I'll tell you what I'm looking forward to after I tell you what I'm looking back on. The first Summer Games I vividly recall were the Munich Olympics of 1972. Of course, I remember the tragedy. But I also distinctly remember feeling an early-adolescent, umm,
I'm dating myself, and that's the point. Eight Olympiads later, I'm crowding 50, and in a mood to celebrate a more enduring, transcendent sort of beauty. A tip of the hat, in that case, to the surprising number of elderly athletes who will be donning bifocals and quaffing Metamucil at the Olympic Village in Beijing. To this crowd,
None of them, in my opinion, is as remarkable as the doyenne of Olympic cycling.
Queen Jeannie is a highly educated, highly independent and occasionally overbearing woman who suffers neither fools nor the apparatchiks of the French Cycling Federation, which she has engaged in some epic battles down through the years. In a delightful 1992 story in the
While Longo has the best shot at a medal, all these forward-looking oldsters inspire me deeply. Unafraid to fail, defying the march of time, they call to mind the final verses of