8.09.08. I watched the first 20 minutes of the opening ceremony from the couch and surprisingly felt a lump in my throat when the representatives of 50 regions came forward with the red flag singing the Chinese national anthem. It’s funny how pa has lived here 30 years and still roots for China every four years. The Olympics will do that to you, have you cheering for your old stomping grounds and that which forms your current identity. You look at the American team, different by its 31 flavors composition and its unrivaled prosperity. A breed of people raised on freedom, keeping what you earn and earning what you are willing to work for. In America if you’re not lazy, you can go far. That’s not true in the other 200 nations competing for Beijing medals.

Of the many competitive sports, participating in the Olympics has always been a boyhood fantasy of mine. Running through the hills of Los Altos, I envisioned wearing the jersey of the stars and bars and obtaining glory in museums and history books along with 600 other teammates of the nation’s finest physical specimens. Then afterwards, bitterness grew in my heart over spending too much free time caught up in achieving perfection as an athlete. I could have learned the guitar or been an actor or written novels was the argument and been all the more balanced. Once an athlete, the thrill of killing an opponent at a contest by mere inches or crushing him mercilessly under by thumb was an addiction I could not overcome during adolescence.