My family’s been in the throes of Olympics fever the last few nights. We saw that weird baby rise up during the opening ceremonies, watched poor Jordyn Wieber break down after failing to qualify for the women’s gymnastics all-around, cheered my home state hero Missy Franklin (she goes to high school in Aurora!) splash to a gold medal in the women’s 100-meter backstroke. For us, it’s been great fun.
See, my kids are older now: They flit in and out of the house as frequently as a London train flits through the Piccadilly tube stop. And with my wife and I busy with our own little duties, it can be hard to corral us all into one spot.
But the Olympics, they give us a ready-made excuse to spend a little time with each other (and with Bob Costas!). We talk about the athletes, joke about the events, maybe even cheer a little. We don’t just watch James Bond jump out of a helicopter: We bond with each other. And that feels pretty cool.
For me, it’s events like the Olympics that bring out the best in television—in that it can foster community. Just as families generations ago used to gather ’round the hearth to hear stories or the piano to sing songs, NBC’s grand spectacle encourages more modern-day families to hear and see (often in high def) new stories—stories filled with determination and endurance and heartbreak and celebration. It feels, at times, practically old-fashioned.
But am I an outlier? Do the Olympics really retain that sweet nostalgic sheen I credit them with?
There’s no question that the Olympics are far different games than what I first saw when I was 7, watching Nadia Comaneci rip out perfect 10s with my grandparents. Professional athletes compete beside the amateurs these days—and sometimes, they seem to participate almost grudgingly. The specter of performance-enhancing drugs hangs over almost every sport. I’ve heard many Christians fret about the degradation in Olympic sportsmanship (trash-talking tweets are as common as gold medals this year) or turn off certain events because of the increasingly racy outfits. (Are women tuning in partly to see Michael Phelps in his skintight suit? Are men hanging around the tube waiting to see what Misty May-Treanor’s wearing this go-round?)
And in truth, the way we watch the games—or the way many would like to watch them—has changed, too. I personally like my prime-time Olympic fix, but I’ve heard many folks complain about NBC’s habit of tape-delaying the events for the sake of sky-high evening ratings. And in this age of perpetual multitasking and interconnectivity, is it even possible to set aside the smartphones and tablets to just watch the Olympics? I admit that even I, the techno-dweeb that I am, tweeted a couple of times during the opening ceremonies.
I get all that. And perhaps I’m not the best person to judge the Olympics, given that my kids are old enough now—21 and 18—where I’d feel a little silly covering their eyes during beach volleyball. So with that in mind, I’d love to hear what you think: If you were handing out medals to the Olympics themselves, would you give them a gold? A bronze? Or would you tell ’em to ship out, clean up their act and only show up in Rio if they can have a new attitude?
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