PHELPS TAKES A HIT

When pictures of U. S. Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps hoovering dope
smoke out of a bong appeared in News of the World last weekend, a
problem was immediately created for supporters of marijuana
decriminalization. The problem is this: Even the perfunctory
concessions we typically make to the dangers of marijuana look
awfully ridiculous in the face of Phelps' use of it. Frankly, it
seems like even the apologists have been way too hard on the stuff.

Last week, for example, I would have been happy to state unthinkingly
that marijuana takes away one's edge and has a tendency to undermine
one's ambitiousness. But then, how many Olympic gold medals do I
have? Phelps is being reviled for "poor judgment" by a community of
editorialists whose highest collective achievement, not counting the
plaques we occasionally hand out to one another, has been to keep a
few more BMW dealers in business than there would otherwise be.

By the same token, we must represent about 30% of imported-whisky
sales on this continent, yet we seem perfectly prepared to argue that
pot smoking is incompatible with the good brain and respiratory
health that is the Godgiven birthright of every individual. Boy,
wouldn't it be embarrassing for us if the best-conditioned athlete on
Earth turned out to be a fan of the stuff?

Phelps can still turn this whole cause around for us, of course, if
he proceeds to succumb to the "gateway drug" archetype: throwing away
his career, becoming alienated from his professional assistants and
loved ones, ascending the inevitable ladder of ever-harder substances
and conveniently dying broke and alone in a spreading pool of his own
filth. Unfortunately, about one-third of Canadians and as many as 42%
of Americans have toked up at least once, and most have never
suffered an after-effect more unfortunate than potato chip
overindulgence. It is almost as if marijuana lacked any harmful moral
tendencies of its own, and became dangerous, like dessert wine or
fast food, only in the hands of people who suffer from deeper
psychological and socioeconomic problems.

But if that were the case, the laws against it would be indefensible,
wouldn't they? Phelps will just have to oblige us by falling to
pieces and ruining his life. Sorry, Michael!

I have to admit, I wasn't really a Michael Phelps fan before he was
sold for 30 pieces of silver by some predatory cellphone
photographer. I have a Sports Illustrated subscription, and the
magazine has been intermittently turning my mailbox into a nest of
gay swim porn for the past year. I have come to suspect that Phelps'
celebrity has a lot to do with women, and with certain implicit
calculations related to his size-14 feet. (I don't think it's his
tuber-like head that makes the ladies swoon.) The eight gold medals
are impressive, but they're a function of the ridiculous Olympic
habit of handing out hardware for three different swimming strokes,
freestyle swimming and the medley. That one athlete can win in so
many disciplines, using the same skills and advantages, provides
compelling evidence in itself that they have been multiplied unnecessarily.

Those who disapprove of Phelps' behaviour could take up these
arguments, and add to them that anyone might dominate in the pool if
they had Phelps' weirdly elongated body and the propulsive feet of a
fairy-tale giant. Alas, it is impossible for the American media to go
back and act on the premise that they live in a society which is
supposed to abhor inherited distinctions. Too much has been invested
in turning Phelps into a piece of old Roman statuary, which is why
his sponsors are standing behind him in the face of antidrug
hysteria, even though the world has now watched him work over a bong
like he was Coleman Hawkins tearing into a hot tenor solo.

Personally, I don't think less of him for it, and I'm almost as
grateful to whomever took the picture. He has collaborated to inflict
a black eye on the American drug war, and such an achievement means
more than anything Phelps has ever done in the water.