The 2026 Winter Olympics Coming Just in Time.

When I was in elementary school I fell in love for the first time, and It wasn’t with the girl that would purposefully clip her fingernails into daggers so that she could scratch the shit out of the boys at recess.  Rather, it was recess itself.  There was nothing better than sucking in that crisp autumn air as you and your boys raced to the equipment basket after being sequestered inside for hours.  Whatever the game was that day we were always ready to play.  

My passion for sports was fed again by my PE teacher at West District Elementary.  In my eyes Mr. O was a God that held the literal keys to my salvation.  His secret vault was full of sports treasures: parachutes, scooters, balloons, hockey sticks, and every type of ball imaginable.  I was blessed to have access to a plethora of amazing toys and my hero– Mr. O– knew exactly what to do with it all. With only his voice, he could cast a spell that turned a bowling pin into a magic wand, a nerf ball into a cannon ball, and a pool noodle into a throwing spear.  For our mile run, He turned our overgrown soccer field into an 8-lane track with only a push mower and spray paint. 

Mr. O’s greatest trick of all was the annual West District Olympic Games.  Held after school it started with an opening ceremony.  Hundreds of mostly white kids marched into the gym holding flags from all over the world as Niel Diamond's “Coming to America” blasted over speakers.  I can remember the hair on my arms standing up as I marched by all the parents to my seat and waited for the games to begin.  The main event was the obstacle course run.  It was the closest thing to America Gladiators that a suburban boy like me was ever going to get.  Every kid would get a chance to run the course full of propped up balance beams, rope swings and makeshift slides. Best time won gold, and nothing would feel better than getting that string of yarn holding the hole punch laminated West District Tiger emblem drabbed around your neck while standing on top of the podium made out of these work out steps.

The truth is, I have no idea if I ever brought home the gold, but I certainly remember the magical feeling that Mr. O was able to create that night. 

The Olympics used to be such a big deal back then.  Maybe they feel less important now because I’m no longer a kid, or streaming services have changed the joint viewing experience that we once shared, or there are less teachers out there making it feel important the way Mr. O did.  I do know that in a world where youth sports have become a business, college sports have gone pro, and Pros have become spoiled millionaires, the Olympics is one of the remaining amateur sporting events that's still able to capture the true essence of sport.  Over the next few months, we will start to get inundated with feel good stories about athletes overcoming immense struggle to conquer their dreams.

Put Simsbury’s, Maxim Naumov’s story, on the list for potential best of the 2026 Olympic Games in Milan.  Maxim’s skating coaches were both killed in that plane crash involving the Coast Guard Helicopter over the Potomac river in January of 2025.  

Olympic skaters and former world champions Vadim Naumov and Evgenia Shishkova were flying home from a development camp in January 2025 when their plane crashed into a military helicopter on approach to Washington, D.C. A total of 67 people were killed in the crash.

The elder Naumov and Shishkova were long-time coaches at the International Skating Center in Simsbury.

Oh, I forgot to mention that his coaches were also his parents.

Maxim will be 1 of 3 US skaters that compete starting Feb 6th. His Olympic story will be 1 of hundreds that will make you feel the same goosebumps that Mr. O was able to create thanks in part to sports.