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In this winter’s Olympics, I couldn’t tell a luge from a Zamboni. That’s because I come originally from the Great Plains, where nothing rises high enough to ski down, and few ponds are big enough to skate over.
But when the ice dancing competition was on TV, I watched, mesmerized. How those beautiful skaters dipped and dived. How they made impossible lifts and yet spun so low over the ice that I almost quit breathing. How they danced together with incredible precision while making it seem the easiest thing in the world. Every move they made inspired me with joy.
But then came ratings. Who got the gold medal and who got silver decided by less than one and a half points? Oh come on! I had watched performances by 20 couples from a dozen countries — all remarkable.
The pinch-nosed judges, on the other hand, had looked for miniscule “mistakes.” They’d have said, “You don’t understand the technical requirements of this sport.” I’d have replied, “Thank God I don’t!” Even rarely when skaters lost footings and took tumbles, they recovered so brilliantly, went on as if nothing had happened, and ended with conquering expressions. Impressive!
Everybody on the list — I say, give ‘em all gold!
Gerald George
Belfast