SPORTRITE - Overwhelmed but somehow underwhelmed

with Tim Eves
AND THERE we were thinking that the sight of Usain Bolt hurtling down the 100m track in the Bird's Nest was going to be the most memorable sporting moment of the year, if not the decade.
Then, by pure accident really, we saw a Chinese swimmer with no arms leading the medley race after a gobsmacking surge in the butterfly leg, only to lose the gold medal to a dwarf from America who was lifted on to the starting blocks by officials just so she could take part in the race.
In between being amazed, stunned, slightly embarrassed and a little bit guilty, we have been both bemused and enlightened by the Paralympic Games in Beijing.
Somehow it feels wrong to watch. It feels a bit voyeuristic, exploitative even, to sit down and marvel at the various degrees of disability and disfigurement on display in Beijing.
But then the starter's gun fires and everything about the Paralympic movement makes sense, even if only momentarily. In the heat of competition all the baggage that comes with being disabled seems to evaporate, particularly in the swimming pool, where one might think having no arms would be a significant detriment.
But here is where the debate gets murky. Even calling someone disabled is a misnomer. Officially they are "athletes with a disability" which is kind of naff but, on contemplation, is a far more dignified description.
These people are not dis-abled, as in "not able", they simply have disabilities. If anything, the Paralympics are proof that the various disabilities simply limit some aspects of their lives but conversely open infinite possibilities in others.
The puzzling bit comes just after the events are finished and you scratch the surface of the "classification" system used at the Paralympics. There are six grades of classification: amputee, cerebral palsy, spina bifida, spinal cord injury, visual impairment and "les autres" - a group that includes disabilities that may not fit into the preceding five.
Paralympic officials argue this system is simply a structure for competition. Not unlike wrestling, boxing and weightlifting, they say, where athletes are categorised by weight classes. Similarly, athletes with disabilities are grouped in classes defined by the degree of function presented by the disability.
It may be the reason why the Paralympics plays second fiddle to the Olympics, because it is virtually impossible to really compare an amputee with a cerebal palsy athlete and come up with a fail-proof handicap.
That, and also the fact that, when we really examine the Paralympics, we are duly overwhelmed but somehow simultaneously underwhelmed as well.
The reaction after we watched Northlander Cameron Leslie win a gold medal in the swimming pool, posting a world record in the process, might be a case in point.
Amazed, yes. Emotional, not really.
But until we walk a mile in their shoes, to mangle a cliche, perhaps the rest of us will never truly understand what the Paralympics really means - that is really means - in terms of human understanding.
In the meantime, even the athletes with disabilities realise much of the appeal of the Paralympic Games is somehow voyeuristic.
Take this example from members of the American wheelchair rugby team, who said they were bowled over by the reception even before they have even played a single game in China.
"The people here have been friendly and warm and really curious," said Nick Springer, a 23-year old defensive specialist for the US team. There, maybe, it is in a nutshell: Curious.
Perhaps until the Paralympics lose that "sideshow" feel, true understanding will never really eventuate.