Special Edition: Olympic Boxing and Bringing it Home
FRANCE
How does one know which of the childhood moments and memories become the ones on which nostalgia will build a nest? Not only did mine enable me to nestle on the couch with my parents back then, but it also hatched a new experience for me this week in Paris! I vividly remember watching boxing with my dad on our tiny TV. Aside from my cartoons, all I recall playing on the screen was this and wrestling. I liked the latter for its spunky songs and outlandish swerves and slams, while I know dad preferred the boxer’s technique and timely execution of skillful jabs. Unlike the trends of watch parties today, I can’t imagine popcorn, peanuts or other junk replacing the peeled baby mandarins we used to devour, cartons at a time.
Seeing it live for the first time after all these years was quite cool. We were lucky to watch the women’s finals and the men’s and women’s semifinal matches in several weight categories. This stadium had an obvious calculation to it - if I wasn’t a physician, I wonder what being immersed in the world of architecture would be like. I was quite curious of the angles, edges and the very many calculations and projections that were likely tweaked to optimize as much perspective as possible.
Also used for tennis, the Roland-Garros Stadium was built in 1928 and houses 18 clay courts spread over 12 acres. Like a brick water well you’d find in a developing country, the inside resembled Legos and Tetris blocks teetering atop each other. The stadium’s high seats though far away, afforded a quasi-closeness to the ring. From that bird’s eye vantage point, somehow the distances had been swallowed to bridge the actual gap.
The crowd was hyped and while there was no commentary, the DJ between rounds was on point, poking us out of any potential slumber that hugged us through the humid late-night air.
Three rounds, each lasting three minutes kept things hopping from one match to another. For us, 180 seconds likely seemed much quicker than the ones in the ring - an interesting point to ponder when it comes to how quickly or slowly each of us perceives when our present slips into the past. With no screens or sports reporters, who was in the lead depended on our own interpretations, until the ref held up the red or blue boxer’s arm during the final announcement.
I wondered about how we look to others in life to validate our great efforts, mental moves and major or minor wins. Everyone that sits in the audience of our world may take on a similar role of the transient judge, if we let them. Knowing little of the technicalities of boxing, I was conjuring up outcomes based on my renderings – how often do we allow, enable, or perhaps even encourage others in our lives to do the same, and when there is a verdict of success or defeat, who (and what) is it that defines that in our lives? Ultimately, I hope we see that there is only One judge.
Uzbekistan beat the USA when the German ref raised Muydinkhujaev’s glove in the men’s round, and the country took another win over China too in the women’s match, leaving the Uzbeks with the highest number of golds in boxing’s final medal count.
I was proud of them and recalled with fondness my time in Samarkand, seeing the scientists who’d paved the advances for modern day astronomy. The eerie quiet of the inner town of Khiva, safeguarded as a UNESCO world heritage site would be interesting to revisit and this time, I’d be aware of the dill that douses all the Uzbek dishes.
Mexico took the lead both in term of cheering (and boxing) over Great Britain, a game refereed by a Sri Lankan. I enjoyed seeing all this diversity, particularly within the ring. Fans were vocal and there was paraphernalia from all around the world to represent the various traditions represented here.
The Canadian ref noted that the Philippines lost to Turkey, even though there were a few dicey moments, including a drop to the ground for the latter. In spite of all the controversy, Algeria took the win over Thailand, refed by an American. I was happy to hear the African’s raising the decibels as they drowned out any other cheers during these matches.
It was reassuring to see the women wearing protective headgear, since the rule was abandoned (for men only) in the 2016 Rio Games. This seems unfortunate knowing that concussion, cognitive disorders, dementia and other brain disorders remain disproportionately higher in boxers not wearing a headguard.
For the finale, the Irish raised the bar of the Mexicans and Algerians by belching out their support for Kelly Harrington, who brought home the Gold for the second time.
What do we take when we leave home and how do these earlier memories shape our magnanimity – be it in our more mature moments, meaningful milestones, or (if you’re fortunate enough) medals from the Olympics? I wondered how their childhood memories may have impacted these athletes and was comforted to see the graciousness and sportsmanship on display.
Perhaps in Paris because there was more emphasis on supporting than snacking, these matches were so much fun! Seeing the various nations showing solidarity with spirit and respectful rambunctiousness was a treat - I’d have loved to linger longer with lads and ladies to learn about their lands, but the event ended late and the metros were timing out after we entered the intricate bowels of the train system.
I think of the innocence of not knowing back in the day that wrestling was orchestrated. Or of the intricacies of weight categories. I wonder how these athletes may strive and adhere to strict schedules so as to stay within or under specific thresholds. With the lure of laud juxtaposed against the lurking possibilities of complex behaviours that could slide boxers into eating disorders, mental illness and other compromises for later wellness, this was another nidus for considering the nuances of what it takes to hit the top as an all-star athlete, or perhaps in any arena in life.
Who knew that because of those weekends with my dad relaxing as he became enraptured by a sport, I’d fly across the world to watch Olympic boxing for the first time all these years later. Whether intentioned or not, that imprint subconsciously brought me to Paris.
Perhaps there is a plethora of poignant or subtle special moments in our past that bring us to the experiences that lay in front of us in the present.
Surely, it’s not just those that are competing or cheerleading at the Olympics that have been impacted – hope you can grab a cuppa and take a walk down your own memory lane …
May the moments that mould us embolden us to live out our (big) dreams,