My Olympic thoughts thus far?
Probably a little different than most.
The most amazing thing I've seen has nothing to do with Michael Phelps or the United States men's basketball team. Instead, it centers on gymnastics. One event, actually.
Balance beam. How in the world do those girls stay on that four-inch wide surface?
American Nastia Liukin, who won the all-around competition, had me wide-eyed when I saw her do a flip on the beam and land on one leg. Incredible, in my eyes.
And only because I have some experience in this area.
As a 12-year-old waiting for the school bus arrive, I used to walk on a wooden beam _ about 2 inches wide and 3 1/2 feet off the ground. I got pretty good at it, even cocky some might say. One day, I got a little too cocky and started jogging on it.
The resulting slip led to 26 stitches in my right knee, an injury I didn't know I had suffered until arriving at school. There, a classmate pointed to my blood-stained pants and said, "What happened to you?"
The reason I didn't realize the injury? During the fall, I also injured another part of my anatomy. It probably doesn't take much imagination to figure out my "other injury" and why the pain in my knee paled in comparison.
But even that pain couldn't compare to the heartbreak I felt this past week watching the games.
I found myself pulling against Phelps, not that he'd lose. I'm a patriotic, red-blooded American and felt a sense of pride in seeing him as well as other American swimmers excel.
But I wasn't rooting for another swimmer to beat the Americans. I pulled for that green line that symbolized world-record pace.
More often that not, I watched in disappointment. That line got the green kicked out of it time and again in these Olympics.
Never deterred, I continued to root, silently (if I had openly pulled for the GL, I'd probably be in a rubber room right now). Most alarming was that on several occasions, the green line didn't even medal as four and five swimmers touched ahead of it.
Many times, my beloved line finished seconds behind the winner. If memory serves, Phelps won his first medal, the 400-meter individual medley, about 3 seconds ahead of the line _ an eternity in swimming.
I'm still not certain why the times were so fast. In track, it's hard to compare what Jesse Owens did in 1936 to what Jamaica's Usain Bolt is doing now. Owens ran on a cinder track and the guys today are basically running on trampolines.
But what can you do with water? Still two atoms worth of hydrogen and one of oxygen, right? I heard some talk that the body suits they're wearing cut through water faster, but can they make that much of a difference?
World records are supposed to be hard to break, but it almost seemed like a loss this past week if a swimmer won without setting a world mark. Oddly, those were my only victories.
But the oddest story I've read thus far came two or three days into the Olympics.
Unfortunately, I didn't save the story, but I remember some of it.
Turns out that two athletes were kicked out of the games for testing positive for banned drugs. Nothing all that earth-shattering these days.
The weird part was that one of the athletes competed in pistol shooting.
Huh?
I understand why cyclists, sprinters, swimmers, etc., resort to steroids. But pistol shooting?
How much strength, speed or endurance does pulling a trigger require? I've seen a lot of action movies, but I can't ever remember Dirty Harry looking winded after picking off three or four thugs with his trusty .45.
It'd be kind of funny, though, showing Harry with hands on knees, sucking wind and instead of saying clever line, he utters: "Anyone have some EPO? My index finger is dragging."
The other athlete was a gymnast, which makes perfect sense. What makes no sense was this particular gymnast finished last out of 82 competitors, confirming the slogan: Cheaters never win.
Imagine re-living that indignity 20 years later. A buddy says, "Hey, I heard you competed in the Olympics."
"Yeah, I got kicked out of the games for taking steroids."
"Really?" says the friend. "Did they take away your medal?"
"Well, I didn't exactly medal."
"Just missed?" asks the friend.
"Not exactly."
"Top 10?"
"Nope."
"What place did you finish?" a now annoying and former friend asks.
"Eighty-second."
"Out of how many?"
"Eighty-two."
"Oh. ..."
Maybe he fell off one too many beams.
Rob Centorani is a sports writer for The Daily Star. E-mail him at rcentorani@thedailystar.com.
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