The Backroads: Hello, Rio
By Sean Hart
Saturday, October 3, 2009 8:36 PM PDT
“At the beginning of this new century, the nation that has been shaped by people from around the world wants a chance to inspire it once more.” President Barack Obama said that at about 10 a.m. Friday, somewhere in Copenhagen, the capital of the small nation of Denmark that bridges the Baltic Sea between Germany and Sweeden.
That was at 1 a.m. back in Obama’s adopted hometown of Chicago — the city to which he had hoped to bring the 2016 Summer Olympics.
Which made it 2 a.m. in the mountains for the insomniacs and unlucky swing-shifters who had their televisions occupied by the International Olympic Committee like Hitler occupied Denmark in the ’40s —and for the few of us caffeine-addled, red-eyed journalists who actually stayed up to watch the Olympic bids for a quick fix of a different type of international politics, far beyond the rigmarole of the U.N.
I first felt the thirst for politics last year when Obama was just a candidate for the office he now holds. At first, it sickened me. The politicians. The politics. The pundits.
I’d turn off the TV — America’s 21st century drug of choice that I’d previously vowed to avoid as much as possible. But I couldn’t stop going back for more.
It was all over when I actually started to like it: knowing the ins and outs of our partisan procedures — like knowing the strengths and weaknesses of a pair of boxers before they get in the ring.
Now, I’m afraid, I’m hooked on the stuff. And no amount of methadone could possibly save a soul in the depths of the Red and Blue Fever.
I caught a few hours of sleep, as Obama and his wife rode Air Force One back to The States, before Team USA was cut from the Olympic runnings in the first round of voting. The drubbing ruffled a few feathers, as most bookies had Chicago and eventual-winner Rio De Janeiro, Brazil, as easy picks for the finals.
A colleague of mine said it was retribution for eight years of international bullying under the former administration and that it would take 10 years or World War III to repair our standing.
Personally, I haven’t had time to give it much thought. I have work to do. I hear the sands of the Copacabana have some sort of voodoo healing power under the moon in the summer.
And with Rio De Janeiro’s crime rate and slum population, despite a nagging physical urge to let my body shut down, I must push on. The stories of the century will undoubtedly go down in Brazil during the Games.
No time for sleep. I have been inspired. And I need a passport.
Lifestyle Editor Sean Hart can be contacted at SeanH@argusobserver.com. The views and opinions expressed in this column are not necessarily those of the Argus Observer.
