of tens of thousands of live spectators and millions more around the world, father and son walked the rest of the hundred-some meters to the finish line.
"I'm the proudest father alive," Jim tells the media afterwards. "I'm prouder of him than I would have been if he had won the gold medal. It took a lot of guts for him to do what he did."
* * *
I can't say I have or have had the most perfect relationship with my dad. I still carry deep-rooted emotional, psychological, and even physical scars from my youth. And there was a time I hated him and thought I would be better off without him. I couldn't understand how God was good.
But God is in the business of restoration and redeeming mankind. I am living proof. Today, I thank my God everyday for my father. God has healed a lot of the wounds. He has turned my dad's life around. And through the evolving relationship with my earthly father, I see a glimpse of the Heavenly Father's love for His sons and daughters.
A father's love knows no bounds.
* * *
but while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
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