IN SEARCH OF TRUE SPORTSMANSHIP

At the tender age of seven, I learned to swim at a boys’ club in Hollywood. I competed for years on the club’s swim team, and also for my high school. With my Red Cross WSI certification, I worked a couple of summers as a lifeguard and swimming instructor. After watching the Olympic team trials in 1976 (just across town in Long Beach) I thought, I can do that. John Naber, a resident of Los Angeles like myself, became my new hero.

I went into serious training soon afterward, with my sights set on the 1980 Games in Moscow. I spent about six hours in the pool, almost every day. My workout included running, bicycling (on my shiny new Schwinn Varsity ten-speed!), and weightlifting. This effort lasted just over two years. And then I quit. Just couldn’t keep up the pace, with so many other important things battling for my adolescent time and attention.

Then it happened: On Christmas Eve, 1979, the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan. In protest, President Jimmy Carter declared that the United States would boycott the Moscow Olympics. I was shocked, incredulous, that any American president would punish his own people for the sins of his enemy. After all, the US Olympic Committee is a private organization, not an arm of the government.

Of course, I already knew that I wouldn’t be going anyway. But for legions of young athletes, their dreams were crushed. They trained for years, sacrificing jobs and college and relationships. All for an awesome opportunity that might never come again. I felt their pain, their anger, their profound disappointment.

I believed, then as now, that any Olympic village should be considered a stateless community free of politics. The Games are a vehicle for athletes to bring honor to their country. It’s a matchless occasion for diplomatic engagement, as if we ever needed an excuse for mortal enemies to declare a brief cease-fire from their customary bluster and saber-rattling. For three weeks every four years we can sit back, hoist a pint together, and enjoy the show. Those partisan battles will still be there when you get home. But clearly, Carter couldn’t see this big picture; the world will never know the full extent of the damage wrought by his foolhardy decree.

Of course, I’m not the first person to express these sentiments. But it grieves me to see that we still haven’t learned from the lessons of our very recent history.

This year, the Games again are hosted by a rival country. So our president decided to penalize them by withholding the usual diplomatic delegation. (Dozens of heads of state are there, to cheer on their people; where are you?) For no greater cause than to affirm who da man? This is shameful. As ever, the petty tit-for-tat reprisals will surely follow, and hinder the cause of peace.

To make matters worse, the Speaker of the House issued a stern warning to the American team: They shouldn’t criticize the government of their host country, or consequences might follow. Seriously? You bark out commands to a noble group who only wish to make you proud? This is the worst possible time for our leaders to mount the world stage and display weakness and fear.

Frankly, I happen to agree that the athletes should keep their lips zipped. But for a better cause. Let their bodies do the talking; make a show of strength, and of dignity even in defeat. Let’s have a repeat of the Miracle on Ice, where the American hockey team whipped the Soviets for all the world to see. Win or lose, let us never leave the field of battle without a gesture of respect and friendship toward our worthy opponent.

I learned so much from Dan Beattie, my swimming coach at John Marshall High School. Not just about swimming, but about life.

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