Revenge of the Nerd

I for one welcome our new aquatic overlord. All Hail Neptune.
(photo: Reuters)

Even if you, like me, don't give one whit about the Olympics, you have to be thrilled at the achievement of Michael Phelps.

What I dislike so intensely about the Olympics is the jingoism -- the nationalism, the feverish tallying of medals, as if beating the [fill in enemy du jour here] on an athletic field is somehow a surrogate for the battlefield. The Olympics, like so much of professional sport -- and let's face it, most Olympic athletes are professionals -- are so tainted by money and drugs and cheating, that it's hard to take them seriously.

In 1972, Mark Spitz won seven gold medals. It was easy to root for Spitz because not only was he a great swimmer, but he was also drop-dead gorgeous. A poster of him in a Speedo sporting his medals was the male version of the Farrah Fawcett poster of the same vintage. But a funny thing happened on Mark Spitz' journey to fame. Turns out that as soon as he opened his mouth, he was as dull as dishwater. So the dreams of marketers, who had the idea of turning Spitz into a goldmine, dissipated over two lackluster years of trying to turn Spitz into a marketable commodity, and he went on to live a perfectly contented and normal life as a motivational speaker, which he still does.

Michael Phelps is no Mark Spitz. And corporate America is happy. Because Phelps is that rare commodity -- a funny looking kid with a self-deprecating sense of humor, poise, and a complete and utter inability to take himself seriously. He's tall, gangly and awkward. He was an ADHD kid who found that swimming was the one area where he could focus. His nose is too big and his ears stick out -- and the camera loves him anyway. And so do we -- not only because he has just accomplished something astonishing, but also because his head and his heart are in the right place:

Responding to a reporter quoting Spitz's comment that while what he had done in 1972 was the equivalent of being the first man on the Moon then what his successor had achieved made him "the first man on Mars", Phelps simply said: "Records are always made to be broken, no matter what they are."

"Anyone can do anything they want if they really want to," he added.

"I've said all along I want to be the 'first' Michael Phelps not the 'second' Mark Spitz.

"Never once will I downplay his accomplishments by any means. What he did is still an amazing feat and will always be an amazing feat in the swimming world and the Olympics."

Phelps added: "To have something like that to shoot for, it made those days when you were tired and wanted to go home and sleep and not train, it made those days easier and say 'I want to do this'.

"It's something I wanted to do and I'm thankful to him (Spitz) for doing what he did."

And so Michael Phelps will go home with his eight gold medals. The insatiable maw of the media will try to chew off as many pieces of him as it can. He will be invited to the White House, where a small man of low accomplishment will say something stupid and Phelps will smile and say something respectful, yet clever. He will sell computers and PDAs and iPods and athletic shoes and anything else aimed at his demographic. He will make more money than most of us will see in a lifetime. And he will have earned it. Because for a few short hours, he made us cheer for an American Everykid who made good. And because for a few short hours, he let us forget the problems we go back to facing tomorrow.