Torin Koos ©Pam Doyle
After three weeks of Arctic darkness, I soak up every ray of sun I can. For the first week in Central Europe I’ve been pulling the daily double on the ski tracks, then combining this with a few minutes in the cafe or the solarium, leaving my epic-wanting mind high-tingled with a kind of satisfaction that goes deeper and lasts longer than the kind that comes from soft aluminum pop-top cans. Like I said, it’s not hard to be a cross-country skier here.
The night before last I hit the streets of Davos for a nighttime stroll. It’s a quarter to eight; early for the subterranean that come out at night, late for the apres ski crowd. But there they are, wearing their hard shell Lange and Rossignol boots, huddled around the horseshoe bar, some standing, the others sitting, all watching the World Cup Super G live from Beaver Creek, Colorado.
It’s times like these where I am baffled by Americana. Coming upon a situation such as this I can’t help but think, “We have three hundred million Americans, more television channels than most people have patience to flip through, and not one broadcaster buying the rights to show off the jewels of the world’s winter sports scene?” Pure madhouse-like craziness.
If it’s out there, if Americans are given the opportunity to follow other sports beyond the dominant three – baseball, basketball and football) – and watch week-in and week-out so they get to know the athletes and appreciate the demands of each sport, I think they’d find the intrigue of track, triathlon, Alpine or Nordic skiing as entertainment value. And maybe, just maybe, some kid in Seattle or Cincinnati would be inspired. At least that’s what I think.