Showtime: When Art Imitates Basketball

Listen! Are you a big fan of natural disasters? Like train wrecks, do you?

Are you one of those people who slow up on your side of the freeway to gawk at an accident on the other side in the hopes of seeing gore? Get in your car and go to the scene of plane crashes?

Flock to the scene of burning downtown buildings? Like towering inferno movies? Earthquakes? Run to the television to get in on the damage when one hits?

I really hope you don’t pull wings out of butterflies.

Is your idea of a great fight Tyson-Spinks? Root for the lion when he’s chasing a zebra? Like the scene in the film where the mate says to the captain of the Titanic: “I believe it’s an iceberg, sir,” and the captain says, “That’s all right, we’ll go around it?” Smile and get ready to enjoy it when Custer says, “I think they’re friendly?”

Well, I have just the ticket for you: The U.S. basketball team in the Olympics. If this isn’t the equivalent of a traveling train wreck, a moving disaster area, I hope I never see one.

You would think the average man in the streets of Barcelona or any other Olympic site would shun games as one-sided as a forest fire.

Hah!

The Olympic movement has tumbled onto something P.T. Barnum--or Bill Veeck or Walter O’Malley--could have told them years ago: you’re in show business, baby, and your show prospers in direct ratio to the publicity you get for it.

Look here! Nobody ever heard of a triple jumper from Brazil, no matter how good he is. No one really cares who has the fastest kayak.

But Magic Johnson is here! I can actually see Michael Jordan! These are names that have been in the paper and on the media for a decade. These are household names right beneath Jack Lemmon, Robert Redford, Frank Sinatra.

These are stars, baby. The fans in Spain would step right over a triple jumper or the best discus flinger in the world to get to touch one of them. Not only fans, other athletes, too. You should see the Barcelonistas fall all over themselves to get even a look at these larger-than-life celebrities.

They were bigger attractions at the opening ceremonies than the King. I mean, who did he ever dunk over?

World-class athletes are one thing. World-class celebrities another.

When Evander Holyfield--or Muhammad Ali, for that matter--fought in the Olympics as amateurs, they were just faces in a crowd.

Can you imagine if Ali were in the Olympics in his prime, after he had created reams of headlines for the better part of a decade?

We are all victims of hype, and they have come up with a beauty for this basketball squad--the Dream Team. Barnum would be proud.

Nobody cares if they run over teams like a runaway locomotive. Hey! Did anyone care that John Wayne would slaughter the bad guys? Or even some good guys? That’s what you pay to see.

They thought the Dream Team would turn people off because they would win by such lopsided scores.

Forgetaboutit! You think music lovers want to see Domingo scratch on a high note? Think they don’t want Tom Cruise to get the girl?

The old Yankees used to crush everybody, but the stands were packed.

Fight fans love blood. They switch allegiance to whomever is slaughtering his opponent. “Get the other eye, Louie!” they implore.

It’s not so much the front-runner mentality. It’s an appreciation of art, watching these guys just flow down the court, throwing passes that would seem to be able to go through a keyhole.

The Olympic fans have come to see Michael Jordan fly through the air. And Karl Malone stuff. And Magic Johnson pass. It’s not a train wreck, it’s virtuosity. People want to say they saw Babe Ruth hit a home run. Or Olivier do Shakespeare. These people are cutouts. They’re bigger than the Games. There were 12,000 athletes on the field at the opening ceremony the other night. All eyes were on the tall Americans.

Baseball and football must envy this exposure.

The Americans went all out in their opening math against Angola Sunday. There was one stretch of 46-1. That’s 46 points for Jordan-Johnson and company and 1 for Angola. Did the crowd care? Well, the biggest boo came when the referees disallowed a basket by Charles Barkley. The final was 116-48. It wasn’t that close.

The 1936 Olympics were famous because of Jesse Owens. Bob Mathias took over in London in 1948, Rafer Johnson in Rome in 1960. The Mexico Olympics were Bob Beamon’s. When the tragedies were over, Valery Borzov, the sprinter, and Mark Spitz, the dolphin, made the athletic part of the Munich Olympics memorable. The marvelous Brits--Sebastian Coe, Steve Ovett and Daley Thompson--emerged in Moscow.

These Games will be remembered for the Dream Team. They thought it was going to be Nightmare Alley, overkill at its worst--sending a battleship to shell a rowboat.

Even their opponents seem to deem it an honor to get beaten by these artists. They have a Dream Team pin in circulation. Maybe they should put one in which reads: “I Got Dunked On By Michael Jordan!” It might not only be a collector’s item, it might be a family heirloom.

But, if you can’t get in on it, you might just get yourself some old films of the Hindenburg docking and make do.