NZ’s Olympics: so far, so splendid

Even as Lisa Carrington takes her place at the most rarefied levels of the Olympic mountaintop, she is more an encouraging figure than a daunting or intimidating one. Unless you’re a rival kayaker, obviously. The strongest sense to emerge from her powerhouse performances has been that here we see a supremacy that has been palpably earned, rather than sheer talent bestowed from on high.

Time and again her teammates, and their opponents, have demonstrated likewise.

It’s a message that is hardly new but can easily be subverted by an Olympian sense of occasion that tends to invite us to conclude we’re marvelling at the cavortings of superhumans.

Stripped of roaring crowds, and instead infused by some multitude mimicking mus aka nd lighting tricks, these games have been weird around the edges.

But it’s been the close-ups, not the faked CinemaScope production values, that have carried such emotional wallop.

The upshot has been that the Tokyo Olympics are proving more memorable for their intimacies than any kind of grand spectacle.

What will we really remember most vividly? The dynamics of the Black Ferns’ wins, or the emotions, the camaraderie shown before, during, and afterwards?

In some respects the Ferns’ performances were evidence of what is admirable about them, rather than the definition of it.

How often have we found ourselves talking afterwards not about the times, the distances, the techniques of the competitors, but the passion, the friendships and feuds, the frailties and braveries, the egos and the humilities?

When Dame Valerie Adams held up photos of her desperately missed children, that they might understand then and thereafter that they truly mattered more; when Black Ferns captain Sarah Hirini called out to her late mum; when trans weightlifter Laurel Hubbard, so shy it still seemed like it hurt to talk, tried to communicate feelings that were an alloy of disappointment and gratitude – these moments weren’t background material. They were central to the Olympic experience.

The expectation that American gymnast Simone Biles’ routines would be more like pretty charades before she wafted to her pre-ordained position atop the victory podiums was overturned by a reminder of her own humanity and the vulnerabilities that attach.

Is her standing diminished as a result?

No. Her bronze medal speaks volumes for resilience.

We have an enhanced understanding of what is most admirable about her.

Of course, it hasn’t been all edifying. Never is. Grace in defeat does have a petulant twin.

We’ve seen tantrums of reproach, not always merited.

We’ve seen premature celebrations the wrong side of the finish line turn to failure in the flash of an unnoticed rival.

We’ve seen the terrible unfairness of a cyclist’s bike disassembling underneath him.

New Zealanders are entitled to our mounting sense of pride that the collective performances, and character, of our athletes have so far lived up to hopes and expectations.

And then some.

Time will tell the extent to which these games meet or approach ‘‘best ever’’ status for our nation.

Such comparisons really matter to some. Fair enough. The Olympics do rather invite us to make comparisons.

But on the inspirational achievement levels, in the most intentionally and unintentionally trying of circumstances, the New Zealand Olympic team has emphatically been coming up with the goods.

... the close-ups, not the faked CinemaScope production values, have carried [the] emotional wallop