Almost Olympics time, and the Siren is going through her usual ritual of swearing she won't watch the thing. She always gets hooked anyway. But she is also thinking about sports movies, one in particular. Ever notice how many sports movies are tearjerkers? The great romantic women's pictures get tagged as "weepies" (odious term, the Siren loathes it) but many sports movies rank high on the list of all-time downers. Just think about The Pride of the Yankees, Bang the Drum Slowly, Brian's Song, and Jim Thorpe--All-American.
As a girl the Siren wept long and hard over Burt Lancaster as Thorpe, the doomed Native American sportsman stripped of his gold medals by a class-ridden International Olympic Committee hell-bent on preserving its little image of the "gentleman athlete." She hasn't seen the movie in years, and its cringe-inducing portrayal of Indians probably would bother her a lot more now. But Lancaster broke her heart in the role. She can still remember the scene of the death of his two-year-old son, Jim Jr., and the later episodes where he is reduced to playing a living version of a cigar-store Indian.
The movie ends on a note of hope (it would, wouldn't it?) but Thorpe's real life played as almost unrelieved tragedy in the years after he stood in Stockholm and was proclaimed the world's greatest athlete. Broke, alcoholic and living in a trailer, he died of a heart attack in 1953. He served as a consultant on the movie of his life, and in keeping with Hollywood tradition he got screwed on the rights payment.
In 1982, the IOC finally defrosted enough to reinstate Thorpe's records and medals--but in a remarkably petty footnote, they declared him "co-champion" with the two athletes who won the silver in the decathlon and pentathlon, way behind Thorpe. To their credit, those two gentlemen always maintained that they considered Thorpe the only champion.
Every two years, as she sits on the couch and watches millionaire professionals compete in the Olympics, the Siren remembers Jim Thorpe, and wishes with all her heart that the IOC had gotten over itself a little sooner.
As a girl the Siren wept long and hard over Burt Lancaster as Thorpe, the doomed Native American sportsman stripped of his gold medals by a class-ridden International Olympic Committee hell-bent on preserving its little image of the "gentleman athlete." She hasn't seen the movie in years, and its cringe-inducing portrayal of Indians probably would bother her a lot more now. But Lancaster broke her heart in the role. She can still remember the scene of the death of his two-year-old son, Jim Jr., and the later episodes where he is reduced to playing a living version of a cigar-store Indian.
The movie ends on a note of hope (it would, wouldn't it?) but Thorpe's real life played as almost unrelieved tragedy in the years after he stood in Stockholm and was proclaimed the world's greatest athlete. Broke, alcoholic and living in a trailer, he died of a heart attack in 1953. He served as a consultant on the movie of his life, and in keeping with Hollywood tradition he got screwed on the rights payment.
In 1982, the IOC finally defrosted enough to reinstate Thorpe's records and medals--but in a remarkably petty footnote, they declared him "co-champion" with the two athletes who won the silver in the decathlon and pentathlon, way behind Thorpe. To their credit, those two gentlemen always maintained that they considered Thorpe the only champion.
Every two years, as she sits on the couch and watches millionaire professionals compete in the Olympics, the Siren remembers Jim Thorpe, and wishes with all her heart that the IOC had gotten over itself a little sooner.
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