As the Olympics approached, prominent Canadian journalists such as Gary Mason and Ian Brown conveyed a growing sense of worry over our nation’s newfound fierce competitiveness. Were we being bullies? Was it contrary to both the Canadian and Olympic spirit to announce that we would host the world in order to kick its collective ass?
Does aspiring to dominate these games somehow offend the humble and good nature of Canadians? Indeed, the New York Times gave exactly that account. Such dismissive stereotypes assume that crossing into the borders of this land somehow causes one to experience sport differently from the rest of the world.
A more plausible explanation is that inflated expectations rob Canadian audiences of the unpredictability that makes sports viewing meaningful. We cheer for teams and athletes precisely because we don’t know how events will unfold, and we hope that our shouts and cries can make some small difference. We watch in anticipation of witnessing the unlikely, the unexpected, or even the impossible. By propagating expectations of “owning the podium” and “not settling for less than gold,” organizers of these Olympics have risked these experiences and their audience along with them.
The rookie Olympic broadcasters at CTV and TSN have only magnified this blunder—instructing their audiences to expect medals, feats, and even loud applause before these events have had a chance to simply happen on their own. In the event that these expectations are met, the moment seems scripted and banal. When expectations are not met, a feast of disappointment and excuses is fed to the audience.
The memorable and nearly overlooked performance of Kristi Richards is a case in point. After falling halfway down her mogul run and missing out on a medal, Richards struggled to stand up and put her skis back on. After pausing to salute the crowd, she went on to flawlessly complete one of the competition’s most difficult jumps. As the crowd cheered in support and appreciation, the commentators could only note how unfortunate it was to see the jump as part of a losing run.
Richards, however, is a striking example of the ways that our Olympians have succeeded where organizers and broadcasters have failed. These athletes have defied scripts and exceeded expectations in order to supply the spontaneous moments that connect audiences to these games. Before CTV played a musical montage of her gold-medal run, Vancouver’s Maelle Riker stood hand in hand with her fellow competitors upon a temporary podium. In that moment, it was Riker’s opponents who raised their arms and encouraged the audience to cheer for their hometown girl. Similarly, as Alexandre Bilodeau stood atop the podium, he welcomed his Australian rival and Vancouver native Daniel Begg-Smith, to stand beside him as an equal. Whereas Canadian media often cast Begg-Smith as a villain in light of his defection, this single moment of shared glory challenged audiences to look again.
In sport, winning only ever lasts for a moment. If the winners and losers were always the same, then the competition would be pointless and the victories, however many in number, would be empty. For these reasons, victory cannot be owned but must be earned in a constantly renewed competition among equals. For some of our Olympians, such competition has culminated in moments of triumph. For many others, though, their moments have come in simply giving their best to both their audience and this nation.
