Patriotism knows no bounds at the Winter Olympics

ALEX GOFF

Originally published Tuesday, February 19, 2002

We waved our $1.49 American flags today for the freestyle aerialists.

Freestyle aerial skiers, by the way, are people who think nothing of skiing down a steep slope and then up a steeper ramp to launch themselves into the air. And if that weren't bad enough, they decide to add on flips, spins, and other moves to delight us. One American woman split open her chin for her efforts. Another competitor fractured her leg.

And we cheered these women in the finals, even though no American had made the medal round. No matter, we're here to celebrate who we are.

You hear a lot these days about "blind patriotism." Flag waving without thought, simply because flag waving is a little more prevalent these days. I doubt it's as blind as some would have you believe. Patriotism, after all, is a deeply held and deeply thought out conviction. It's just that these days it's a little less unfashionable to say you're for the US of A. That's not blindness -- it just makes life a little more like the Olympics.

And in Salt Lake, we see patriotism of all sorts. People come to cheer for their country. People come to cheer for adopted countries -- Jennifer cheers sometimes for the country of her birth, Canada, or for the country of her heritage, Latvia. Even I get to cheer for one of the countries of my heritage. As the Armenian bobsled winds its way down (ahead of the Irish!) my son and I chant "let's go Armenia, let's go Armenia."

Buoyed possibly by the fact that a) Armenia never wins any medals and b) Armenia's driver is actually from San Jose, the other fans turn and smile, nodding in recognition of our blind loyalty.

What we also see, though, is a patriotism born out of love. In this case, it's a love of sport and competition. Elsewhere it's out of a love for peace or fairness. At the Olympics, when someone beats you fair and square, you cheer for them. Be she one of us or one of them, you cheer for them.

It's the Austrian's turn, and a lone Austrian fan raises his flag and stands at attention. The other spectators, searching for a better vantage point, or just some nachos, weave around him. It's his moment ... his country.

Down in Park City, the toughest Olympic sport -- fashion -- draws thousands of competitors every day. There the longest lines aren't for the fancy designers but for the USA logo. The USA team spirit store has a line almost a block long, with a doorperson screening customers like it was a nightclub. This line is surpassed only by the line for official USA outfitter Roots. The fact that Roots is Canadian matters not. If you're to be seen, you better be seen wearing the right stuff.

My son has a Roots jacket we bought in Vancouver. It says Canada on it. We left it at home.

Patriotism takes on its own provincial flavor, too. We find ourselves choosing the Pierce County Transit buses whenever possible, and ask the driver where he's from (the Utah Olympic Committee brought in buses and drivers from all over the country. Can imagine that last run at home -- stopping at 33rd, Washington Boulevard, and ... Utah!).

One international athlete once told me how competing for the United States was like an addiction. Once you put on that jersey and sang that national anthem, nothing can compare. You want to experience that feeling again and again.

These aerialists are flying by us, but I suspect they were really flying when they put on their country's colors.

South Sound resident Alex Goff will write stories from the Olympics for The Olympian.

On the Web:

The Olympian Copyright 2002

back to Salt Lake 2002 index