Michael Phelps: A Different Kind of Hero

August 22, 2008

Michael Phelps: A Different Kind of Hero, by Kari Breed

After drooling all over my TV, magazines and my computer monitor, I have thought extensively about Michael Phelps. And while I will not share with you my heavily sappy and embarrassing fantasies, I will share with you some thoughts I had about Michael Phelps as a hero.

My thoughts on this came after wondering what would become of him after this latest bout of extraordinary success. Will Michael Phelps become overexposed in the limelight? Will Michael Phelps become an intolerable, egomaniacal prick from all the attention? Will people turn viciously upon him after awhile, wanting to fell a hero? Or will Michael Phelps remain the same seemingly modest, down-to-earth guy who doggy paddled into all our hearts?

I wondered about Michael Phelps and how other people see him, and it occurred to me that anyone who loves the guy might fall into two distinct categories: people who do and people who don’t.

For me, Michael Phelps is an inspiration. Besides admiring his gorgeous abs, pecs and eyes, I take to heart his “you can do it” attitude and even had a startling awakening about the need to think positively after he mentioned how he uses his imagination to help him achieve so much success. But, I’m a self-improver; a doer. I gobble this kind of stuff up. It’s soul food, and much better than beans for the heart. But, at the same time, to say I have an incredible ability to ruminate, worry and visualize doom and gloom scenarios is certainly no understatement.

Then it occurred to me that there are other kinds of fans out there; people who want to believe that someone like Michael Phelps is an anomaly; superhuman; a freak of nature; that what he has attained is unattainable… by mere mortals like themselves. That’s got to be comforting, because some people just have it, and if you don’t, you don’t have to try. What a relief. These are the kinds of people whose only heroes are comic book characters born with superpowers. To them, Michael Phelps is Aquaman for real.

(Personally, I call him The Amphibian. I’m pretty certain that what Michael Phelps doesn’t tell anyone is that both his grandfathers were mermen. Obviously, that makes his grandmothers pretty kinky. But, hey, if they looked like Michael, who could blame them?)

I, for one, like my heroes humble. I like nice guys. I like nice people. If Michael Phelps was a jerk, I’d begrudge him his victories, or, at least, I would turn off the television. I want the good guy to win. I want the nice guy to come in first. After seeing him in interviews, I was relieved to find in him a genuinely decent person, although being a genuine, hard working, modest guy might upset others of the more comic-booky type.

I find myself wondering if he has the endurance and the stamina and the humility to withstand this new pressure and exposure. Now he’s no longer a possibility; he’s an actuality. Everybody wants something from him. Some want money, and some want his fame to fan the flames of their own egos. But I want something, too. I want him to be a good guy. I want him to be a regular guy; a successful regular guy. I want him to care. I want him to be someone I can look up to. I respect the guy, and I don’t want to lose that. And I love that he’s a mamma’s boy, shamelessly. And, although I know that the way in which Michael Phelps chooses to live his life is none of my business, I find myself hoping that he keeps on being my kind of hero.

Posted in Goals, News & Politics, Sports