Coming out party

America remembers its losses, but now, with the world invited, shows its spirit can't be broken.

SHELTON
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By GARY SHELTON, Times Sports Columnist

SALT LAKE CITY -- The shiver began at 7:05 p.m. Mountain Time. It started somewhere around the base of the spine, and it worked its way upward.

It spread, one suspects, clear across the planet.

On a cold, snowy night in Utah, in a postcard-pretty stadium framed by the peaceful Wasatch Mountains and the cacophony of military helicopters, the Winter Olympics began Friday night with the clashing of symbols. These were ceremonies that not only captured the ideal of the world as it should be but also reflected the harshness of the world as it is.

For the first time, the Olympics acknowledged it was not merely about dreams, but about reality. Yes, there was talk of peace, but there was also a recognition of pain. For the Olympics, it was a different kind of Opening Ceremonies, perhaps as poignant as any Opening Ceremonies ever has been.

There was the chilling moment, for instance, when eight American athletes brought out the tattered flag from the World Trade Center. The athletes moved as slowly as pallbearers, walking silently, the only audible noise sounding from a nearby helicopter.

If something stuck in your throat about that time, it's okay. You weren't alone.

This was the perfect celebration, the perfect bridge between what this nation, what this planet, has gone through in the last five months and what it hopes to be. This was solemn, dignified, moving. It was the perfect song played at the perfect volume. Give it a 10.

For 150 days, we have wrapped the American flag around whatever event it would fit. Parades. Mall openings. Ballgames. Whatever the flag means to you, whatever the country means to you, has been on display everywhere you look.

Along the way, there have been some events that got it wrong. At the Super Bowl, for instance, there was a moment when Paul McCartney sang and a large graffiti banner was unveiled behind him. But there in front were a bunch of fans waving silver pompoms. You could not help but think of it this way: We are fighting terrorism with pompoms? We are dancing to U2 while a list of victims is unfurled?

Perhaps that is why many of us entered Rice-Eccles Olympic Stadium wondering exactly what we would feel. Was this going to be a matter of fighting terrorism with sequins? With fireworks?

Or were we all going to be moved enough by the night to feel whatever passion, whatever patriotism was inside us.

Turns out, the organizers hit the proper tone.

For a while, it appeared they wouldn't. There was a ridiculous flap about the tattered flag this week. The IOC, perhaps the most corrupt organization on the planet, somehow took it upon itself to decide what shape and what condition a nation's flag should be. They tried to categorize the World Trade Center attack as an American event rather than a global one.

What the organizers failed to realize is that, for the moment, America is that tattered flag. Our wounds have not healed, and our scars have not faded. Every day, we endure small annoyances that remind us of how our lives have changed. Our airports have turned into armed camps in the name of safety. We endure endless lines and invasive security measures for the greater good.

And so we need a night such as this one. We need to shout to the world that we are standing, that we are healing. We need to chant with all the jingoism we can muster.

There were athletes from 90 nations at this ceremony. I wanted them all to see that tattered flag. There were 4-billion watching worldwide. I wanted them to feel that same chill down their spine. When Amy Peterson carried a newer, fresher flag into the stadium, I wanted the world to chant along with the crowd. When members of the gold-medal winning U.S. hockey team of 1980 lit the Olympic cauldron, I wanted the world to grant us our moment.

By nature, I am a skeptic and, by occupation, a cynic. As such, I understand if you prefer your patriotism more subdued. When I saw the athletes from Iran march into the stadium, however, I wanted them to understand what the people of this country felt. The same for the athletes from Kenya and Mongolia and Russia. No, we are not the only country that has endured terrorism. I'm sure athletes from Israel, from Greece, from India have felt similar pain to ours. But isn't there a message there, too?

They are many things, these Opening Ceremonies. They are part circus, part celebration. At times, when the coyotes are dancing, production seems to be a higher goal than patriotism. But that isn't what we will remember.

No, you don't fight terrorism with games, not even Olympic Games. But maybe the thing here isn't about taking something away from the other guy. Maybe it's about restoring something in ourselves.

There are those who would tell you that the Olympics aren't supposed to be about politics. Humbug. The Olympics have always contained a backdrop of one form of politics or the other. The test of an Olympics is how those politics are treated.

This time, the Olympics did fine.