8802100140
DETROIT FREE PRESS
880915
Thursday, September 15, 1988
METRO EDITION
1E
MITCH ALBOM
SEE ALSO METRO FINAL EDITION 1E
Copyright (c) 1988, Detroit Free Press
IF IT'S TOMORROW, THIS MUST BE KOREA
SEOUL, South Korea -- So let me tell you what happened yesterday. I mean
today. I mean . . . tomorrow. No. Wait. Do I? Forget it. It wasn't that good a
story.
Welcome to Korea, home of the Summer Olympics, where you never really know
what time it is, but if you ask enough people, you definitely won't know what
time it is. You will, however, end up with lots of business cards, which you
can give to other people, and maybe one of them will have a watch.
(Personally, I like this Korean tradition of handing out business cards as
soon as you meet somebody because you can collect a whole series, then
trade with your friends. Some even come with bubble gum.)
But I am getting away from the point. Which is . . . I forgot. Hahahahaha.
No. See. That is the point. After several hours at these Olympics, the
greatest assignment a sports writer can have provided he is willing to walk
around in a state of utter confusion for 21 straight days, I cannot tell
whether it is morning here and evening back home or morning back home and
evening here. But I can tell you this: I have figured out the language
problem.
There is no language here.
YOU: Hello. I am an American journalist.
OFFICIAL: Hahahaha. Hello. I am sorry.
YOU: Can you tell me where to go?"
OFFICIAL: Yes. Hello. Hahahaha.
YOU: Where should I . . . go?
OFFICIAL: Oh . . . hahahahahah.
YOU: Hahahahaha.
OFFICIAL: Hahahahaha . . . haha . . .
But back to this time thing . . .
NBC made prime-time calculations
Let us get this straight: the Olympics begin on Saturday morning. Here.
They begin on Friday night back home. What this means is that the NBC-TV
executives, who, if they saved the money they paid for these broadcast rights
could have bought Finland instead, have pretty much declared: "LET THE GAMES
BEGIN . . . EARLY!"
And here is how it works: Ten o'clock in the morning here is 8 o'clock the
night before back home. Just about the time you, the TV viewer, are ready for
some good, old-fashioned Olympic drama. Remember, you count! You are
important! You have the advertising money to buy the official Olympic
deodorant you will see advertised 1,037 times! So they juggled the schedule
just a teensy-weensy bit. And now highly developed athletes from around the
world who have spent years preparing for this single moment will roll out of
bed in the Olympic village, and the starting pistol will go off. Bang! First
one to the bathroom wins the 100 meters.
Now, I don't know about you, but if someone told me to throw a shot put
before lunch, I would say: "Where? On your foot?" These may be the first
Olympics to host 160 nations; they may also be the first in which an athlete
misses his gold medal because he overslept. Korea has long been known as "The
Land Of The Morning Calm." This month we call it "The Land Of The Morning
Basketball Final."
Why am I telling you this? Because it is 7 a.m here. What else should I be
telling you? Oh, yes. We, the Olympic journalists, work under the same unique
conditions as the athletes. That means that at sunrise, when most good sports
writers are just crawling home from one of the finer local establishments,
probably one with bug wrestling, the phone in the room will ring and some
crispy-clean editor from home will scream: "WHERE THE BLEEP IS YOUR STORY? DO
YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?!"
Whereupon the sports writer will immediately drop dead from a heart attack,
and the newspaper will have to use a wire story instead.
Land of the never-setting sun
Did I tell you about the trip over? Golly. Where can I begin? It was the
most wonderful 14 hours I have ever spent in a single seat on an airplane on
which the sun never set. Really. I am not making this up. We left at 11 a.m.
and the sun was out and at 5 p.m. the sun was out and at midnight the sun was
out and at 3 a.m. the sun was still out and when we landed in Seoul at 6 p.m.
the sun was still out. I asked the flight attendant what was going on, and
she said something about flying into the sun and air speed and lift and drag,
or drag and lift. I don't know. I don't really understand, but it has
something to do with why Carl Lewis must long jump before breakfast.
But what the heck? These are the Olympic Games, which begin in two days or
five minutes, depending on where you are standing. And this looks like a swell
country, and the locals seem remarkably nice. And if any of you are thinking
about going into stand-up comedy and are not having much luck, you should come
here because these people are the greatest audience in the world.
YOU: Help! I lost my passport and all my money.
OFFICIAL: Hahahahahaha. Hello.
Personally, my philosophy at Olympic Games has always been pretty simple:
RULE NO 1: NO SYNCHRONIZED SWIMMING.
RULE NO. 2: STAY WAY FROM PIN PEOPLE.
As for the time thing, who knows? I can only say if you're awake and I'm
awake, then one of us has been out drinking.
But that is the charm of the Olympics, where the world's greatest athletes
gather to put their souls on the line for a few glorious moments, then relax
with a nice dish of bacon and eggs.
And we are here to serve. We are here to send you the news. I will wash up.
I will collect my business cards. I will set my alarm clock for 6 a.m.
And we'll see what yesterday brings.
COLUMN;HUMOR;SUMMER OLYMPICS;KOREA;ANECDOTE