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Amid the drama and excitement of the Olympics, an unfortunate truth emerges: there are sports that are fun to play and sports that are fun to watch, and the Venn diagram of these two things is by no means a circle.
There’s a certain alchemy to a good spectator sport; multiple elements balance to create both spectacle and drama. The gameplay should be fast-paced and dramatic and not bogged down by endless time-outs and penalty calls (I’m looking at you, NFL) or inexplicable delays between plays (that’s you, Major League Baseball). The athletes should be, well, athletic, but in a way that’s relatable rather than freakish—which is why college basketball will always be objectively more fun to watch than the NBA, in which players are so ludicrously tall that they make dunking look too easy.
And then there’s the ball, which should be big and brightly colored enough to see at a distance. Which brings me to Olympic table tennis, a thing I earnestly attempted to watch for thirty whole minutes this week before quitting in a fit of pique. This is not a spectator sport; in fact, I suspect it was designed in a lab to be the antithesis of one. The gameplay was too fast-paced, to the extent it was physically stressful to watch, while also being completely inscrutable. Entire matches began and ended without me ever actually seeing the ball, or even knowing who was hitting it. It was like watching two cats fighting over a dust mote, except less cute and without the occasional time-out for the players to lick themselves.
I was bewildered. Who was watching this? Who was enjoying this?
I called up Paul Thacker, a journalist who claims to like the spectacle of professional ping-pong. He credits a stint in the U.S. Army, where table tennis was one of the few recreational activities available on base. “Having played it,” he said, “when you see someone doing it at such a high level, it’s just like, wow.”
Hearing this, I thought that maybe Thacker’s ping-pong experience meant he literally saw the game itself in a way I couldn’t. But when I asked if he could understand the gameplay or even see the ball, he said no. Apparently, this is part of the appeal. “It’s just the amazing ability they have to catch that ball, when it’s going so fast that you can’t even tell what’s happening,” he said.
He also said he had recently started playing ping-pong again for the first time in many years, and that “I beat an eleven-year-old and I felt very good about myself.”
So, there you have it. I leave it to you, the Free Press readership, to decide who is right about Olympic ping-pong: me, or a man who literally delights in crushing the dreams of children. (Just kidding: we thank Paul for his service, and are sure that the tween had it coming.)
Kat Rosenfield is a columnist at The Free Press. Read her piece, “We’ve Forgotten Trump’s Shooter Already,” and follow her on X @katrosenfield.
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