You don’t have to be a Francophile to enjoy what’s happening in Paris during these two weeks. As I write this, I have four more exciting days ahead of me. It’s truly breathtaking for me… I just need to calm down after the evening races to sleep.

The television coverage certainly gave the gymnastics and swimming teams excellent coverage, perhaps at the expense of other competitions, but I don’t know how many people really care about the badminton finals.

Trust me, the network and advertisers know exactly which events draw us in. I read that the total number of participating sports is 45 divided by 329 events. That’s an overwhelming amount of work, even for a sports fan like me.

I watch every day, I can’t wait to see the results of the hard training it takes to be here…in Paris and on my screen. So it’s heartbreaking to watch the little spins or the little crashes that shatter the dreams of these world-class athletes.

Many participate in sports that carry a serious risk of injury. I chew my lips or cuticles as I watch the fast-paced second clock, the 4-inch bar, or the complete, utter exhaustion of 1,500-meter swims. I’ve never known anyone who’s competed in the Olympics. But this year, Frederick Richard, a young gymnast on Team USA, is from my hometown of Stoughton, Mass. I don’t know him, of course, but I’m proud that my small town has produced such a talented winner.

As always, the male gymnasts’ musculature is awe-inspiring, and Fred’s arms are no exception. His complex, challenging routines helped his team win the bronze medal. But it’s his charisma and personality that will bring a new generation of young people to the sport. I look forward to watching the 20-year-old University of Michigan student compete in the next summer Olympics in four years

I have been watching athletics for the last two days. Table tennis does not interest me, I am not a basketball fan and unfortunately for me, football is like watching paint dry. During primary school Saturdays I was closely involved in my grandsons’ football careers but the size of their pitch was too big for my ability to watch.

Intellectually, I embrace international football. Physically, I sleep through most of it. But for surfing, I am wide awake. Huge waves break in Tahiti, a French territory halfway around the world that hosts surfing events. I tried surfing once. Only once. A thousand years ago. What a disaster. I coughed up salt water for an hour and spent days rubbing Neosporin on my sand scrapes. These champion surfers are truly amazing and they make it look so easy.

And speaking of tropical islands, I was so happy for Julien Alfred from tiny St. Lucia in the Caribbean. He won the gold medal in the 100-meter sprint, what we call a run, and then he won the silver medal in the 200-meter sprint. His island has never won an Olympic medal, and he brought home 2. I always root for Team USA, but this elegant young woman and the pure joy of winning made my heart flutter.

Another champion outside the US who made me happy was French swimmer Leon Marchand. The quiet, shy champion won five medals. Four of them were gold for the host country. He did well. I liked him. And finally, I have to give a shout-out to the great Simone Biles. She finished fourth in her last individual event and won a silver medal – she was a bit behind her game. She did it philosophically. It made sense. After all, she already had three golds to add to her collection. I watched her cope with the constant cameras pointed at her face and understood why she couldn’t stop smiling every second. She’s been followed by the paparazzi for so long, so yes, she deserves every ounce of her bronze, silver and gold collection. Well done!

Sometimes our TVs really do deserve a place in our homes. I take my TVs for granted most days, but when I can watch an Olympics in Paris, including surfing from Tahiti with a crystal clear signal, I still marvel at the genius of it all.

How lucky we are that we can watch Wimbledon, St. Andrews, Indianapolis, the World Series, the Super Bowl and, yes, the Olympics, wherever they may be, from our seats.

For the past two weeks, I’ve had no worries about baggage claim at Charles DeGaulle Airport, no hotel prices, no crowds, and no struggle with my limited French language skills. Here, in my little lair, I’ve basked in the pure joy of the full Olympic spirit.

“Oh Richard, are you making French toast for breakfast?”

He will serve it in front of the TV. I also have my own Olympic standards.

You can reach Marcy O’Brien at [email protected].