Column: Wasted Words; Agold medal for everyday
A few weeks ago, I sat across from a friend of mine named Yukio Griffall. He had just qualified for the 2006 Olympics as part of the United States’ doubles luge team.
The next day, he would board a plane to Europe, but that night, he sat in the far corner of a dive bar in Salt Lake City, sipping a Long Island iced tea, surrounded by townies.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Yukio said, downplaying the praise he was receiving. “I’m nothing special. I’ve just logged the hours.”
This apparently sparked something in the drunken mind of another member of a party, Jacob Weston, a short man with a long list of problems.
“Yeah. We should all get medals for the things we put up with every day,” Jacob said. “I should get one for being a dad. I bought my girl a Big Wheel for Christmas. An Escalade with spinners. I took the safety off and she hasn’t figured out the brakes just yet, so she’s flying off curbs and gutters and stuff.”
Even setting aside the horrifying mental images of Jake’s not-yet-2-year-old daughter trapped under her Big Wheel following a low-speed rollover, something about what he just said didn’t sit right with me. I took a long drink and began to realize the absurdity of the statement. We should not get medals for our everyday accomplishments.
Looking around the bar, I began to size up my friends.
At age 22, Jacob has tallied one child and one divorce. Chris Day, the man sitting next to him, spent an entire month in a Salt Lake County jail last year after being convicted of multiple counts of fraud. While the Massachusetts licenses he made were actually very good, his decision to sell them to two obviously middle-aged, undercover police officers was not.
Jack, my best friend since the second grade, took the stool next to me. He carried three tequila shots under his chin like the overweight mouse from “Cinderella.” He finished them easily and started working on a gin and tonic and a stein of beer.
“Next Christmas, we’re getting you an intervention,” I said.
I stood up and started playing pool with another friend, Peter. Jason, the bartender, stood along the side of the table and watched. Peter started giving Jason a hard time for working at such a low-class establishment and Jason reminded him of his recent, dishonorable dismissal from his long-time place of employment.
“Peter, I make more here in a night than you stole in a week.”
I knocked a ball into the side pocket and Pete joked about me being a geometry major. Then I missed an easy shot and someone asked what I was really majoring in. I told them, that after five years of higher education, including failing out of one university entirely, I am a journalism major.
We should certainly not be given medals anytime soon.
“So, Yukio, who’s the country to beat?” I asked.
“Germany,” he said. “For sure. It’s their national sport. They have four major tracks in that country.”
“And what’s the chance you’ll end up on a podium at the end of all this?”
“If we can put together two solid runs, I really think we have a chance. Last race, we had some problems with our first run, but we pulled it out in the second. If we can put together two solid runs, we could finish in the top three.”
I took another drink and it sort of hit me, that maybe that’s it. Maybe all of us – all of these misfits and castaways and screw-ups and felons – were just waiting for that second run, a solid score to average out a sub-par first effort.
Aaron Falk is the news editor for the Utah Statesman.
Comments can be sent to
acf@cc.usu.edu.