( Amy and Amanda watch as Dominique reads something at the Olympic games. )
 ALL-AMERICAN GIRLS: U.S. gymnasts ( from left ) Amy Chow, Dominique Moceanu, and
Amanda Borden ( with coach Bela Karolyi, center rear )

All eyes are on Atlanta - and NBC - as the Olympics shift into high gear.  But is the incessant flag-waving and self-promotion taking the life out of this world party?

A frail Muhammad Ali accepting the Olympic torch from swimmer Janet Evans.  Little colors - of - the - rainbow Atlanta kids dressed in - what? - spandex Slinkys?  The excitable Tim Daggett: " Wow, those
Chinese gymnasts are dropping like flies! "  A shot of an athlete's mother sporting red - white - and - blue
nail polish.  The Dream Team.  Hey, did ya know The Jeff Foxworthy Show  is moving to NBC?  Tight
security.  Rowdy, Summer, Elfi, John Tesh.  Delta.  Coca - Cola.  GE, we bring good things to life.  Hey,
did you know Caroline in the City is moving to Tuesdays on NBC?  USA!  USA!  USA!  Over to you, Greg
Gumbel.  Back to you, Bob Costas.

Five days, at this writing, into the Centennial Olympic Games - five days when more people are watching
NBC than anything else on television, five days when movie theaters are weathering dips in their box
office receipts as moviegoers stay home and tune in - and one thing is clear:  These are the official
games of the corporate - sponsored, product - endorsing, flag - waving, terrorism - skittish, attention -
deficit - disordered, TV - centric American 1990s.

Who would have thought the 1984 Los Angeles Games - the last Olympics to be held on home turf -
would have taken on such a burnished nostalgic glow?  Remember the razzle - dazzle of that Reagan -
era Hollywood production?  The City of Angels itself swept all racial and economic rifts aside in an epic
display of money, power, and show business.  The Olympics were about the idea of America, the movie
of America, in which happy fans chanted USA! and stars - like Jackie Joyner - Kersee and Mary Lou
Retton - were born.  America looked outward.  The Games were presented as a party and America the
Bountiful was the host.

Twelve years later, TV mirrors a different country.  The fresh horror of TWA Flight 800, which went down
in a fireball two nights before the opening ceremonies, added its own somber layer of grief to the
proceeding, but the tone and pace of the coverage had already been set: choppy, chirpy, commercial - a
mind - meld of network and company sponsorship.  Indeed, in its coverage of the Atlanta games, we see
NBC's interpretation of the reality of present - day America.  And what we see is a country turning
inward, huddled with its television sets, dreaming of BMWs, Reebok athletic shoes, and the fall season
of Must See TV.

Impressions overlap as they race by: the underdramatic, overloaded opening ceremonies; the overkill of
network self promotion; the stridently excited chatter of the commentators for whom, apparently, no
silent picture of a spectacular, striving athlete is ever so thrilling that it can't benefit from an assist of
lightweight commentary.

Speaking of commentary, where is it when we need it?  Women's gymnastics, one of the most popular
and glamorous events, is by now solely the province of tiny, unsmiling young women who are overbred to
be as hipless and breastless as children, hustled and displayed by their famous coaches like show
dogs.  Yet when a Chinese gymnast slips and bursts into tears or a poodle - sized Romanian woman -
child finishes a breath - taking routine without " sticking it " perfectly, thereby losing precious fractions of
a point, the NBC crew isn't commiserating with compassion - they've already moved on to the American
girls.  Next!

Where is the commentator who gives ongoing attention to the performances of athletes who aren't
American and questions the concept of a " dream team " made up of millionaire professional basketball
players up to their eyeballs in product - endorsement deals?  Who recognizes the beautiful bloom of
women's basketball and has a sense of the glory of swimmers, the majesty of runners, or the surrealism
of soft drink ads?

At least one broadcaster understands the bigger picture.  Bob Costas is the bright figure of wit and
perspective at the Atlanta games.  He knows when he's sitting in front of an NBC backdrop so garish it
begs for comment.  He knows when hype is eclipsing reality.  ( He probably knows that NBC's proud -
as - a - peacock strut as the No. 1 network is veering perilously close to preening. )  Costas is so calm
and sane as master of ceremonies that I only wish he could be everywhere at once, calming down
hysterical commentators, comforting unstrung athletes, and soothing hyperventilating boosters.  I wish
he could calm us, too, reminding us that the price of watching the world's finest athletes on television
need not mean buying the company line - any company line.  We are not what we eat, of fly, or wear, or
watch on TV.  At its best, the Olympics remind us that we have it in us not just to watch, but to be. B-

Taken From:  Entertainment Weekly: August 2, 1996
Pages: 48 - 49

Thanks goes to Thomas Doyle for typing this article.