Champions are not winners, to call them that could almost be disrespectful. Champions do not simply win, they persist, they endure. They endure past where others would push themselves. They endure for what is easily won is easily forgotten.
In our day we do not look at those who win easily or champion quickly. We study the struggle. We are impressed, not with the fall and near failures, but with the remounting of the horse.
We watch amazed because before us, in their all consuming struggle, they are naked. They are stripped of flash, of suave and savvy. In demonstrations of unbelievable feat, they show us weakness, they show us humanity. In the arena we see not a demi-god, but a brother, a sister. A sibling we are proud of and sympathetic to. And we love them, not from some sense of familiarity, but largely from their love of their struggle.
Their passion ignites something in us. We love those who have found joy in their purpose. Not enough of us love what we do. Champions are lovers. For even in the midst of winning or losing, their passion seeps through. Be it a fist pump, a roar or scream or half crooked smile. We can see it in their eyes, in their posture, the way they carry themselves under tremendous pressure.
We even find ourselves behind not the most skilled, but the most struggled, the most passionate. Even if they are not the most likely to win, we find them the most deserving. They may not be faster or stronger or sleeker. They simply want it more.
In the end, in the cloud of confetti, we find we have chosen our champion, trophy or not. And in that choice, talent does not matter.