The Olympics is over. Not without controversy afterwards. A protest by Romania led to the stripping of Jordan Chiles’ bronze medal in gymnastics. This was the result of an inquiry by the USA over the incorrect valuation of Chiles’ floor exercise score, which raised her total by a tenth of a point.
That ever-lasting loving body, the International Olympic Committee, sided with Romania to strip Chiles of her medal. There was plenty of evidence to overrule the decision. However, another earnest body, the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS) sided with the IOC, then further ruled that their ruling was final despite the significant information which USA Gymnastics brought forth.
If truly ruling fairly, there was more video proof that the fifth place finisher had been incorrectly penalized for stepping out of bounds. Had that penalty not been imposed, Chiles and the Romanian would have not finished in third and fourth place.
Moreover, this tarnished the end to a pretty good Olympics. The magic moment of Simone Biles, Chiles and gold medalist Ramona Andrade on the podium which went viral for the sportsmanship it showed was all but forgotten in the hubris of gymnastics and Olympic politics.
So where have I been these past two weeks? In Spain. It doesn’t mean that I haven’t been following American sports—thankfully I had the Verizon Travel Pass, hotel internet and What’s App to keep me apprised of the goings on of the Yankees, Jets and a plethora of happenings in the sports world.
I am not a good international flier. My ability to sleep on planes isn’t very good. Even when the flight wasn’t very bumpy as with our initial leg to Barcelona.
My intrepid tour guide, who happens to be my son, had a simple remedy for our lack of sleep—forge on. Thus my wife, son, daughter and son-in-law roamed the streets of Barcelona after arriving around 9:00 in the morning local time.
Make no mistake—the locals were right in protesting how many foreign tourists were there. Unlike the earlier unhappiness, no one was doused with water guns—even if the temperatures and sun were soaring.
We visited many of the top sites in Barcelona, with a sojourn to the beach. Spain is a very athletic country—we know of top tennis players like Rafael Nadal and Carlos Alcaraz currently holding court, and great basketball stars Pao and Marc Gasol.
What struck me there and in our journeys through the country, beginning in the home city for the 1992 Olympics, was the fervor to work out—run, walk, play beach volleyball or, most of all, kick a soccer ball. So many children and adults were doing such and many wore the jerseys of their favorite teams. Billboards promoting FC Barcelona, one of the top soccer clubs in the world, were all over the Metro.
Needless to say, a pilgrimage to the Olympic Stadium in Barcelona was a must. While FC Barcelona renovates its nearly 100,000 seat stadium, we saw the exterior of the venue which temporarily houses the team and which hosted the opening and closing ceremonies along with track and field. Plus other adjacent stadiums and arenas which were part of a beautiful park.
While my daughter thought gymnastics, I thought of the Dream Team in 1992. Coming off the heels of the dramatic run to the gold medal by the 2024 team, in my mind I compared the two teams. And while the 1992 team was special, the current squad was also gifted, traversing a minefield much more arduous than its predecessors.
There was not doubt in my mind that, even with the plethora of greats populating the 1992 roster, there would have been room for Lebron James, Kevin Durant and Stephen Curry on that team. With apologies to Curry, who I thought was on the downside of his incredible career (which he is) but was a non-factor in early round games. When the game is on the line, you want him to have the ball. Or James. Or Durant.
We left Barcelona via Renfre train which clocked in at 180 m.p.h. That got the juices flowing in this train-lover going back to my childhood with trips to New York Penn Station on the Pennsylvania Railroad whose tracks were not too far from my Highland Park home, where I collected volumes of materials on all the train lines of the 1950’s and 60’s. It reminded me of the luxurious train lines of the past, complete with five-star dining, pictures of which were seemingly always on the pages of the National Geographic Magazine.
Our next stop was the capital city of Madrid. Where we did plenty of walking—to the tune of one day accumulating over 24,000 steps. The crowds were everywhere—at the museums, around the royal palace.
But the place where I was most amazed about crowds was at the stadium where Real Madrid CF plays its La Liga contests. Like its counterpart in Barcelona, Santiago Bernabeu Stadium was undergoing significant renovating.
What the stadium reminded me of was the Dallas Cowboys and New York Yankees. Teams that play in cathedrals of their particular sport. This edifice was a modernistic metallic outside housing a playing field where the greats of the sport have played. Champions galore.
My son and I decided to walk the stadium’s perimeter once we alighted from the Metro. Located in a residential area in Madrid, we were surprised that the area included such American eateries as Subway, Pizza Hut, and even more stunning, a Carl’s Jr and a Tony Romo’s. Not that we hadn’t seen KFC and Popeye’s or eaten at Mc Donald’s and Burger King; I guess that the American culinary influence, albeit mostly fast food, was alive and well in Spain.
Ups entering the building at the team store, we were met with hundreds of people, young and old, families, and couples buying over-priced merchandise besides jerseys. It was a magnificent monument to the success of the team—one which became the first soccer club to surpass 1 billion Euros in value.
A day trip to Toledo offered a vista not unlike what the famed artist El Greco had painted in 1600. Haunting reminders of how Jews were persecuted in Spain were everywhere, most prominently in Toledo’s Jewish Quarter.
Nonetheless, in the main plaza of the fabled city stood three pictures of Spanish athletes who went to Paris just weeks before. Even among the ancient architecture, the Spaniards love their sports heroes.
I saw plenty of stadiums, schools etc. with basketball courts or soccer pitches. A beautiful stadium in Grenada was very visible from the rises of La Alhambra, However, I learned that the La Liga club finished 20th of 20 and had been relegated to lower league.
Our final stop was the beautiful Costa del Sol and the city of Malaga. We did a side trip to Gibraltar, where I was stalked by a monkey at the top of the Rock (and yes, I thought of the New Jersey Devils, whose Newark area is called the Prudential Center, with the insurance company’s logo of that magnificent mountain). I swam in the pool, dunked in the Mediterranean Sea.
I marveled at how many in shape individuals were on the beach or in the resort. I went to the gym, which was always busy with serious individuals running, using the machines or pumping iron. This emphasis on healthy bodies was not limited to Spain based on the languages I heard and the license plates I noticed.
It was a great trip. I may have lost some inches in how I fit into my clothes from all the exercise I did. I am certain that I will eat enough to reverse that trend.
Now I can return to watching Aaron Judge en route to another stunning season and a second M.V.P. award, slugging and scoring along with his co-star, Juan Soto. College football begins this weekend and pro football ends the pre-season. Plus the U.S. Open is around the corner. I will check out the Yankees’ Old Timer’s Day, honoring the 1998 World Champions.
While my son wears his 2024 Spain Olympics shirt commemorating the squad’s gold medal, I will continue to wear my Yankees cap like I did in Spain. There were so many different colored NY hats adoring heads of both men and women in Spain, which caused me to wonder how popular the team really is. Even while walking in the resort with my cap on, a man commented to me about the good season the Bombers are having.
That’s me—sports wherever I go.
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