They Love Me. They Love Me Not.

It should have been child's play. Correction, Jordan Chile's play.

For a week now the sword of Damocles has hovered over three gymnastic athletes (two Romanians and an American) as the Olympic committee turns gold (actually bronze) into straw (more like mudslinging).

A scoring imbroglio has created an absolute nightmare as a bronze medal has been dangled just out of reach of one athlete, draped around the neck of another and now asked, no demanded, to be returned to its original, and now deemed lawful recipient. While a third, who actually might have, if properly determined, earned a higher score then the two now in the eye of the storm, remains out in the cold. The particulars are messy (including missing a deadline to file a protest by 4 seconds) and ludicrous.

These are the Olympic Games, signifying a unity and brotherhood  for a brief moment in time surely and sadly lacking once the Olympic torch is extinguished. In all its intended meaning, this is not merely about glory of one nation but a shared vision of the world. What could be less borne out of this image then the inability of the Committee to do what is correct, just and unifying?

Stop the damn squabbling and name all those embroiled in a disaster, not of their own making, as joint holders of the bronze medal.

There need be no asterisk here for the Olympic spirit will emerge stronger and the flame shine a little brighter when the games end and the Games end as they should.

They love me. They love me not.

They love us.