Doping on Olympics

I am like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland with the desires of Scrat in Ice Age and tendencies of Rango the chameleon, effortlessly lured into fancies of the fabulous. The last time I wished to be a British was when the royal bells were ringing, invisibly waving the British flag with the other patriots near Westminster Abby. 

And now all I want to do is put on my swimming goggles, wear my jersey, grab my studs and carry the pole with me in whatever crazy look that gives me in a make-believe sport. But any fake, small, unbelievable excuse will work as long as I can stand in the middle of the Olympics stadium and wave to the travelling cameras as if the world had switched on their TV screens just for me. The pass to the 2012 London Olympics is like Charlie holding the golden ticket to the Chocolate Factory. 

The athleticism that had taken an injury leave since high school is back and all I want to do now is make a comeback to run with Bolt, swim with Phelps, serve to Djokovic and light the torch from Beckham not only because they are men with divine physiques but also to be able to experience the sensation of being bowed down to by the whole world. 

It’s probably the majestic celebration that lures me in an Arabic wave of snake-charmer’s music. The pulsating symphonies that raise your palpitation and ignites the flints of your heart, the fluorescent and polychromatic lighting that widen your eyes and sends variegated signals across your soul and the display of the color Mardi Gras that flamboyantly splashes across our senses. It’s all like the diet coke and mentos effect.

Watching the flag bearers, of countries we still need two times to pronounce correctly, wave frantically at whatever camera they spot and dodge their heads behind their teammates, to and fro from the big screen to the cameraman, and get the second of fame they desperately want is like winning the Olympic gold. Of course I will always cheer Thailand first and foremost and with all my heart and breath. Spotting a classmate representing the country was the best shocker and the sweetest moment of the night. 

So until 12^th of August, I will play a proud athlete, the screaming audience, the novice first-timer, and the experienced achiever because on the last day when the closing ceremonies conclude the event, a long four-year countdown to the next Olympics will have begun.