The Daily Telegraph, Sydney, 22 September 2000
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HERE
What was it we used to call the opposite of happiness? Was it ``unhappiness''? Is that what we used to call it? Because, the other day, standing alone in The Domain at sunset as the first grey clouds of this Olympics rolled low over our city skyline, they brought with them some of that ``unhappiness'' stuff. I haven't felt anything like that since ... well, actually, I can't quite remember. Over on the Parliament House side of the park there were about 100 people scattered across the grass, watching one of the big tellies. I went for a stroll over to the stage where Neil Finn and his mates will perform tomorrow night. The television screen there was off, the stage empty. I was staring into the hot pink Olympic rings on the stage's backdrop, not a person in view, when that sinking feeling hit my chest. It came upon me so suddenly, I was too shocked to actually stop and pinpoint what had brought on this reaction. So I quickly rejoined the crowd, trying to shake off these yucky feelings. I walked from The Domain to Circular Quay. There were a lot more people there, many fixated on the mad trapeze artist and his ribbon. Everyone was wearing their Olympics-supplied smile. I moved on to Darling Harbour. Even more people, even more smiles. My grin was back, too, but my heart still a little dark. Then, as I was sitting there watching all these happy people, being one of them myself, everything became clear. It wasn't so much the end of the Olympic Games that I feared -- all the fun, all the great sport. It was, in fact, the realisation that I had missed my one and only opportunity to represent my nation at our own Olympiad. How could I have done this to you, Australia? How could I have not dedicated my life to the goal of helping keep us near the top of the medal tally. I know exactly where my own personal campaign for Olympic glory faltered. I was 10 years old, had made it to the regional primary school finals in triple jump. Now, I wasn't a great triple jumper at that point, and I'd got through the qualification trials more through lack of competitors than anything else. But I saw my chance, the taste of what could be if I committed my body to the Olympic ideal. Unfortunately, a monkey bars incident a couple of days before the final put an end to that dream (thanks a lot, Pina DiMarchi, I've never forgiven you for that!). But there were other sports I could have tried. Like, um, fencing looks pretty easy. I used to do a bit of that with school rulers when I was a kid. So, sitting in Darling Harbour, watching all these healthy young Australians all having a great time, I couldn't help but think: ``What about the rest of you lazy bums? You there -- you could have been a swimmer! And, you, with all those muscles, why aren't you lifting heavy weights in the name of your country instead of just having a good time?'' But then all those smiles came into focus again, I felt all that cheer, and these thoughts dissipated. And I thanked God that enough young Australians had indeed heeded the call and were doing us proud. Because of them, the rest of us can just sit back and enjoy it.
