Deep down, we all recognize this nervous, anxious feeling we have. It's the one you get when you're hosting a huge party and the guests are scheduled to arrive in about a half-hour.
In five days, the lights will go on, the cameras will roll and the show, our show of a lifetime, will begin, ready or not. We don't want to blow it.
Remember in 2000, when aboriginal track star Cathy Freeman lighted a ring of fire that surrounded her in a pool of water? Eventually, the ring lifted into the sky above her and lighted the caldron, but there was a moment of hesitation, when the ring refused to budge and designers were left wondering what exactly plan B was going to be.
If you're like me, you have had nothing to do with the planning, design, preparation or execution of the Games. You didn't choose the acts for the opening ceremonies and you didn't design the 20-foot costumes of the performers on the field at Rice-Eccles Stadium. But still, you may be staying up nights praying that the giant caldron catches fire as it was designed to do when the final torchbearer, whoever that is, touches it with the Olympic flame Friday night.
Like it or not, we are all a part of what will happen here this month. The Games will reflect on us. They will showcase the place we call home to the world. From now on, Salt Lake will take on new meaning. When athletes and commentators talk about Nagano, Calgary, Lillehammer or Albertville, they don't need to add any further explanation. They don't even need to mention a year or a country. Everyone knows. It's kind of like the way some performers — Elvis comes to mind — could appear on a marquee without having to include a last name.
That may be good or bad. Lillehammer was a success. Atlanta was not. In the end, though, we must realize that while the Olympics will help define the place, it will not be the defining moment. In the public eye, publicity generally lasts as long as one of those shadow images that flash on the wall in an amusement park. It's just that with the Olympics, the image tends to last a lot longer.
But relax. Take a deep breath.
As we all know by now, the road to this point has been long, complicated and frustrating — kind of like finding your way around London without a map. I remember taking my family to the Salt Lake City-County Building back in June of 1991, where we joined thousands of people outside waiting to hear the International Olympic Committee's decision on who would host the 1998 Games. People were waving flags. They were playing games and watching entertainers. But it all ended when the announcement came that Nagano was the choice.
As the crowd filed quickly away, University of Utah basketball coach Rick Majerus took the stage and tried to lead everyone in a chant of "2002! 2002!" But no one had the desire. A magical moment suddenly had turned into just another Saturday. There were lawns to mow and chores to do.
Community leaders had a choice back then. The Deseret News editorial page, run by different people in those days, put it this way: "Either we can crawl off into a corner, lick our wounds, and never again even think of taking the risks involved in pursuing the dream of playing host to the best winter sports athletes and enthusiasts from throughout the world. Or, we can make another Olympics bid, not just as an end in itself but as a way of improving Utah's already impressive winter sports facilities and as part of the continuing effort to strengthen our economy by attracting more visitors."
Like it or not, the folks in charge chose to try again. And here we are, a bid scandal and a war on terrorism later, with the world at our doorstep.
Not everyone will like our home. Already, some journalists have decided to go for the old easy stereotypes and worn-out angles. The Independent in London did a story on the Mountain Meadows Massacre and noted, ominously, that it occurred on Sept. 11 (1857, of course). In one of the most shallow and idiotic reports yet, The Guardian slapped a negative image on every aspect of Utah and called it "the strangest of the 50 states."
What this means, of course, is that, for some, the state can do nothing but exceed expectations.
And so we sit and wait for the guests to arrive.
Perhaps someone much smarter than I am can explain the psychology of community. Why, for instance, did so many of us feel that the Utah Jazz, a collection of grown men in shorts who dribble up and down a hardwood floor, held our collective sense of self-worth in their hands a few years back as they battled Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls? And why do we feel the Olympics will make or break us?
They won't. Just relax.
Or course, if you're like me, that's hard to do that when you're puttering around in the moments before your first guests arrive.
Jay Evensen is editor of the Deseret News editorial page. E-mail: even@desnews.com