We are the champions, my friend
And we'll keep on fighting to the end
No time for losers....
Well known lyrics from the band Queen. But surely one must not forget the loser. Especially in a year when the Beijing Olympics has seen winning elevated to the status of superhuman. Twice I have caught comments from competitors describing Michael Phelps' and Usain Bolt's performances as 'more than human'.
Billions of us who have watched on television would have to agree. Phelps' dominance and sheer physical threat tend to be 'diluted' somewhat, pardon the pun, because his races are conducted half submerged.
Bolt's awesome presence, however, is starkly apparent as his giant strides chew up the racetrack. It's so obvious -whether it's the heats, the semifinal or the final - that of the eight men assembled on the track, seven are running for silver, and that is as high as they need aim. There's no gold on the horizon for them. What must it feel like, I wonder. For four years, leading up to this Olympic moment, sweat, toil, exercise, dieting and relentless motivation have driven athletes as they honed their skills under the watchful eye of coaches and specialist trainers. Pulse-rate, heart rate, breathing, blood levels - every physiological need monitored, kept in check, tailored to reach peak status in Beijing. And then, there they are eventualaly on the brick coloured racetrack, crouched on the starting blocks but right next to the gigantic Bolt.
How demoralising is it to shift down a gear even before the starter's gun has fired and say to one's self, silently, 'I'll give the silver a go!' I think it takes enormous courage to compete under such exacting circumstances - like fighting a war in which the possibility of you being the one slaughtered is patently, painfully obvious.
When Bolt's in a race with the others, then silver equals gold to the rest. Ditto, with Phelps. His eight medals will be etched forever in the mental memorabilia of everybody who followed the games. But what of that gallant 100m butterfly swimmer who Phelps out-touched by a mere fingertip to win his seventh gold?
In the elevating of Phelps to immortal status who remembers Milorad Cavic, from Serbia? He could have been one of history's greatest spoilers. After photographic evidence was viewed and reviewed, he was found to be one-hundredth of a second behind! How does one hold up after such an incredibly narrow loss, one wonders.
Undoubtedly trained
As sportspeople, they are all undoubtedly trained to appear balanced, despite the trauma of defeat. But beneath the façade there are still human emotions at work. What are their reactions in private, when the cameras are turned off, when they close that final door that locks them in alone in their quarters at the Athletes Village?
Batsmen in cricket have been known to hurl cricket bats at the dressing room wall or cupboards after smiling composedly during their walk from the playing centre, following a cheap dismissal.
What does the petite gymnast have to hurl after she overbalances on the impossibly narrow beam and tumbles ungraciously to the floor. She, too, walks off with utmost composure, but occasionally the camera has caught her later in reflection, sad, distraught, teary eyed. It's human, in this burgeoning superhuman world, to feel shattered. And then, it's downright degrading to be forgotten.
I think the media needs to give not the loser, but the gallant competitor that doesn't finish first, greater column space. I feel their efforts need to be lauded more resoundingly. Because in many instances, it is this so-called 'loser' that is the actual spur that forces the ultimate champion to raise his own bar.
And finally, Phelps. At 23, where does he go from here? One cannot help but feel a pang. This is his peak. Does that imply that all else from hereon will be downhill? In winning so much so early has he actually 'lost'? Time will tell.
Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.
