Sunny Side Up Sept. 22, 2004 � 2004 Kathleen Gibson You can't keep out the men in skirts For his grand Olympic splash at the synchronized diving event in Athens, Ron Bensimhon chose to wear a pastel-blue tutu, polka-dotted tights, and navy and white striped clown shoes. Then he took a black felt pen, and in large letters scrawled the address of a gaming website across his chest. In spite of his considered effort to dress so splendidly for the occasion, the judges never bothered to critique Ron's dive. (Funny, that.) He splashed about for a bit (in a most unsynchronized way) until security realized he wasn't supposed to be there. With scant regard for his attire, they hauled him out of the pool and off to court. But Ron's illegal dive had so rattled the legitimate competitors that the Chinese duo set to win gold lost all chance of receiving it when one of them tumbled and fell. On the last days of the Greek games, ex-priest Neil Horan also chose a skirt for his Olympic debut. A red kilt, accessorized with a hunter green beret, matching knee-high socks, and a shamrock green vest. Oh yes, and two signs. On one he'd scrawled: 'The second coming is near, says the Bible.' Later, he headed for the Men's Marathon event, three sheets to the wind. Three miles short of the finish line, Horan broke from a line of spectators and tackled the lead runner. Vanderlei de Lima of Brazil finished the race, but he lost his momentum. Rather than winning the gold, he stood instead on the bronze podium, listening to the Italian national anthem. Greece spent one and a half billion dollars on security for those games. The terrorists they'd hoped to keep out kept out, but two men managed to duck under all those dollars and grab the world's spotlight. Two ridiculous men in skirts. Daily the blessed among us, like the Olympics' elite, operate capably in our own arenas. We play games there; games of cunning and morality, love and war. We choose the competitors. We judge the events. We anticipate golden endings, for ourselves and for those we love. We outfit our vehicles with airbags and seatbelts, our homes with security systems and fire alarms. We teach our children well, keep our minds educated, our bodies cared for, and our bills paid. We've got every angle covered. Security? That's our middle name. Enter the 'men in skirts'. We don't invite them or plan for them; we don't even get to choose their wardrobes. They slip through our careful defenses, ignore all the rules, block our way, hog the spotlight, and leave us devastated. Unwelcome 'men in skirts': illness, miscarriage, job loss, accidents, acts of war, disasters, death. Illegitimate thieves of the prizes we were so sure would be ours. No amount of dollars or careful precaution will ever bar the 'men in skirts' from our personal arenas. True security, in the end, is found only in placing one's trust in that which can never be taken away: God's changeless, limitless love. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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