We are facing a crisis of confidence.  Our national identity and amorphous Australian psyche are under threat.  In the next few years the character of this country may be changed forever.
We've been content to be the "forgotten continent", allowing a trickle of fortunate foreigners to savour the splendour of the lucky country.  We've only ever made the international gossip columns with stories of dingoes, babies and tennis heroes.  Our isolation has allowed us to develop an independent spirit, a larrikin nature but, most importantly, it has allowed us to be overlooked.
Yet overnight Australia has become the world's oyster.  Sydney is the place to be at the end of the century (according to Oprah).
This awareness began when Sydney was selected as the site for the 2000 Olympic Games.  It may well become the darkest day in Australia's history.  For most of us, the staging of the Games is secondary to that momentous moment when an envelope was opened, a syllable was lost and the Games were ours  As a nation we felt the ticker-tape break on our collective chest.  We were winners and we were guilty of every vulgar emotion that accompanies victory – pride, self-righteousness, and in some circles, arrogance.  The little Aussie battler had won a major international competition and was instantly transformed into the little Aussie prick.
The years rolled on and the sweet taste of victory corroded into acidic bile.  Thus, in these days of Olympic ennui, the advertising world has been called upon to remind us of the wonder of winning.  They're attempting to drum up a patriotic fervour to send us over the top for Howard and country with stirring images and an uplifting song.
In the song – a piece of anthemic codswallop – there's an irksome reference that could leave you unsettled in your Jason Recliner.  As the melody reaches a crescendo, we are referred to as the "chosen people".  Admittedly, poetic licence was taken with this line.  It's a romantic notion to be considered the chosen people, to prevail against the odds and in a real sense we were the "chosen" over Beijing and Manchester*.  However, if we're being totally honest it wasn't really a choice of Sophiesque proportions.  And besides, if we go around singing out loud that we're the chosen people, it may cause more problems than it's worth.
There are several minority groups, nations and organisations who would claim they are the true chosen people.  These chosen people have God on their side (whichever God it is) while we, at best, have the Olympic committee.  If we are to retain our national character we must act now.
We have two options open to us.
The first is to purposely stuff up the Games.  We could put razor blades on the vaulting horse, grease up the Graeco-Roman wrestlers, fill the dive pool with foam.  Or we could just let people complain about the contaminated water and the lack of toilet facilities.
The second option is the more compelling – give the Games back.  How magnanimous and inspirational would it be if we returned that slightly soiled Olympic flag?  If, in an unparalleled act of generosity, we offered the Games to our rivals?  Socially speaking, China is coming along in leaps and bounds , and with global warming Manchester is getting a bit of sun.
Come 2000, do we really want millions of pesky foreigners taking guided tours through our until-recently-untouched wilderness?  Do we want our wonderful secret of sun and surf, deserts and snow-covered peaks, to be beamed to billions of homes around the world?  It will only create an atmosphere of jealousy.
To call ourselves "the chosen people" is symptomatic of the way our perception our self is being altered.   We are moving from the uncultured anti-hero slob, to the pesto-and-rocket-loving aesthete; from the underdog, to Der Uber-Hound.  If truth be known, most Australians only wanted to win the Games to beat Ol'Blighty and that other evil empire; putting them on is too much bother.
If the Games are about anything it's the slightly flawed concept that we all get together in friendship to compete against each other.  In 1956 the world allowed us to slip back into obscurity – it's doubtful we will be so fortunate after 2000.   It may be time for the chosen people to make a choice.

*Manchester: A savagely depressed city where it constantly rains.  Beijing: The only international record China held was for human rights abuses.  It's doubtful synchronised tank movement could become an Olympic event.
 

-- Paul McDermott

-- the Australian Magazine, January 30 – 31 1999