Not to fly in the face of overwhelming
public sentiment, but I’ve always felt the ratings-behemoth that is
figure skating is a lower-tier Olympic sport. (Now hear me out…)
It’s just that the Olympic ideal is always more purely expressed by
objective measurement. (Of course, that itself is a subjective
statement, but continue to hear me out…) The concept of worldwide
games where the greatest athletes compete to determine who is the
absolute best at a particular skill is best determined by empirical
evidence. Add subjective evaluation from judges based on aesthetic
concerns and it introduces not only the muddying element of personal
judgement, but also opens the door to the decidedly anti-Olympic
politics and partisanship that remains the event’s least-laudable
trait. Going into the third night of competition, three of the four
spotlighted events rely, to greater or lesser degree, on that pesky
subjectivity, but only one truly rankles the Olympics curmudgeon in
me.
Much has been made of the new team
figure skating event (the first new figure skating event introduced
since ice dancing in 1976), and there’s no question that it’s a
no-brainer triumph—for NBC, anyway. Figure skating is the Winter
Olympics’ moneymaker, and adding another, overarching competition
to the schedule is guaranteed ratings gold. My main objection to this
omnibus new event is that it takes the concept of objective
individual competition even further into the realm of subjectivity by
infusing already-theatrical figure skating with the heightened (read:
“manufactured”) drama of reality TV. As part of the competition,
nations’ teams are able to sub-in skaters midway through the
contest—swerve! And they’re forced to decide whether its in
their best interests to hold out their strongest individual event
contenders from the team events so as not to tire them
out—gamesmanship! Plus, the team concept means lots more juicy
reaction shots, personal stories, and potential in-team
tension—drama! It’s a brilliant move for the sport of figure
skating, and for NBC—but I’m not sure it belongs in the Olympics.
Looking at the gaudily costumed Russian team—who took gold in a
runaway—leaping in the air and celebrating, I anticipate the team
figure-skating musical Glee episode any time now. (Have they
used “Livin’ On A Prayer” yet?)
As for the event itself, the coverage
was spread out in ratings-tantalizing nuggets throughout the
broadcast, but mostly at the very beginning and the very end, which
NBC no doubt would hope to offset the fact that everyone knew ahead
of time that the Americans weren’t going to win, as Russia went
into the final night with an insurmountable lead (plus, you know—the Internet). When, at the very beginning of the broadcast, analyst Tracy
Wilson announced “that the podium is pretty much secure,” I could
practically hear NBC execs shouting “Get her off the air!”
And
lest I be accused of being a skater-hater, the performances
themselves were customarily virtuosic—the Russians really are
excellent. Honestly, the level of athleticism and grace is so high
that every time someone falls it’s legitimately jarring to see,
like watching a bird suddenly forget how to fly in midair.
Commentators Tom Hammond, Sandra Bezic, and Scott Hamilton didn’t
say much during the actual performances, which was fine—the
technical terms for the moves aren’t intrinsically interesting, and
their silence in the face of the best performances was more in tune
with my awe at what the skaters were able to do. (See, I like
skating—I’m just not sold on its primacy as the number-one
event.) Special shout out to 15-year-old Russian phenom Julia
Lipnitskaia’s performance which, thanks to the insurmountable lead,
was more of a valedictory exercise. But she was still remarkably
assured and, when she scooped up a tossed “Russia” baseball cap
off the ice and smilingly skated off with it on her head,
refreshingly young and enthusiastic. Even NBC’s approach to the
American team wasn’t egregiously partisan (a blessed restraint
exhibited all night), with premiere skaters Gracie Gold, Charlie
White, and Meryl Davis getting the obligatory puff pieces, but not
the full “USA! USA!” treatment. Perhaps because, even to the
real-time announcers, they had no chance of a gold going in to the
final night.
For the non-skating sports, the men’s
“normal hill” ski jumping was similarly deflated at the outset by
the announcement that no Americans were in medal contention. (“Oh,
shut the hell up!”—NBC execs.) Always an impressive spectacle,
the parade of jumpers was also undercut by some particularly
unenlightening commentary from former jumper Jeff Hastings, who
offered about the same level of insight as I would. “He’s very
forward—but is he too forward?” “He’s gonna be wishing he had
that one to do over again.” Um, why? “How he managed to do that,
it’s incredible!” Yeah, how? “He managed to create his own air
out there.” Um, how? And so on. Also, non-ski-jump expert that I
am, I was surprised that there’s a subjective “style” aspect to
judging a sport (ski jumping) whose essence seems to be, “how far
can you jump… on skis.” I mean, if you can jump farthest while
screaming and wetting yourself, and pinwheeling your arms like Goofy,
then I say that’s even more impressive—but these decisions aren’t
up to me.
Next up was the other new addition to
the winter games, the women’s snowboarding slopestyle event. And
while this event, where snowboarders make a series of moves over a
downhill, obstacle-laden course, also relies on a passel of unseen
judges to determine whose tricks are the best, the sport does benefit
from the seemingly innate exuberance of the competitors. Some
curmudgeons (other than me) may grumble about the “X
Games-ification” of the Winter Olympics, but, after American
hopeful Ty Walker was talked up, her fall on
the final jump was accompanied by a series of apologetic shrugs that
were utterly endearing, a shared snowboarder trait that perhaps the
stately Olympics could use. Unlike the lycra-clad superhero
super-athletes of the skiing events, the parka-and-baggy-pants
cheerfulness of these snowboarders is undoubtedly refreshing.
Adorable, even. And while I know people have complained about
over-explaining from the commentators, for some events (slopestyle,
especially), I could have used a good deal more insight into the
intricacies of the sport and the scoring. (In the slopestyle drinking
game—which I’m sure exists—taking a drink whenever the
announcers used the words “smooth” and “loose” would
guarantee blackout.) And again, the American homerism was kept to a
low roar, even though the eventually gold medal winner was smiley,
unassuming Jamie Anderson.
The one pure Olympic competition (so
says me, that’s who) was up next, with the men’s downhill skiing.
This is more my speed, the (literally) razor’s edge timing and
judgement of finely conditioned athletes trying to squeeze out a
tenth of a second’s worth of speed while traveling over 70 miles an
hour down a frozen mountain. Dang. Watching the skis vibrate
furiously as the skiers cut vertiginously into each curve, teetering
perilously on the very edge of limb-cracking disaster—that’s an
Olympic event the curmudgeon can get behind.
Of course, the big
story, at least according to NBC’s coverage, was the disappointing
performance of American Bode Miller, who finished eighth, forcing NBC
to both try to explain something they were presenting as
inconceivable, and to drum up a substitute human interest story to
keep people interested. Unfortunately, the experts didn’t shed much
light on the reasons for Miller’s lackluster run (“In training,
he was perfect, but today, he wasn’t”), but the bummed-out Miller
himself, in the ever-cringeworthy post-race interview, offered some
welcome insight about the quality of the light affecting his approach
that a non-skier like me found helpful. (More than one commentator
agreed, talking about the “flat light” of the overcast day which
necessitated the spray-painted blue lines on various downhill courses
to aid skiers and snowboarders in judging distance “so they know
when to put down the landing gear.” Again, here the competition
itself was allowed some room to breathe, which was just fine.
Overall, tonight’s was a relatively
straightforward, nonsense-free night of Olympics coverage. Not
flashy, but also refreshingly free of the bombastic nationalism I’ve
come to dread. The Olympics are the place where people who have
dedicated themselves to being the best—the best in the world—at a
chosen discipline can test themselves against those who, unlike
anyone else, can understand what that means. There’s no need for
extraneous trappings beyond that.
Stray observations:
- US figure skating favorite Gracie Gold
did not win gold tonight, leaving hacky sport section headline
writers to put that one away for later. - The on-course announcer for the ski
jumping sounded like Community’s Dean Pelton. - When Canadian Katelyn Osmond fell on
what was described as a “difficult lutz,” the 30 Rock fan
in me heard Jack Donaghy yelling “Dammit Lutz!” - Having just seen The Crash Reel,
the footage of the impressive Czech snowboarder Sarka Pancochova’s
nasty spill in the slopestyle competition (she split her helmet!?)
gave me a few chills—and an admiring warm feeling when she finally
got up and decided to slowly ski down the rest of the course on her
own. Team Sarka, over here. - Seeing Russian president Vladimir Putin
smiling approvingly at rinkside during the figure skating
competition—a sport with its share of gay athletes—inevitably put
me in mind of the ever-present issue of Russia’s unconscionable
anti-gay policies. NBC didn’t address it—the only Russian story
was a Mary Carillo puff piece about how cool Siberia really is—so
I’ll leave my commentary there. Except to say that I’m watching
out for the Sochi equivalent of Jesse Owens to make Putin very, very
uncomfortable.