This was originally an article I wrote for The Moscow Times three years ago, but, due to an editor's trip to India, which is Kafka-speak for who-the-fuck-knows-why-anything-ever-happens (though an editor really did go to India) it never got published. By the time the editor returned, everyone who had any kind of access to news was so cripplingly nauseated by Olympics scandals, figure-skaters, steroids, and stories of hope that to even mention the phrase "Salt Lake" was justification for ending a date early, and it never made its way into the paper. So I figured I'd go on and "publish" (ha ha) it on the blog. Welcome back to 2002, kids.
- Boulder, Salt Lake, Moscow -
I have really enjoyed Russian television’s coverage of the Olympics so far. One reason is that I just watched the full Women’s Sprint Biathlon for a full hour from 1 am until 2 am. Another reason is the only slightly prevalent presence of Coca-Cola ads. And another reason is the utter and complete lack of Chevy ads with dramatic stories of American medal hopefuls. To get to the meaning behind these I’ll have to start at the beginning.
I had told everyone that I was Russian, from Moscow even, and that allowed me to move up to the front of the crowd at the bottom of the 90k ski jump. It was a sizeable crowd; at least 18,000 according to the P.A. announcement. But it was loose and easy to weave through, with the notable exception of the spectators who had brought blankets to the event, expecting to sit, relaxed on the ground, and catch all of the action, an act that could only be considered absurd in a Nordic country. I had come to the event with my family from Colorado by car—myself on vacation from Moscow—to see my friend and native Muscovite Alexei Fadeev compete in the Nordic Combined, an event that consists of both ski-jumping and cross-country skiing. Along with the team he had received a bronze medal in the team event four years ago in Nagano. This year, as the team had lost a couple of key members, they didn’t have high aspirations for that event. Alexei, the Russian national champion, was ranked 30th going into his first jump of the day.
Telling the crowd that I was Russian (with a mild-to-slight Russian accent) had a few advantages. First, I was allowed speedy passage through to the front, as I mentioned that my friend from Moscow was about to compete (at least that part had been completely true). But also, I was able to witness why the Games have become such an oddity to most native Utes, and to Americans in general. After I had been cheering for some time an American approached me, asking whether he could have a picture of his two sons along with myself and my giant Russian flag. After that, about nine other groups of Americans, blissfully oblivious to the fact that I was actually born only some eight hours away, snapped off pictures, handed me American flag pins, and shook my hand. One even handed me a video in Russian entitled (in Russian) “Jesus.” After an hour of cheers in both English in Russian (“Let’s go Russia, Let’s go Russia,” “Rossiya Vperiyod, Rossiya Vperiyod!” and “No more Cold War, No more Cold War”) the Americans around me were actually mostly cheering for the Russians as they entered into the distant view atop the mountain’s jump. This cheering was in contrast to the almost eerie static that had reigned over the crowd, but for the times when an American would appear at the top of the hill, and the flags and cheers would be unleashed, usually in a slightly unsynchronized “U-S-A! U-S-A!” And then diminish: no American finished top-six on the day.
The reason for this doesn’t appear to be lack of goodwill, as apparent in their warmth in accepting the Russian version of me and the willingness to cheer for something not draped in white stars. The reason was actually that the crowd had very little understanding of the sport whatsoever, evident first off in the already-mentioned blankets scattered like American flags on SUV’s in present-day American supermarkets. Most spectators needed to be constantly reminded of the rules. In fact, many were confused at the end of the competition when no medals were presented even though the P.A. had many times announced that this was only the first part in a two-day event. Most spectators had come to the event only knowing two things: that it was ski jumping and that American Todd Lodwick was attempting a Cindarella-esque finish for the United States, Against-All-Adversity. He was the first American medal hopeful for the US in the sport, ever….
Traditionally dominated by the Germans, Austrians, Finns, Norwegians, French, Japanese (and on occasion, Russians), Nordic Combined had until recent received almost no coverage whatsoever in the US. That was until Todd Lodwick, American, residing in my native Colorado, stepped out of his early mediocre (well, mediocre for a world-class athlete) career to dedicate his Heart and Soul to the sport, winning five World Cups this season, including one in which he strove towards the finish line well ahead of the competition with an enormous American flag. As he crosses the finish, he stabs, poignantly, the flag into the ground and throws his arms into the air. The point of this imagine: an instant video-byte that can be played before commercial breaks and inspire an interest in the sport, that can take the viewers through the commercials and into the next inevitable segment on Lodwick and his dream of medalling in the sport, and then through another commercial break, as this has all evoked much emotion. I only know this because I saw this exact clip plus similar-sounding stories and background about three times preceding the event. The largely American audience was silent during most of the competition for one because they were largely ignorant about the sport. But they also had been so used to and comfortable with the constant American-Overcoming-Adversary images fed to them by the coverage, and the pre-Games hype, and the endless Proud-Sponsor-of-the-US-Team commercials, Hockey Team USA ’80 lighting the torch (an image still somewhat bizarre to behold in Russia: isn’t the torch supposed to be about international cooperation and not precious US miracles?), that they were expecting nothing less than an American to rip through the crowd of Other Europeans (and Japanese) and to grab a US flag out of all adversary and plant it in the snow after the finish. Anything less and they were baffled. As they were. Already the first day of the Olympics, an entire event finished, and no heroics.
American television presents all events in a thoroughly edited, carefully constructed format. First, all of the events are filmed. Then, a strategy to squeeze the most drama and suspense out of them possible is construed. Finally, a sequence of events, skipping over 90% of the competition and the remaining 10% sometimes out of order, is put together and the commentators lend their voices to it, acting as though the sequence is unscripted, in natural running order, and, most importantly, happening before them for the first time. The coverage allows just enough of the heavily edited portions of the event on air before jumping to a length of commercials. Then it jumps to another event, promising the fascinating ending for which the drama has been, rightfully so or not, built up. Then, after more commercials, mostly Coca-Cola and Chevy-US-Ski-Team, mostly with American flags buzzing in front of still American athletes, Bob Costas returns to turn our attention to yet another scripted sequence of events.
So all Americans at this, the first day of competition, were expecting the return from commercial, the Cinderella story which they had taken for granted because the majority of air-time (not, of course, the majority of real events) had been along those lines, because that’s what brings people back from commercials, and that’s what could garner an interest in the events after involved networks had suffered disappointing viewership in the ’00 Games in Sydney. This element can also be seen after the Russians won the gold in the pairs’ figure skating over the Canadians. As of February 12, an nbc.com poll registered that 96% thought the Canadians should have won gold. There were over 200,000 responses at that point. What does this mean? That 200,000 can accurately and expertly pick a winner in a sport that they’re exposed to 3 hours out of a year? The Russians had made a mistake (though the Short Program was short of perfection for the Canadians), but for a sports comparison, what if a dominant swimmer makes a mistake in competition? He can still win. Dominant athletes can still slip up slightly and come out on the top of the podium. Did the Ravens have an outstanding offense in last year’s Super Bowl? The point is not at all who should have won and who should not have, though, but that the Games coverage has led to unreasonable expectation. Somehow the need for television-fed drama had made 96% of people who responded, some 192,000 people, think they can accurately and authoritatively say the under-dog and much-publicized Canadians should have won.
And then there has been Russian television, which just broadcast the entirety of the woman’s Sprint Biathlon. One can even watch the 50th seed finish, collapse to the ground, heave, and attempt to wave the frozen spit-saliva off of her lip. Not that Russian television is immune to hype; sports like Nordic Combined have enjoyed much less popularity since the Russians’ third-place finish at Nagano. But there is an actual sense of completeness to the way they televise, that the Women’s Sprint Biathlon lasts 60 minutes in a single segment as opposed to 15 minutes spread out over four. One can even watch broadcasting mistakes, sweetly unscripted.
I once asked Alexei how he managed to make it to the Olympics. Instead of hearing what I expected: the dramatic, excruciating, movingly-romantic tale seen so constantly on television and thus imitated in all walks of sports life, even among good-yet-not-Olympian-swimmers as I may attest, he told me the following story (translated from the Russian): “My father liked cross-country skiing, so he had my brother try it. But he wasn’t good at it. So he had me try it, and I was good at it.” “And then you went to the Olympics?” I asked (we had only known each other for about two days). “Yes,” he responded. Not to overly-dramatize my own ending, but that was one of the most moving sports sentiments I have ever heard. And he had actually won a bronze medal.
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