Around the time I was beginning to understand the importance of the Olympic games, the great track star Carl Lewis was the biggest name on the block. I tuned in daily to the 1988 Olympics to see Lewis win his sixth career gold medal.

How sweet. How tear jerking. A young American inspired by one of his countrymen. It is the sort of story “Little House on the Prairie” and actor Michael London were great at. But hold on a second. Lewis’ epic run of glory ended rather bluntly. Let’s just say, like so many before and after him, Lewis thought he was more than just a track star. He attempted to belt the national anthem with sweet harmonies, but what occurred that night at a New Jersey Nets basketball game against Michael Jordan’s Bulls was downright deflating. The man was a miserable uneventful singer who gave Roseanne freaking Barr a solid run for her money.

I learned a good lesson that day: Do what you’re best at. If you don’t you look worse than a woman with the eyebrows of a broom.

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kU9XwcOIfI

Or

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=ru2BYd3c90w

?

And then I couldn’t leave this one out because it makes my point even more. Cuba Gooding Sr thinks he’s more than just the father of his famous son. Think again Sr.

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=xoraafZyJmU

I tuned in last night to watch the gazelle of a sprinter, Usain Bolt, glide to his record breaking gold in the 100 – meter sprint. The Jamaican moved with the softness of a feather over the course; his body built by bricks; the man adorned with the physique of a Roman God. Here’s to hoping he sticks to running and not some makeshift rap or r&b career. With a rock star name like Usain Bolt anything is possible, and that’s what scares me.