For the past two years, American athletes haven proven their mortality in displays of passion outwardly expressed on their respective playing fields. Emotions usually reserved for a championship run become apparent in games that could be meaningless if not for the sheer symbolic idea of what they are playing for.
It’s true that American sports figures are imposed within nearly every culture and subculture on the planet, but it’s not the athletes with billboard-sized talent or shoe-selling ability that matter. America is truly represented by the sweat and hard work of athletes like Greg Meyer, the last American to win the Boston Marathon, and Tristan Gale, the 2002 gold medallist in the women’s skeleton.
It’s when the American athlete is the underdog, when nobody expects him to win, that he seems to shine and show his true grit. It’s those men who weren’t supposed to win gold medals. It’s the 1980 men’s hockey team.
It’s the unknown Ben Sheets pitching for the 2000 baseball gold medallists. It’s the unprecedented fifth-straight Tour De France win for Lance Armstrong that defines who we truly are. It’s the athlete that finds a way to turn being named the American hopeful into being named champion that I respect the most.
Watching the Ironman Wisconsin swim, bike and run through Madison last weekend I had the opportunity to watch real American athletes perform. They weren’t risking their lives in near 90-degree temperatures for a million-dollar endorsement deal. They were pushing themselves to the limits, because that’s who they are. It was one of the purest representations that any individual could provide.
With family, friends and fans cheering from the curbside of Dayton Avenue, over 2,000 participants struggled to complete their task at hand. Over the blaring sirens of medical personnel you could hear the words of encouragement shouted from those people who, like myself, cannot fathom the mental and physical strength of those athletes.
It didn’t much matter which nation you were representing when you crossed the finish line of the Ironman. Applauds aplenty, Americans and other countrymen alike stood as one.
American athletics is much more than the glitz and glamour strewn across the world’s television screens by ESPN. It’s much more than Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods. It’s much more than even I can explain.
It was late Sunday night when I began to understand what being an American athlete is all about. I got that immense feeling of pride as I watched the Ironman participants who were still looking to finish their race. I watched as friends and strangers pushed each other even further into the night’s darkness. With the moon lighting the way, it was these athletes who tested themselves the most. They looked at the Ironman event and believed in their own abilities to finish.
Looking up at the moon I couldn’t help but think about how that moonlight was the same yellow glow cast upon New York City two years ago. It was that same moon that brightly floated above this Earth the night Ben Sheets hung a gold medal around his neck, and it was that moon that brightly beamed on those five glorious nights for Lance Armstrong.
If ever there has been a true American athlete, Lance Armstrong may be it. It is Armstrong that Americans understand as one of themselves. It was he who struggled to get to the top of his sport only to be struck down by illness. Did he complain? Did he give up? No, and for that Americans stand by him.
Armstrong dealt with his pain by getting back on his bike and riding harder and faster than anyone else ever had. He picked up the pieces and rebuilt something greater than anyone could have imagined. He built a history that no one can take away.
Remembering those men and women that tragically and unjustly perished Sept. 11, 2001, I get chills every time I hear my national anthem played. There is a tear in my eye for Lance Armstrong as he stood atop the podium in France, a tear for Chris Witty as she won speed-skating gold and a tear for the heroes we lost two years ago. Last Saturday as I stood in the press box before UW’s football game I couldn’t help but notice as 70,000 people stood as one and recited a song that meant so much. In those lyrics I feel the loss we all endured but I hear the words that allow us to move on.
Sept. 11 is more than just any other day in the world of sports. It’s a day when the superstars mean nothing more than a third-string quarterback. It’s a day when the athletes themselves take a back seat to what it means to be an American athlete.
This day in September, games will stop, tears will fall and America will join as one to remember. We will remember what we lost and what we still have, and I hope that our athletes will remember what it means to represent the United States of America.
Some people would adore the opportunity to see 50 star athletes in the same room at the same time, but for me I’d rather watch one athlete with 50 stars and 13 stripes representing my nation — not necessarily as a champion but as someone who gave his all and never gave up.
