With the afterglow of South Korea’s Winter Games still shining, a question arises: How excited are you for the Olympics, say, in 2030, to make their return to Salt Lake City?
Were Utah to gain that nod, where would your emotions rank?
Enthused beyond measure.
More eager than you were on your wedding night.
Totally stoked.
Stoked, in a limited sort of way.
Do not like the idea.
Hate the Olympics, wouldn’t know a flying salchow from an icing call from a frying pan.
Would rather hammer a nail through your lower lip.
On the whole, according to surveys — if you believe them — most Utahns favor the notion. And the reasons are understandable.
A lot of folks around here had a terrific experience in 2002. The city was alive, even at wee hours of the morning, times when the place typically is in a state of hibernation. Parties erupted everywhere during those 17 days of February. In the mountains, in lodges, in condos, in venues, in houses, in villages, in restaurants, in the streets, in parking lots transformed into concert halls.
It was a celebratory atmosphere, elongated unlike anything ever experienced here, not just of sports and competition, not just of skiing and luging and body-checking and pitching stones and sweeping ice and snowboarding and skating and slaloming and careening down a mountain face-first on a cookie sheet, not just of winning. No, it was bigger than just that. It was a toast to humankind.
Everyone knew the Olympics aren’t perfect. Some folks profit in a big way from the endeavor, some are arrogant and entitled, cloaking their enrichment in a worldwide event that seems — only seems — to some to be altruistic.
Some residents wanted nothing to do with the headaches, staying away from the venues, staying off the state’s roads, boarding planes for the islands. But many of those who volunteered, who took tickets or drove vans or interpreted languages or answered questions sitting in booths or manned media centers or who attended a variety of competitions found a different kind of enrichment from their involvement. They reached out to visitors from all over the world and not only made them feel welcome, they made connections and friends, letting people who may not have known much about Utah, or who knew only the weird stuff, discover the great things, too.
And as millions of us are fully aware, there are many, many positives about this place, not the least of which is — it loves the Winter Olympics. And contrary to a few oddities, Utahns can, in fact, party hearty, even if in some corners and cases it includes a hoisted Diet Coke instead of a Heineken. Plenty of folks, from Ogden to Oslo, found ways to enjoy their adult beverages, too.
But remember the best times, the unforgettable moments?
The Opening Ceremony that saw the world’s largest sheet of ice across the field at Rice-Eccles Stadium, with the skaters, the cloggers, the pioneers, the tribal leaders, the aristocrats, the rock bands, the morality plays, the little boy skating for his life, speeding away from evil dudes, trying not just to light the fire within but get the hell without?
Remember the long lines outside the Olympic Park, with security guards checking every pocket, every bag, every body orifice to keep the venue safe?
Remember the 270-pound Olympian at the back end of the luge competition, the one with no shot at a medal, as he slid down the ice, his belly spreading out over the sled like excess cream cheese on a bagel, slamming into walls and biffing it on the fourth turn?
Remember American snowboarder Chris Klug, two years after receiving a liver transplant, winning a bronze medal in men’s parallel giant slalom Feb. 15, which happened to be National Organ Donor Awareness Day?
Remember Jim Shea, a third-generation Olympian, tucking a picture of his dad into his helmet before winning a gold medal in skeleton, just a month after his grandfather Jack, a former gold medalist speedskater, was killed in a car accident? Remember what Jim said? “I felt him here today. He had some unfinished business before he went to heaven. Now I think he can go.”
Remember those and a thousand more?
Many of the Olympic sites already are built, even if some need to be updated or redone, even if there is no legacy park and the Hoberman Arch is locked away in pieces after some of them were stolen for scrap metal or whatever else.
The overriding thing — after the necessary basics were taken care of — that made the 2002 Games so useful, so valuable, so memorable was the interaction of the locals with visitors from around the world, at least those portions of it covered for part of the year in ice and snow.
The competition was fine, the medal winners were honored, the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat were extreme, the benefit to the local economy by way of grand exposure for Utah’s ski and snow areas, as well as its redrock country, was welcome, the berets were tolerated, kind of.
But swinging open the doors and borders of Zion, the squelching of isolationism and paranoia, the connection between those who had no real clue about Utah and those of us who live here and love many of its characteristics was beyond worth it.
Doing it again would be pretty cool. And most people in positions of power, having seen how good it was the first time, may be eager to come back for more — more glory for the greater good, such as it is, not for their own personal gain.
Gordon Monson hosts “The Big Show” with Spence Checketts weekdays from 3-7 p.m. on 97.5 FM and 1280 AM The Zone.
Follow @GordonMonson