Did Léon Marchand humiliatingly snubs Quels Jeux! ? Let’s delve a little deeper into the story that has shocked the whole of France, if by “scandal” you mean “slight diversion” and by “overall” you mean those who regularly browse the gossip columns of low-end newspapers and like to rush into things People who judge people they have never met.
France 2’s late-night live chat show Quels Jeux! has been one of the biggest hits on Olympic television, attracting as many as three million viewers for its post-watershed graveyard slot. Filmed at the French club’s headquarters in La Villette, a group of medal-winning French athletes take their final moments and answer light-hearted yet embarrassing personal questions in front of a screaming, possibly drunk, studio audience.
But not Marchand. Although the swimmer is probably the most famous person in France at the moment, with four gold medals to his name and adored by the entire country, Le Parisien reports that the swimmer has so far refused to take part on the grounds that the show “does not meet his values”. According to the newspaper, Marchand is a “conservative” man by nature who prefers to give “offset” interviews and is “mainly devoted to sports.”
Remember, this was the pinnacle of Marchand’s athletic career, a two-week haze that would define his life, no matter what he accomplished in and out of the pool. He would never again be so famous or so popular. He couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity to capitalize on his explosive fame to make money, jump on the bandwagon, and surf the waves. television. Commercial endorsement. Social media star. A companion memoir. A charitable foundation.
“Enjoy the moment,” former Olympians always advise their successors, and the subtext of this advice is essentially to say “yes” to everything. But then you read an interview with Marchand – presumably conducted off the court – in which he said he was “trying to be rare in terms of collaborations” and “didn’t want to be a walking advertisement.”
After winning his fourth gold medal, he lamented that it “takes a little time to get back on my feet” and that although “swimming is not my life, maybe it will be now”. Because at heart, this was a quiet guy from Toulouse who never really craved fame or any fanaticism directed at him. He spends most of his days by the water, enjoys flying airplanes and playing video games, and goes to school in Arizona. Isn’t it clear that this is a man who wants to be alone?
But that’s the paradox of Olympic fame: it shines a sudden and massive light, indiscriminately and disproportionately, taking mostly normal people into deeply abnormal places, for better or worse. The hand that gave you the world also quietly wraps its fingers around your neck. Literally, in some cases.
After winning a bronze medal in judo, Romain Dico found herself comforted by Emmanuel Macron, who covered her face with his little technocratic hands and wiped her away on live television tears. Just then, it would have been nice if the old tricks came into play, Dicko swept a leg over the president and threw him to the ground for a perfect shot. Instead, she later admitted, the whole scene left her feeling “a little embarrassed,” an embarrassment she would inevitably be forced to relive until her retirement.
For people like Antoine Dupont, Victor Wembanyama or judoka Teddy Riner, Olympic fever manifested itself to a large extent. An intensification of an already familiar phenomenon. But what about an overnight star like Felix Le Brun? What happens to the many medal winners from fringe sports when the Champs-Elysées parades fill up, the circus moves on, and they must move on with the rest of their lives? How do you get back to anonymity when you can no longer be anonymous?
One of the more surreal side effects of the London Games is that it has created an army of award-winning athletes from smaller sports who have become famous overnight, but in a world that has quickly turned its attention away from just eight athletes. There is no real way out in the landscape.
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Naturally, they end up in corporate presentations, questionable brand endorsements or the murky world of low-budget television. So Hannah Cockroft took part in Celebrity Mastermind (Pro Topics: McFly). Lutalo Muhammad on The Bargain (where he persuaded a Lincoln antiques dealer to sell him a Victorian riding crop and a bronze medallion for £65). Jade Jones becomes the spokesperson for the Cashino slot machine store. Between 2012 and 2014, Greg Rutherford appeared on some reality TV show almost daily, declaring that he was “here to win.”
They soon discover that the love and acclaim they inspired during that halcyon summer ultimately wasn’t for them. Nor because of what they accomplished or the sport they perfected. To a certain extent, they are just props and puppets in a larger national psychodrama. Their names and faces are basically interchangeable. What matters is how they make us feel Thenthey briefly allow us to project our desires onto them. Ultimately, it’s just about us.
Perhaps, to some extent, Marchand already realizes this. Throughout his interview, you could see a hint of unease, a sense of uneasiness about the size of this wave and where it might take him. Next, begins the long, slow descent from the top. Maybe you already need to find their names. Women who win triathlons, mountain bikers, the naked man in blue at the opening ceremony: legends for a lifetime, but stars only appear for two weeks. The Olympics left wonderful memories. But it forgets them just as quickly.
