Every two years, something magical happens in the United States. We put down our usual differences — political, cultural, generational, the whole mess — and agree on one thing: We are suddenly experts in sports we do not watch again until the next Olympics.
The Olympics have this innate power to pull the country into the same living room. You see it everywhere. Flags pop up on porches, and group chats turn into play-by-play commentary. Suddenly, you have a favorite fencer, and you’re screaming at the judges for giving them an incorrect score, even though you have no clue what the criteria are. For a few weeks, we aren’t red states and blue states. We are just Team USA, yelling at our TVs in unison.
What makes it even better is the way the Olympics turn ordinary people into household names overnight. One minute, someone is selling maple syrup, giving someone a filling, or working at a grocery store. Next, they’re standing on a podium with a medal around their neck while the entire nation suddenly knows their name, their backstory, and what their dog eats for dinner. It’s one of the purest storylines in sports: Regular people who didn’t start with million-dollar contracts, but with grit, early mornings, and a dream.
And this winter brought something truly special: The U.S. Women’s and U.S. Men’s Hockey teams beating Canada in overtime thrillers for gold. If these games didn’t have you jumping off the couch, I’m not sure what would. As someone who only watches hockey when the Olympics roll around or I’m offered tickets to a Bruins game, these two matches were pure hustle and hunger from both sides. I could only describe those final goals from Megan Keller and Jack Hughes as glorious.
And honestly, the joy of Olympic viewing doesn’t just happen when you see your country make the podium. It’s in the way it sneaks into everyday life. People will pop their heads into their TV rooms to check on the curling score, have it minimized on their laptops at work, and stay in their cars an extra few minutes just to wait for an exciting radio call. It’s communal in a way that feels rare lately, a reminder that shared excitement still exists.
This is why I was genuinely shocked to learn that some of my coworkers just don’t watch the Olympics. At all. They don’t chant Oosa-Oosa-Oosa-Ah as the U.S. Women’s Soccer team takes the pitch or get mesmerized by “Quad God” Ilia Malinin when he takes the ice. As someone who will set alarms for ungodly hours just to catch her favorite events live, this felt like finding out someone doesn’t like pizza. I respect their choices and admire their commitment to uninterrupted sleep, but I can’t fathom not soaking in the world of track cycling for a week.
At its core, the Olympics remind us that sports are not just about winning. They’re about stories. They’re about watching someone’s entire life’s work boil down to a few minutes on a world stage. They’re about pride that doesn’t feel forced, unity that doesn’t feel manufactured, and joy that doesn’t require much explanation. For a little while, we get to root together, celebrate together, and feel like we’re part of something bigger than ourselves.
And in a country that doesn’t always agree on much, that might be the most gold-medal-worthy moment of all.
