Jack Stallard

Growing up in the mountains of East Tennessee, I was never impressed with the Olympics.

We spent winters riding inner tubes, casket lids and other homemade “sleds” down snow-covered mountains, dodging trees and an occasional farm animal while hoping the creek at the bottom of the mountain was frozen. Or at least not too deep.

During the summer, we created our own version of the Hillbilly X Games by attempting to launch our bicycles over any obstacle we could find. Creeks, brave cousins and lazy dogs sunning themselves too close to our ramps were all fair game.

At the old Elks Club pool, we did feats from the diving board that Olympic divers could only dream about. No gold medals were awarded, but when I was 12, I collected a dollar from a friend who bet I couldn’t soak every member of a family enjoying their picnic a little too close to the pool.

They still talk about the cannonball I did that day, and I’m forever thankful the family poodle was able to latch on to the Styrofoam cooler and ride out the wave.

I do remember the “Miracle on Ice” by the United States hockey team at the Winter Games in 1980 in New York, and I was proud of Carl Lewis for winning four gold medals at the 1984 Summer Games in Los Angeles. But the Olympics never really grabbed my attention for more than a few minutes at a time.

That all changed in 1996 when I was given the opportunity of a lifetime.

Twenty-five years ago, I was sports editor at the Lufkin Daily News and was one of 80 “loaners” picked by Cox Enterprises to travel to Atlanta, Georgia, and help the company’s flagship newspaper — the Atlanta Journal Constitution — with its coverage of the 1996 Summer Olympics.

I spent 27 days in Atlanta. We worked hard and we played hard. I learned from some of the best journalists in the business and made lifelong friends.

I was sitting in the newsroom at the Atlanta Journal Constitution when Muhammad Ali lit the torch to signal the official start of the games and later when the U.S. gymnastics team won gold.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the place either time.

It was a sweet gig, tainted only by the bomb that exploded at the Centennial Olympic Park, killing one person and injuring more than 100 others.

It was scary for the next few days, but folks decided pretty quickly they weren’t going to let terrorists win. If anything, the American spirit climbed to new heights. Pride in our country and its athletes swelled, and the remainder of the games was one big red, white and blue party.

I don’t know what’s going to happen in the 2021 Summer Games that just got underway in Tokyo. Spectators aren’t allowed in stadiums over there due to COVID-19 protocols, and I’ve heard folks around here saying they won’t watch on television because the event has become too political.

That’s fine. I won’t argue with you.

Personally though, I’m not about to miss Simone Biles doing a floor routine I’ll probably tell my grandchildren about.

I’m hoping to see 6-7, 320-pound Ryan Crouser throw a 16-pound steel ball out of a stadium in the shot put competition.

I can’t wait to see swimmer Katie Ledecky add to her already impressive pile of gold medals — one from 2021 and four from 2016.

And, I’ll cheer like crazy for Jordan Windle, the diver who was born in Cambodia and was placed in an orphanage when his parents died. He was adopted at the age of 2 from that orphanage by an American father and grew up in the United States.

If Windle wins a gold medal — heck, if he wins any medal — I will celebrate by heading to the local pool and performing my best cannonball off the highest diving board.

It might be a good idea to leave the picnic basket and the family pet at home that day.

(Jack Stallard is sports editor of the News-Journal. Email: jstallard@news-journal.com; follow on Twitter @lnjsports)