A Different Olympics

by Ben Howard

I’ve been watching a different Olympics than you.

Sure, we’ve been watching the same sports being contested by the same participants. We’re all watching the same medals being awarded for the same acts of athletic prowess performed on the same mountain, or in the same arena, but I’m experiencing an entirely different narrative than the one you’re seeing.

In the past, I’ve always watched the Olympics on NBC. This was part convenience, since I had cable, and part necessity, since they weren’t available anywhere else. But this year I’ve been watching all of the events online. I don’t get to watch them live (the twin necessities of work and sleep make that an impossibility), but I’m avoiding spoilers and watching them on replay when I get home.

It didn’t take long to realize that these Olympics were different from the ones I’d experienced before in my life. You see, the online feed that NBC has made available is not the same thing that you see them broadcast in prime time, or for that matter, any time. No, the online feed is from the Olympic Broadcasting Service, and it’s the raw footage that NBC then cuts into exciting, TV-friendly segments before adding the spice of it’s own commentators and pre-produced human interest stories. They then bake it at 425 for an hour before serving it to a ready public in prime-time.

With the exception of an hour or two on Monday night, I have seen none of this finished product.

While you’ve been treated to Scott Hamilton and Mary Carrillo and Bob Costas’s losing fight with pink-eye, I’ve been listening to a series of announcers with vaguely-European accents give a dry account of how each competitor is doing on the World Cup scene this season. While you’re watching the runs of the top Americans and a handful of medal contenders, I’m watching all 40 luge contestants even though only five have a chance of winning. And while you’re learning the heart-warming tale of how a mother helped her daughter to Olympic glory, I’m watching silently as a Zamboni smooths out the speed skating rink while ambient LMFAO plays through the stadium speakers. 

You have the drama. I have the raw totality.

And of course, this difference in context means we’ve gleaned totally different narratives from the games thus far. As far as I can tell, from NBC’s point of view the big stories over the first three days were the debut of 15-year old figure skater Yulia Lipnitskaya and her amazing ability to make all the joints in my body shriek in terror simultaneously. Beyond that, the top stories are probably the gold medals of Sage Kotsenburg and Jamie Anderson in snowboarding, or perhaps the disappointment of skier Bode Miller.

In contrast to that, I’ve watched four biathlon races and can spell Norwegian legend Ole Einar Bjorndalen’s name without looking it up. I’ve seen a Venezuelan skier wipeout on a very treacherous downhill course and witnessed how loud the fans get when they’re cheering for a luger from India. I’ve also witnessed an event called the skiathlon which I can only describe as organized race marching, and it’s exactly as weird as it sounds.

Both narratives are obviously real, neither is in any way a work of fiction. When we look back at the history books in twenty years to see who won and who lost, we will both recognize the names and the order in which they’re found. But you will have memories of American announcers and tear-jerking voice overs about overcoming adversity; I’ll be remembering that Americans aren’t very good at most of the sports I watched and the weird way the downhill announcer said “Russian Trampoline” like a hundred times.

It’s no secret that context shapes our narrative, but it’s jarring when it’s made so starkly clear, when you can really see the seams in how the stories are made. The raw data is the same. Same races, same footage, same contestants, but then everything changes and shifts. We choose our ingredients and throw them into a blender so that we each get something unique.

So which one is the right narrative? How does one determine the accurate context? Who wins when we talk about what really happened in Sochi? Which perspective is really true?

And this is the crux of the issue that so many of us have with the world, and with life, and with faith; this need to totalize and absolutize the experience. Somewhere within us is this desire, my desire, to make you replace your reality with mine, my desire to tell you that the real Winter Olympics don’t involve the gold, the silver, and the bronze, but the deafening cheers for an Indian luger who finished 37th out of 39, and the heartbreak of a Canadian biathlete who crashed while leading his race. It’s my desire to force you to believe that this is the real story, and that your experience was a fantasy, that gets us into so much trouble. This is what destroys communities, breaks relationships, and ultimately consumes our good intentions from within.

But this doesn’t have to be. The real truth, when you dig down underneath all the commentary and all the context, is that neither of our stories are the real story, because the real story is far more complex and intricate and complete than we can grasp or tell. I have my Olympics and you have yours, but both of them are drawn from the same river of reality. And while, in twenty years, you may remember a Russian figure skater and I a Norwegian skier, we’ll still be sharing the same event. 

Ben Howard is an accidental iconoclast and generally curious individual living in Nashville, Tennessee. He is also the editor-in-chief of On Pop Theology and an avid fan of waving at strangers for no reason. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87. 

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. If you'd like to support what we do, you can donate via the button on the right of the screen.

Image Credits:
Image #1 via Wikipedia
Image #2 via Christian Jansky
Image #3 via Tor Atle Kleven
  

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Expectations and Subverting the Olympic Narrative

by Ben Howard

My two favorite stories at the Olympics so far are Aly Raisman and Michael Phelps. Don't worry, this isn't going to be an ode to "America's Underdog Gymnast" and "The Greatest Olympian Ever." I'll leave those articles to people who cover sports for a living. Raisman and Phelps are my favorite stories because they undermined the corporately approved narrative of the Olympics. I love me some subversion.

Every time the Olympics come around, we the viewing public get a new batch of corporately approved stars. Almost every commercial during the Games is based around some athlete who was expected to win, expected to become a star, expected to become the love of the entire United States population.

However, much to the dismay of BP and Proctor & Gamble and other corporate sponsors, the Olympics are comprised of actual sports which don't necessarily go according to plans. These expectations drive the narrative of the Olympics.

That's why I love Raisman and Phelps. Raisman was an afterthought. The 3rd member of Team USA. And Phelps? Phelps was boring and played out. His story was old. Ryan Lochte and his diamond-studded grill were far more interesting than Phelps and his brooding greatness.

Then the events happened. Raisman went from afterthought to a 2-time gold medalist, who just missed a bronze in the all-around finals. After a rough start in the 400 IM, Phelps made it his personal mission to make Ryan Lochte into a footnote on the way to becoming the most decorated Olympian in history (Zeus excepted).

Expectations are a powerful thing and they can drastically affect the way we respond to the world. It's not simply limited to the emotional aspect of sports either. Historically, the Jewish people expected a Messiah who would be a physical conqueror and king. When they received a different interpretation of the conqueror and king, they crucified him.

This extends to the modern church as well. If you expect that the world ends in a fiery inferno, then you'll act with that goal in mind and God's creation becomes a sinking ship we need to escape. If you expect God to embrace everyone no matter what, then you'll find that there's a thin line between acceptance and apathy.

I'm not saying which one is right or wrong. I certainly have my opinions and expectations. Everyone does. I want to see how things play out and I'm going to assume we're all wrong to one degree or another. That's the way predicting the future works. (Though I'm still holding out hope for that Chicago-Miami World Series in 2015, you promised Back to the Future II).

It'll all make sense. Just be patient. And have faith that all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.

Peace,
Ben


When Ben isn't gleefully rooting for subversive athletes, he likes to wax rhapsodic about James Harden's pharaoh beard. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87.

I Liked that Song More When I Didn't Know He Was On American Idol

by Ben Howard

I don’t know if this is a universal experience or not, but I really love falling in love with catchy songs on commercials or TV shows or the intros for sporting events.  I mean I really love it. 

Scrubs is one of my favorite TV shows not only because it made me laugh, but because it introduced me to Colin Hay, Joshua Radin and a whole bunch of other music I wouldn’t have found otherwise.

I remember the World Cup in 2010 for two reasons.  My total and utter fascination with the Uruguayan soccer team led by Latin Michael Bolton aka Diego Forlan and the catchy song from all the Coke commercials, Wavin’ Flag.  I still listen to that song every week.  In Spanish and in English.  The Spanish version is awesome.

So imagine my excitement and glee when I caught the beginning of women’s gymnastics on Sunday night and found myself falling in auditory love with “Home” by Phillip Phillips.  However, my excitement came to a screeching halt when I realized that Phillip(s) was a contestant on American Idol.  How can I enjoy something so…so populist?

Interestingly, I’m not the only one of my friends who had this reaction.  Two nights later I was watching the gymnastics finals when the same song came on.  A friend asked me who it was, hoping for something in the Mumford & Sons/Avett Brothers demographic.  When I told her who it was and where he came from, she actually recoiled.

Now, before we get much further I should say I downloaded the song.  I’m listening to it now.  I love it.  But there is something about popularity that makes me automatically suspicious of, well, everything that’s wildly popular.  I mean I almost had an identity crisis earlier this summer when I found myself singing along to “Payphone” by Maroon 5.  Who am I?

In my mind authenticity has a negative relationship with popularity.  I used to go to a church that I prized for it’s authenticity and integrity.  Then it got bigger and bigger and bigger.  500 turned to 1000 turned to 2000 turned to 3000.  I don’t know if the people there changed, but the context changed my opinion on it.

I’ve tried to work on that hence my purchase of the song and my total and undying adoration of Carly Rae Jepsen, but it still haunts many of my political and theological beliefs.

I think it’s a good thing to question things that are popular because so often those things go unquestioned.  I think this skepticism has benefited me greatly, but I’m always worried that, to borrow a gymnastics term, I’ve over-rotated a bit.  Discernment is hard.  It’s hard to live in the tension between extremes constantly looking for balance and a stable equilibrium.  That’s one of the reasons we have culture wars over chicken.  It’s easier to be an extremist, but that’s not what I want to be.

There’s a story in Jeremiah where he encounters another prophet, Hananiah who is prophesying about the people’s return from exile.  Jeremiah has been telling the people for longer than he cares to recall that they will be in exile for a very long time, but when he encounters Hananiah preaching a new message that the people will be returned and the nation re-established in a very short period of time.

I love Jeremiah’s response to this because at first he’s really excited to hear it.  Yes, it contradicts what he’s been saying, but he thinks God may have just spoken a new word through Hananiah, and he is so grateful for it.

But then he goes home and God speaks to him and tells him that Hananiah’s lying.  That he’s leading the people astray and that Jeremiah needs to go confront Hananiah.  So Jeremiah confronts Hananiah and tells Hananiah that as punishment, he will die within a year.  And Hananiah dies.  And the people stay in exile.  And that isn’t a popular story.

My point is I want to respond to things the way Jeremiah does.  I want to embrace the popular and I want to be enthusiastic, but I also want to be discerning.  If the popular idea is nothing but a myth I want to speak out against it, even if I really wanted it to be real. 

I think that’s what the church is called to do.  Not reject everything, which is easy, or accept everything, which is easier, but to embrace everything with the hope that it might have God’s voice in it then speak truth if it doesn’t.

Peace,

Ben

When he isn’t listening to “Call Me Maybe” and “Payphone”, Ben listens to bands you’ve never heard of, but only their first album.  You can follow his solipsistic elitism @BenHoward87.

Twitter Angst and the 2012 Olympics

by Ben Howard

Everybody has been on a bad vacation.  That one family trip where everything felt tense all the time and you were waiting for something to spill over.  That one road trip where your dad yells that he’s going to pull over to the side of the road, and then actually does it.  That one trip where you or your brother or your sister just decide that everything unequivocally sucks because you feel like being an angst-ridden hormonal teenager.

I’m pretty sure Twitter is the angst-ridden hormonal teenager of the 2012 London Olympics.

Now, lest this post devolve into a kids-get-off-my-lawn curmudgeonly rant, I’ve definitely added my voice to the misanthropic murmur of social media over the last few days and weeks, but I’m starting to feel uncomfortable with it.  I’m starting to feel uncomfortable and tense about the aggressive snark and cynicism which has started to ensnare my generation’s observations of the surrounding world.

On Friday, I watched the opening ceremonies with some friends.  To be fair it was gorgeous and epic, but at the same time it was weird and at points incomprehensible.  There was a salute to the National Health Service, which was weird, and a scene where 200 flying Mary Poppins (Poppi?) battled a 100 foot inflatable Voldemort, which was weird, but awesome. 

However, when I got home I checked Twitter and Facebook before I went to sleep and was barraged by a series of tweets and status updates about how much the ceremonies sucked and how stupid it was and it was all so…predictable.

The last few days have been filled with bitter tweets about Olympic spoilers, and rants about why NBC won’t show events live, but instead saves the best events for prime time (the best response is Will Leitch’s column here.)

To be honest, I don’t care.  It isn’t important.  I just want to enjoy a worldwide spectacle.  I just want to be a part of the fun.

I wrote a couple of weeks ago about how difficult I find it sometimes to be authentically happy and how rare and beautiful it can be to just enjoy something without deconstructing it to find deeper meaning.  However, in the world I live in, and likely the one you live in too if you’re reading this, it’s hard to escape the cynicism.  It’s hard not to breathe pithy statements that border on bitterness and arrogance.

I’ve often felt the same way about the church.  A few years ago I got to the point where I could never leave a church feeling anything but bitterness and spite.  Some of it was arrogance, and some of it was pain.  There’s a thin line between making fun of something because you love it, which gives us a healthy perspective and a dash of humility, and making fun of something because you hate it.

I wonder when we know that we’ve crossed the line and I wonder how we get back.  Thankfully through the love and support of friends and a healthy church community, I can get more out of a service than anger and frustration.  They blessed me with that gift of grace.  But how do we move a society that way?  How do you we help a society embrace beauty even when its flawed?  Or is cynicism justified and I’m just being naïve?  I’d love to know your thoughts because I’m still working this one out.

Peace,

Ben

When he isn't channeling Andy Rooney for a post about the Olympics, Ben spends his time in a field with Snoopy waiting for the arrival of the Great Pumpkin.  Any day now.  You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87.

The Vatican Olympic Team and Why God Will Be Watching in London

by Ben Howard

On Friday night, my friends and I will be huddled around our televisions along with millions upon millions around the world to watch the Opening Ceremonies of the London Olympic Games. Most will have their eyes on Phelps and Lochte, maybe they'll try and catch a glimpse of Usain Bolt, or they may simply stare off into the distance pondering the all important question of whether David Beckham will or will not light the torch. But my eyes will be locked on the single athlete representing one of the world's smallest sovereign states: Tommaso Guarrazzi of Vatican City. That's right boys and girls, God finally has a home team.

For years, God, much like an NBA fan in Missouri, has been without a team to call his own. Many have tried to claim the deity's favor from The Los Angeles Angels (too redundant) to the New Orleans Saints (not saintly enough) to the Holy Cross Crusaders (ixnay on the usadescray), but none have worthy of being the Almighty's favorite.

Instead God has chosen to root for his favorite players from Josh Hamilton to Tim Tebow to every single player who ever pointed up to the sky after they did something special. But now God's behind Tommaso Guarrazzi and Team Vatican City. Take notice world!

Now all this may sound totally ridiculous and that's because it is. Tommaso Guarrazi is a member of the Vatican Olympic Team, but it's a fictional Olympic Team portrayed in the recently released Italian movie 100 Meters to Paradise. (You can read the Vatican newspapers review here).

But is it so ridiculous to think that God is sports fan? I'm not saying he has a vested interest in one team winning over another, and I'm pretty sure he had less to do with the Braves winning in extra innings than my prayers would indicate, but I think there are aspects he can enjoy.

At their essence, sports, especially the Olympics, are a showcase for the physicality of God's creation. They show us the agility, speed, strength, stamina and athleticism of humanity in its peak physical form and while that's something we don't often hold to be spiritual maybe it should be. We are so quick to spiritualize the world that we forget we inhabit a physical existence and sports are a way to celebrate the depth of humanities physical gifts.

So when you watch the Olympics in the next few weeks maybe God will be watching along with you. I wonder if he's rooting for Lochte or Phelps?

Peace,

Ben

When he isn't writing about fictional Vatican Olympians, Ben attempts to divine God's rooting interests for gambling purposes. You can follow his misadventures on Twitter @BenHoward87.  

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American Ambivalence

by Ben Howard

I remember Michael Johnson.  Not from 1992 in Barcelona, but from 1996 in Atlanta.  I remember his gold shoes and I remember my 9 year old mind confusing him a few times with Michael Jordan.  I remember getting chills when he won gold in the 200 and 400.  The names Shannon Miller, Dominique Dawes, Dominique Moceanu, and Kerri Strug are engrained in my mind even though I'd never watched gymnastics before the Atlanta Olympics.  I know Strug did something amazing on the vault, though I didn’t understand it when it happened, and I remember having a crush on Moceanu.  9 year old me had a thing for ponytails and bangs apparently.

I’ve always loved the Olympics.  I probably will always love the Olympics and I’m incredibly excited about the Olympics in London (starting July 27^th at 7:30 central time, it’s been in my phone for a few months now).  My affinity is based in the camaraderie, the passion, the spectacle, the dreams, and the destiny of it all.  Everything about it feels so epic, so earned.

In 2008, I had a mini-crisis regarding my enjoyment of the Olympics.  As I’ve matured and learned, I’ve become far more uncomfortable with the feeling of national superiority that is so prevalent in the United States.  I feel a great sense of unease when we celebrate national holidays centered around our national ideas of greatness, independence and military strength.  These ideas entirely contradict the Christian narrative that says we are all exiles in a foreign land, awaiting the Kingdom of God.  This deep sense of ambivalence has led to certain changes in my life.  I do not say the Pledge of Allegiance.  I do not sing or put my hand on my heart during the National Anthem.  I do not vote.  I respect those who do, but deep in my heart this is not my country.

So when the Olympics come around I may seem like a bit of a hypocrite because I will definitely be rooting for the American athletes.  Here’s what I’ve decided, and if you disagree, that’s fine.  I’m comfortable rooting for American athletes because I think the idea of the Olympics and athletics in general can overcome national barriers.  A great story is a great story.  A great achievement is a great achievement.  We can all appreciate athletic genius and dedication and while this may not be my country, they are my neighbors and I want them to succeed.  Maybe that’s why the Olympics are so great.  You can root for success without implicitly having to root for someone's failure.  I can’t wait to feel the chills, I can’t wait to be a fan.

Peace,

Ben

You can contact me on Twitter @BenHoward87, via email or just leave a comment.