By Ken Stokes
Ah, Valentine’s Day. Just you, your soulmate and a day anchored in extravagant, timeworn and wholly unoriginal rituals. Yes, currently my relationship status on all social media platforms is capital S ‘Single’—not to be confused with capital U ‘Untouchable’ or some equally lowly caste.
But do not cry for me, Blaine County. This year, on that highest of Hallmark high Holy Days, in lieu of filling myself with another’s eternal love, or See’s, or something else, I filled my day with the most extravagant winter sports spectacle known to mankind, the XXIV Olympic Winter Games, held in that internationally-renowned winter wonderland known as Beijing, China. I wonder who picked the venue.
That this would be my romantic default during this, our Love in the Time of Covid, isn’t a real stretch. After all, I spent my formative years hanging at Lex Kuna’s cabin on Warm Springs (Lex being a ski instructor on Baldy) so the sticks are in the blood. Exciting? You bet. The Winter Olympics are fraught with speed, and danger, and Scandinavians everywhere you look. There’s daring and beauty and artistry and a generous smattering of Swiss, French, and—dare I say it?—Italians.
And the sports are, for the most part, way cool. Even the weird ones, like curling, which is basically a Big Bang Theory fanboy’s physics problem come to life. And let’s not forget biathlon—cross-country skiing and guns. Why the Idaho State Legislature hasn’t glommed onto this as the Official State Sport is anybody’s guess. Probably because the participants tend to shun french fries.
But the Winter Olympics, as a mistress, is losing its allure. It’s not the sports or the competition that’s the problem, it’s the production. I’ve been watching the Winter Olympics for over 50 years now, and even though it’s parsed in intervals, perhaps, like any program that endures that long, it progressively ceases to be captivating. And then I think of SNL and say, no, longevity doesn’t have to be a trap.
Between the IOC and NBC, the Olympics “show” has been templated to the point that, no matter the year or the venue, they all look alike. Each day is formulaic. Sure, there’s the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, but it’s all packaged so tightly that all spontaneity and surprise come off more like planned beats in a predictable story arc. If variety is the spice of life, then one’s variety needs variety. Otherwise ruts form, and no winter sports enthusiast likes ruts.
The strict adherence to tradition will be the death of the thing. The opening and closing ceremonies, despite the adorable kiddies, pretty colors and pop/chinois soundtrack, are about as exciting as the annual installation of officers at the local Elks Lodge. Then there’s The Warhorse. You know, the one with sequins. I understand that figure skating is the financial heart of the entire enterprise, but please join us in the 21st century. The incestuous little clan than runs the figure skating business is stuck in a paradigm that is hopelessly out of touch with contemporary sensibilities. Outdated production values (music, costumes, choreography) will overshadow technique and artistry every time.
This year, Nathan Chen was the glaring and most welcome exception. Not since Torvell and Dean has there been an athlete that could make this sport a must-watch. Frankly, watching figure skating, particularly women’s figure skating, is like car racing—the crashes are the best part (‘Look at her face, she’s definitely gonna end up ass down on the ice, in a slutty cocktail dress no less.’).
And this year they didn’t stop there. A big thank you to the IOC and the ROC—whatever that is—for perpetrating and broadcasting a showcase of management ambition polluted with incompetence and an absolute disregard for human dignity. It (we will not disparage a 15-year-old Russian skater by naming her here) was the most indelible image from this year’s games, and then to have the temerity to wrap up the games up with a rousing chorus of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy … they’ve got some nerve.
How to save the Winter Olympics (given the albatrosses that are the IOC and NBC)? Well, the snowboard must have been sent directly from Jesus himself. And in the relentless pursuit of spreading risk among a litany of broadcasting partners, NBC is either ignoring or blissfully unaware of the single most significant shift in contemporary entertainment: technology can now put the spectator right into the athlete’s skates, ski boots, whatever. Technology is our friend. Use it! Make thrilling sports thrilling.
So what if I’m single in four years and it’s business as usual at the Winter Olympics? Well, I’m not ready to dump them quite yet. You see, I happen to know that the 2026 Winter Olympics are going to be in Cortina, Italy. Honest-ta-God ski resort. And just a hop, skip and a jump from Clooney’s villa on Lake Como. And Italians for as far as the eye can see.