Wonder

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I'm not much for opening or closing ceremonies, so I flipped over to the Dodger game sometime between the moment I walked into the house aftger my drive back from Mammoth, and the moment that the Beijing Games officially closed.

I had already heard the results I wanted from that last day of competition: the U.S. Men's water polo team had not been able to sustain their incredible run, but still settled for a powerful second to Hungary; the U.S. Men's basketball team, who displayed grace and professionalism, beat Spain for the gold; and a Kenyan won the marathon, leaving Americans to settle for that role to which we have long been accustomed: good hearted losers in an Olympic distance race -- Ms. Flanagan's bronze notwithstanding.

I greatly enjoyed these Games, but the one thing I am lamenting this morning is my loss of innocence. Having been let down by one too many instances of high flying achievement, followed by crushing revelations of doping, I found myself watching the Games with a jaundiced eye. So when Ustain Bolt shattered world records in the 100 and 200, after years of being a so-so athlete, I did not concur with announcer Ato Bolton that it was "the greatest track and field performance in Olympic history." In fact, I begin to think that a guy like Bolt could have been flying under the radar, taking human growth hormone and energizing his training untested and unmolested. The performances are too sudden and too startlingly beyond what he was capable of just a year ago.

Or when Sammy Wanjiru runs an improbable 2:06 in stifling humidity, I am awed by the achievement -- seriously, consider running 26 4:50 miles back-to-back in normal conditions, let alone muggy heat. But part of me wonders if there was some sort of boost somewhere, something to make him capable of enduring those temperatures.

That's what it's come to. We live in world where nothing is as it seems. "Trust none of what you feel, even less of what you see," the song goes. I want to believe, just like Dorothy. I really do. But I've been let down too much, and some of those medals seem as fake to me as China's polished and scrubbed Olympic demeanor.

So where does that leave us? I guess we just carry on and hope the doping wars enjoy more success than the search for Osama bin Laden. The Olympics have long been that shining city on a hill to me, athletically speaking. My jaundiced phase of athletic spectating has been relatively short term, and I hope by the time London rolls around I am back to my old idealistic self, reveling in the glory of it all, without a single question or negative thought entering my head.

Here's hoping.

Keep pushing... always.

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