Tommie Smith and John Carlos. Two American heroes who weren't recognized as such at the time (1968), but have finally received their due. Two people who did something we still marvel at 40 years later. Forty years, and we haven't seen another Tommie and John at the Olympics. They are becoming more special every Olympics.
I know I can't be alone, at least here on the Kos because I've read too many comments of others who can't stand to hear or see King George on TV. It's so ingrained in me that I actually feel physical symptoms of nausea and melancholy whenever I see him. I literally cannot listen to him talk, I must turn down the volume immediately, or turn the channel. I've been pretty successful, but then came the 2008 Olympics.
In order to watch the Olympics, we were forced to view Georgie Boy sweating while hitting a volleyball or trying to wave a flag. Such degradation should be reserved for child molesters or identity theives, but the wisdom of NBC required that degradation be spread to all Americans. Like a scary movie, I could turn my head quickly enough to avoid regurgitation. But I'm not as quick as I used to be so my four year old granddaughter was infected, way too early in her beautiful life.
The thing that stuck in my craw most however was the suckupidness of American athletes when meeting Boy George. I remember a video of an American fireman, can't remember where, but he refused to shake Bush's hand during a photo op. Or maybe it was Guiliani. Either way, it was a singular act that I admired. My revulsion for the pretending Decider is such that I am convinced I would do the same as that honorable fireman, no matter what circumstance. I believe in personal principles and ethics, and mine would in no way allow such a blow to my integrity that a handshake with Bush the Destroyer would bring me.
A few weeks prior to the Olympics, ESPN held it's annual ESPY awards. I like watching it more for the inspirational stories than anything else. I particularly liked the story about the female softball players who carried their opponent around the bases to validate a home run. But I was inspired, again, by the story of Tommie Smith and John Carlos, who were given the Arthur Ashe Courage Award for raising their gloved fists at the Mexico City 1968 Olympics to protest and and give voice to the black American struggles in the US. It was inspiring to me in 1968 when I was 13 years old and probably colored my outlook on race relations more than anything. As a white kid from rural Washington State, who at that point had never met a black person, I was duly impressed by Tommie and John. They stood up for what they believed in no matter the cost.
So I had to watch King Bush cavort in Beijing, with our American athletes, and I couldn't help but be disappointed that we didn't have another Tommie and another John. I know that's too much to expect. And I can't really blame our athletes. We haven't really had any other Tommie's and John's for 40 years. Why should I think this year would be any different.
But damn, I wish we would have had another Tommie Smith and John Carlos display of courage this Olympics. The bile from watching Bushy boy would have been absorbed like a ten pound block of Rolaids.