Every two years, my household devolves into full-blown Olympic hysteria. For three weeks, we do nothing but watch the Olympics, cook international food, or cook while watching the Olympics. And on paper, it makes little sense. We’re not baseball people (too slow), basketball people (too fast), or football people (too many concussions). We view most sports the way others view pets, marriage, or children: Fine and dandy for other people, but not right for us, thanks.
But the Games feel different. They’re a celebration of the undercelebrated, the underdog. I love watching the athletes who only enter the national conversation every four years, those unsung champions of the lesser-watched sports: the curlers, the archers, the rhythmic gymnasts. The table tennis champions, training long hours out of the public eye; the…