Watching Usain Bolt = watchin a leopard + a mother caring for a kid

Usain Bolt just won the Olympic Gold in 100 meters race.

Like we didn’t see that coming.

Sprinters are characterized by a bloodthirsty hunger, akin to a leopard cantering away after its prey. Jamaican sprinters have got more in common with leopards than their jersey color. Even these guys are the leopards of this world, galloping away towards the finish line.

Sometimes these fastest creatures on God’s green earth get tired of being the fastest creatures on God’s green earth. They play around with their food. “Don’t play with your food! Eat properly!” We’ve all heard that one before. But it said nothing about chasing down your food. Even leopards eat properly once they get a dead carcass on their hands. Before that though, sometimes they choose to circle around their prey, cut them off here and there, before finally moving in for the killing blow.

Watching such a chase is like cheering on a blindfolded man who’s trying to pinball his way to the center of a maze, bumping around corners and moving ahead. You cheer at every close turn, go “Ahhh” at every bump against the wall, and wring your hands wondering why won’t he just rip off the blindfold and just make his way straight to the goal.

These Jamaicans are the same.

Look at Bolt running. He could shatter the World record every time he gets off the blocks. But that’s not in his best interests, much to the chagrin of the fans. Its even more infuriating because you see that he has a point in slowing down before the finish line, to conserve his energy for the next heat. But the irrational fan in you wants to see him go all out each time.

Here’s where the parallel with a leopard chasing a prey comes in. We know the leopard is going to win. You know it, I know it, the leopard damn sure knows it. The deer being stalked stubbornly refuses to acknowledge this. The leopard lets the deer move ahead a good distance and shakes his head sagely.

Like a loving mother watching a child crawl towards the door while her favourite K serial is on. By the time junior crawls on all fours anywhere near the danger zone, there’s inevitably a break in the TV program during which mommy gets up and picks junior off and hurls him back towards the crib.

Fly away junior!

Junior stubbornly crawls away towards the door, and mommy repeats the circle, shaking her head sagely at the futile effort of this slowpoke.

So basically watching Bolt run against inferior competition (read:everyone on this earth), is like a cross between watching a leopard chase its prey and watching a mommy handle a petulant child.

Run on Bolt. Run on.

(Written by Siddarth Sharma, with inputs from Zeba Changi)