"Even if one didn't know from concrete examples (the 1936 Olympic Games, for instance) that international sporting contests lead to orgies of hatred, one could deduce it from general principles."
-- George Orwell, The Sporting Spirit
"I can't bear the thought of us hosting the 2012 Olympics. We're not ready, Liz. Have you seen the Beijing opening ceremonies? We don't have that kind of control over our people."
-- Wesley, 30 Rock
To start, I should say here that I don't have any problem with the Olympics. The concept is solid enough. And there is a vague, ephemeral inspiration that comes from watching athletes from all over the world compete for something that isn't money-oriented (generally speaking). Plus, the Marathon is, for my money, the single most impressive thing a person can do because... that shouldn't be possible. My fat, ten-year-old self sees people who willingly trained at running--running--for a really long time--26 miles and change--and weeps proudly for man's ambition and skill. It's like the moon landing except harder because there's no one to make you run on the moon. And, if nothing else, it's always a decent distraction from election year nonsense.
However, I'm not sure what any city expects when it vies to host the games. They're kind of expensive, for one thing, and don't usually return on the investment, for another. They're also obnoxious for locals (yes, people live and work in London, and they don't all wear the Marge Simpson hats or use Cockney rhyming slang--fascinating, eh?). National pride is a decent reason, but it's a gamble. If the country loses money and is made to look poorly (and it can happen), what good does that do for morale? What do you get if all goes well? A chance to literally hand the torch to the next host while everyone goes home. And how much national pride can you claim when one city hosts the games? At least the World Cup uses host countries, balancing the burdens and expectations on more than a single metropolitan area.
I've started to wonder if I should feel any sort of stoic disappointment in the fact that the city of my birth is hurdling towards an internationally-anticipated debacle. That does seem the classically English way to absorb bizarre and embarrassing spectacle, isn't it? Or perhaps a detached, all-in-good-fun kind of derisiveness--that's the best aspect of Englishness. The sort of softly biting sarcasm thing that was born in watching gilded, pompous ceremonies planned by and for coddled, privileged aristocrats. The tongue that was sown permanently into cheek over centuries of Keep Calm and Carry On. And finally achieving adulthood after the Empire collapsed and the world didn't end but was instead revealed to be much less serious and important than it had previously seemed. Tried and true. That seems the right perspective.
There's a decent chance that the opening ceremonies will be genuinely impressive in that standard British way. You know, the sort of overzealous sound-and-fury-signifying-nothing events with which the royal family continues to slyly evade the "what are you still doing here" questions (except Prince Philip--he exists for the enjoyment of all God's creatures). Weddings, funerals, and everything in between; put the royal team on it and you might just have something worth crippling a working city for. Something that makes the world say "Wow, look at that." "Yeah. Why is Mary Poppins fighting Voldemort?" "I'm not sure, but look at it!" And then, for those of us who understand that the Brits are truly at their best when taking snidely taking the piss out of whatever's happening in front of them, you get Stewart Lee to narrate the whole thing. Imagine what he could do with those mascots. Assuming he doesn't break down and go mad just looking at them.
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