Falling from pedestals

It’s part of the human condition to want heroes; to search for role models who, by virtue of having achieved something extraordinary, we can look up to and admire. While there are deserving candidates for such adoration in a myriad of service-oriented areas, the most popular idols in today’s media-influenced world usually come from moviedom or the sporting world.

There are scores of sporting heroes of course. There are those who become famous as being part of a team. And then there are those who stand out as individuals, whether because they simply eclipse others in the team or because they excel in what is inherently an individual sport.

And then there are those super athletes who belong to an even more select group — those who, because they have hurdled seemingly insurmountable difficulties, become even more famous and admired for reasons which transcend their sport.

Tiger Woods, Lance Armstrong, Oscar Pistorius. They all broke all kinds of barriers. They later on broke their fans’ hearts.

A mixed racial heritage in a traditionally elitist and generally conformist sport? Asian-African-American Tiger Woods won the US Masters at age 21 ‑ the youngest ever.

Testicular cancer in a sport which required you spending gruelling hours sitting on a bike? Lance Armstrong won the Tour de France a record seven consecutive times after the horrifying diagnosis.

And then you have Oscar Pistorius — a man whose legs were amputated before his first birthday and yet had the nerve, the audacity, to dream of competing against the world’s finest in the 400-meter race at the Olympic Games.

All three of them belonged to that select circle of athletes. And all of them fell from the pinnacle where they seemingly held permanent residence.

Tiger Woods’ “good boy” image was shattered when The National Enquirer ran a story on him alleging he had an affair. Shortly thereafter, more than a dozen women started coming out of the woodworks (pun intended).

Lance Armstrong has been labeled by the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency as the ringleader of the “most sophisticated, professionalized and successful doping program that sport has ever seen.” He’s been stripped of all his titles and has been banned for life from his sport.

And then there’s “the Blade Runner”. Watching him during the recent Paralympic Games, it was hard not to be inspired; he was probably the finest example of what doing the impossible meant. And now, his sobbing face is plastered in the news pages the world over as the prime murder suspect in his girlfriend’s death.

Now the speculation and the nay-saying begin. A 2011 Nike ad which likened the Blade Runner to “a bullet in a chamber” is touted as eerie and seemingly foreshadowing. Now stories of a man who may have been abusive, paranoid, and obsessed with guns abound.

Defiant in denial, fans are belatedly doing their due diligence — scouring through Pistorius’ twitter messages and digging-up ignored news: Pistorius repeatedly drove his sports car way over the speed limit. He needed 172 stitches when he crashed his speedboat. He had multiple guns tucked away in his home. He once threatened to break the legs of a man linked to his ex-girlfriend. Tagged as an arrogant playboy, an ex-girlfriend warned that ‘Oscar is certainly not what people think he is’. After losing the 200-meter dash during the London Paralympics, he accused the winner of having unfair advantage. But none could have led us to think that he is capable of murder. Now, it doesn’t seem much of a stretch.

Did we miss the warning signs, or did we ignore them in the vain hope of keeping our idols? Did we, in our adulation, feed into the hubris and the sense of entitlement, or did their view of self predate our admiration and indeed contribute to a personality capable of achieving what they did? I am sure that there are psychological theories as to these matters and writings more scholarly than anything I can come up with.

What our sports heroes achieve is undoubtedly, incredibly inspiring. Climbing to the top of the world without both legs is by no means a small feat. While it is not wholly wrong to admire them, perhaps we should focus more on their prowess and their pursuit rather than on their person. We would be well-served by distilling what it is that contributes to their rise — discipline, sacrifice, the drive for excellence. But we the spectators would do well to remember that while they may be heroic, they are still human, fettered with mortal imperfections. Perhaps the best thing we can do for them is to remove the pedestals we have placed them on.

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Political pedestal: Speaking of falling from a political pedestal, former Illinois Representative Jesse Jackson Jr., namesake of the fiery civil rights leader and former Democratic Presidential candidate, was charged with his wife last week with conspiring to use campaign funds for personal use. Close to $750,000 was supposedly used in a shopping spree that included a gold-plated Rolex, Bruce Lee and Michael Jackson memorabilia, fur capes and parkas. He faces imprisonment of up to five years and a fine of $250,000. Considered to be a rising political star who first took office in 1995, Jackson had resigned last November shortly after being re-elected to the House.

In a prepared statement, Jackson stated that he had come to realize “that none of us are immune from our share of shortcomings and human frailties. Still I offer no excuses for my conduct, and I fully accept my responsibility for the improper decisions and mistakes I have made.” In his act of contrition, he added: “While my journey is not yet complete, it is my hope that I am remembered for the things that I did right.”  

I am certain that Filipino politicians are thankful that our campaign finance laws are loosely worded and not stringently applied (if applied at all). 

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 There are heroes in evil as well as in good.” – Francois de La Rochefoucauld

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