Unless you’re seriously protesting the 2008 Olympics and refusing to even look at a newspaper/navigate to any news website/flip on the radio/or your television excludes NBC from your channel surfing lineup/or you don’t have a television and you don’t go to sports bars or belong to a gym, you’ve by now seen the finish of the men’s 100m finals in track and field (or at least overheard a conversation at your local coffee shop). What an amazing display of athleticism from Bolt as he smashed his world record and finished for the gold medal with a time of 9.62… it left me out of breath, and I was watching from on top of my overstuffed comforter in my bedroom. I did see him raise his hands in the air and appear to be celebrating before he crossed the finish line. I had two questions, how did he have enough time to even think of celebrating-that race goes by SO fast!? And, how could he have even gone any faster!? I can’t wait to see his next 100m race.

And then came the American news media commentary. Check out Heather Havrilesky’s words which she documented in Solon this week: http://www.salon.com/ent/tv/iltw/2008/08/24/bolt/index.html

I do love her ability to connect Bob Costas to the US founding fathers, to America’s arbitrary declaration of the definition of class. Here’s a highlight:

“Bolt enjoys joking around with his competitors. One of his shoes was untied when he ran the 100-meter race. His technique is described as sloppy and amateurish. He polished off a bunch of Chicken McNuggets right before the race. He’s that kind of a guy. He’s 21 years old, for Chrissakes! He became the fastest man on earth by a long shot, breaking his own record, while every other contender huffed and puffed along several feet behind him. How would anyone dare to claim that he owed it to the fans to run even faster, or that he disrespected them by celebrating a little early? What in the world is Costas, space alien from Planet Honky, talking about? Why should Bolt care about class, of all provincial, bourgeois values? What the hell is class, anyway, but some arbitrary code that soulless, high-capitalist professional robots live by?

You know what I like to see in the world’s greatest athletes? Exuberance, and joy, and tears. I’d like to see them rip their clothes off and run around the Bird’s Nest naked. I’d like to see a guy who’s fast enough to beat his competitors then walk slowly across the finish line while grabbing his package. There’s your world record right there, motherfrackers. Take that, masters of the corporate-sponsored Olympic universe. I’m just too goddamn fast to heed your mortal concerns.”