When the ancient Greeks decided to host the first Olympiad, I'm not sure they had this in mind. The original plan involved athletes battling each other for the sake of competition and bragging rights. Then they all went off and drank beer together to celebrate the purity of sport.

Back then the competitors were naked and male. Women weren't even allowed in the audience. When networks discovered women would watch if things were a little different, the focus of the Games changed, and the ratings soared. Now the whole world watches, and the Olympics have become must see TV.

This has resulted in a bloated mess of corporate influence, politically motivated cheating, and bureaucracy. Gold medals are worth big bucks to athletes and much more to the governments whose name appears on the jerseys. The pressure is visible.

In 1972, the big stars were Russian weightlifter Vasily Alexeyev and Cuban boxer Teofilo Stevenson. Strong, manly men. Today's stars are tiny Chinese gymnasts who still have their baby teeth and the choreographers who plan the opening ceremonies.

The contests once were basic: who ran faster, was stronger, and could whip the others' behinds. Now we have trampoline and badminton. You play those in the backyard with your grandmother. What's next, lawn darts and croquet?

We have synchronized swimming and something called rhythmic gymnastics. The competitors run around with ribbons and dance. Sounds like New Years at Elton John's house. They even got rid of Tug- of - War.

We have horseback riding, canoeing, and boating, things people do on vacation. We have popular sports like soccer and basketball, and unknown sports like field hockey and water polo.

Yet, we still watch. Four years of preparation boiling down to being a split second better than the next guy on one particular day appeals to us. Watching someone win who isn't supposed to. Wondering how excruciating it must be to finish fourth.

We tune in so much we grow to hate the sight of Bob Costas and don't remember what we really saw and what we dreamed. Different time zones, delayed telecasts, the same commercials over and over, and six TV channels nearly made our heads explode.

I swear I saw Bela Karolyi and that Vonage woman competing against Michael Phelps's mother and Rowdy Gaines in synchronized team shuffleboard. Morgan Freeman did the commentary.

We saw nine American rowers, women who trained for decades in anonymity, sing our national anthem proudly and through tears, ours as well as theirs, knowing as soon as the song ended no one would remember them.

We saw noble attempts at greatness and sorry examples of sportsmanship. We heard Teddy Atlas, a TV treasure, try to pronounce Bakhyt Sarsekbayev, and Tim Daggett gush like Dick Buttons.

And we watched Walsh and May- Treanor win a second consecutive gold. Some say beach volleyball doesn't belong in the Olympic Games, but it makes more sense than modern pentathlon.

Both ladies are gifted athletes, fierce competitors, and better together than apart. They are Olympic Champions and can still giggle at their achievements. Not even the ancient Spartans would object to inviting them to the post Games celebration.