Post-modernist sportsfest

Press, 23 September 1988, Page 11

Post-modernist sportsfest

Ken Strongman on television

The quadrennial sportsfest has begun so it would be nice if Telecom would stop asking us if we are ready. To date, the television coverage has been excellent, far better than the rather biased Los Angeles equivalent. It is accurate, well-paced and even the camera angles are interesting. It is very hard for the commentators though, with all those names from the Eastern bloc and the ever-increas-ing Chinese. It was inevitable that the Olympics be reviewed, since, with several million hours per week or whatever it is, there is very little choice. Even the television advertisements advertising future programmes are according the Olympics a calendar level of significance by making reference to a time “After the Olympics.” Not that this is a complaint; a daily dose of fascinating, superbly highlevel sport is as good as a fix, even though it is now

routinely confused with money and politics, as is everything else. As might be expected in these postmodernist times, the distinction between amateur and professional has disappeared. Everything is represented in Seoul, from the extreme of Steffi Graf professionalism, through payments for medals to some gentle but archaic amateurism. The confused blurring is happening against a backdrop of social and political fudging. The 5000-year-old Korean culture is providing an elegant and beautifully run games with splendid facilities and good humour. But their poor are hidden behind pur-pose-built walls and their radical students are hidden behind clouds of teargas. At least we can see them though. An Olympics so densely packed with so many sports gives pause for thought about what defines an athlete. All sizes and shapes are there,

from enormous weight-' lifters to scrawny runners, from gigantic basketbailers to miniscule gymnasts and divers. The range also goes from the superfit middle-distance runners and canoeists to the not necessarily quite so fit pistol shooters and archers. It is almost a relief to

be back amongst it all, even though it is inevitably time out of life for two weeks. The occasion is made by its contrasts, from the calm concentrated aggression of the weight-lifters to the frenzied hyperactivity of the volleyballers. Early in the week there was a marvellous contrast between the usual grinning but elegant 15-year-old Romanian gymnast and the young Korean lady who won a Tai Kwan Do gold with a kick to the middle of her opponent’s back. The gymnastics are marvellous with those ringing descriptions of amplitude, extension, splits and lovely layouts. Was one of the Russians called Trippinova or not? Again by contrast the boxers seemed to spend much of their early rounds falling over, the only ones who didn’t either forgetting how to or missing the bouts altogether. It is also most enjoyable to hear those wonderful

words and phrases from the commentators; they are always great value. “A brilliant performance by a young Chinese swinger.” “Look at those muscles sticking out.” “Where did that punch come from?” “If anyone can do this it is Greg Louganis with his head stitched together.” Of course, as in other years, we are being left with many unanswered questions. Why aren’t women as tall, as strong or as fast as men? Why do female divers wear costumes they have to keep plucking at? How do the gymnasts and divers know where they are? How do the boxers know who they are? And why do they wear long shorts? Does FloJo need a masseur? Tailpiece. Does anyone else find something just a little unnerving about the two ladies who do the news round-up for the deaf? One is silently but animatedly emotional and the other is audible but passionless