Phelps gives us something to root for

Thank you Michael Phelps.

We, as sports fans, owe you a debt of gratitude. Not for winning eight gold medals at the Beijing Olympics, a personal accomplishment unrivaled by any in recent sports memory. Not for providing some of the most memorable sporting moments in the midst of an utterly forgettable sports summer. Not even for doing it all with a style and grace rarely seen today in athletes who seem to gravitate towards the Terrel Owens notion of sportsmanship.

No, we thank you for something different. We thank you for being as good as advertised.

See, here is America we are pretty used to false claims and unfullfilled promise. We see it in our products all the time. You know that knife that is suppose to cut through concrete? Well, it doesn't. You know how digital television is suppose to be the best thing any of us have ever, ever seen? Guess again.

We also see it in our sports.

Big Brown was suppose to be a shoe-in to win the triple crown this year for the first time in more than two decades and, for two races, he looked like, well, you: unbeatable. We, as sports fans were told history was about to be written and something special, something unique was sure to take place before our eyes. So what happened? Big Brown, whether because of a broken horse shoe, bad jockey riding, or just overhyped talent, finished dead last in a race we were told would be remembered forever.

That's not all that uncommon Michael.

Every time a new hot shot basketball player comes to the NBA we are told the next Michael Jordan has arrived. Every time someone hits in 25 straight games, we have ESPN or FoxSports ticking down to Jo Dimaggio's record breaking 56, as if they will ever, ever come close to such numbers.

Even in these Olympic games, we were told to watch Tyson Gay. He would be the fastest man in the world before all was said and done. The result? Tyson didn't even make the finals of his supposed best event.

So, forgive me, Michael if, before the games began, I was somewhat skeptical of all the hype surrounding you. The next Michael Spitz they said; eight gold medals in one Olympics they said; one of the greatest athletes of all time they said.

Please, I had heard it before. It was the same song and it almost always ended the same way; cut off in the middle.

Now, a week after first watching you take to the pool in Beijing, I feel somewhat foolish. Now, after all the accolades and awards have been handed out, and the picturesque pool has been silenced, it seems as if NOTHING could have prevented your from meeting all expectations. You weren't just as good as your word, you were as good as the word of people who so many times throw accolades around without much thought.

So I thank you Michael, we all do, because you were even better than advertised.

Unlike so many other sports at the Olympics, each and every one of us knows what swimming is all about. No, we don't know it as well as you, turning each action and turn into an art form, but we do know how it feels to be stretching and straining each muscle in our body as we struggled through the water, doing laps in our own back yard, feeling utterly spent after only a few moments of exertion. That's why, as America watched you this week, we could both appreciate and marvel at what you were doing. The fact that you were able to stand, let alone swim, by Friday for your 100 meter breaststroke final is remarkable.

At no point did you ever disappoint. At no point did you show an obvious flaw; a kink in the armor.

You were billed as dominant and, in most meets, you proved that point, putting unimagineable distance between yourself and the best swimmers in the world. In a sport where winning and losing is measured in inches, you were winning by seconds, the equivalent of lapping another driver in a NASCAR race.

You were also billed as the ultimate competitor, taking losing personally and refusing to ever give in. Once again, you were as good as promised, helping to make up time in the first, dramatic 4X 100 freestyle and then pulling off a MIRACLE victory in the 100 breaststroke, using one last ounce of energy, one last thrust to complete your mission.

Last, you were billed as a good teammate, something we hear a lot and see little evidence of when it comes to other athletes. But, in this case, it would seem the praise was justified. Instead of paying begrudgeing tribute to your teammates, offering them lip service while waiting to talk about your own incredible accomplishments, you seemed to legitimately want to share the spotlight and went out of your way to celebarte the relay wins as much or more than your individual success.

Some say the Olympics has become somewhat passe; a relic of another time when American patriotism was savored rather than dismissed as optomistic rantings or uneducated delusions. Yet, you became OUR athlete. You became OUR gold medalist. You became OUR representative to the world, and you did that with class, dignity, and dominance.

For one week in the summer of 08 you gave me and millions of others something to remember. Long after each one of us has changed houses, job, perhaps even relationships, we will remember you and your breathtaking time in the pool in China.

Thank you for that again, Michael. You could have simply been like every other athlete, but, instead, you were exactly the kind of athlete that makes us believe in sports, and exactly the type of American that makes us believe in this country.