Last night I happened to see Michael Phelps win his 7th gold medal at the Beijing Olympics. Through fluke more than anything really. Honestly I’m not a fan of sport, least of all the Olympics. And especially this years round.Â
But be that as it may I found myself stopping on swimming while searching for something to watch as I wound down. I thought why not see if Phelps was competing and if he was I’d be up to witness what he’d do next. I had nothing better to do…
I tuned in just as they jumped into the pool and not knowing what I was looking at I found myself staring at the screen. That was until the half way mark. Phelps, not only lagged behind, he was in 7th place!Â
I felt a very inexplicable sense of anxiousness over what I was watching. Inexplicable because I’ve always been compelled to cheer against the favorite, not just with sports but anything really. Cheering against the Toronto Maple Leafs has never failed to bring me a smug sense of satisfaction. It’s tons of fun. And it doesn’t hurt any that they’re so unbelievably awful.
Then there is what I saw last night. For some reason it was different. Personal tradition didn’t matter. I felt almost saddened over what was unfolding. I was shocked. And then he won? Fuck me…
I’m not sure exactly why I felt what I was feeling. But, as it turns out I guess even I have the ability to know when something historic is happening and bearing witness to it is, at least important enough to feel something. I guess I’m human after all…Â