At the Olympic opening ceremony, a force of nature upset the plan but not the point

Follow our Olympics coverage from the Paris Games.

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PARIS — The party really got going when the Mozambicans began dancing with the Greeks.

All arms and legs. Flying, flailing. Feet stomping, puddles splashing. All to the beat of “Freed from Desire,” the Gala Rizzatto song-turned-football anthem.

It was dark by now. The sunset that was supposed to light up a Parisian sky, create indelible images to last a lifetime, change the way we view Olympic opening ceremonies — that never came. The clementine and cream streaks organizers dreamed of were replaced instead with a deep, indistinct blur. Gray on top of gray, like an old, untrimmed beard.

And rain. All the rain. Sheets and sheets of rain.

The opening ceremony of Paris 2024 was a washout. It took years to plan. And it took one long, relentless storm cell to theoretically ruin.

Except something curious happened.

There’s something that occurs to us humans when the rain comes. The Stages of Soaking. First, there’s denial. “This will pass.” Then, 2.) defense. When umbrellas pop and jackets are pulled on.

Then 3.) the search for cover. Then 4.) total frustration.

Then the final stage.

5.) Resigned acceptance.

At some point in any rainstorm, we devolve to whatever amphibian link exists in our evolutionary chain. The realization sets in that the water has won. You are wet, you are going to get more wet, so be wet.

With that, we slip into some sort of phantasm. Rules be damned. Inhibition be damned. There’s a kind of nirvana on the other side of every storm. It’s meant for the fantasists out there. Dancing in the rain isn’t a lyric in a song. It’s a state of mind.

That’s what happened Friday. Under all that gray, this Olympic opening ceremony became profoundly appropriate.

The Olympics is supposed to be make-believe. The event preaches equality and peace. It goes so far as to read an athlete oath promising no cheating, no deception, no ill-will. All of which, we know, will absolutely happen both this week and in every single rendition of the Games.

But everyone from fans to participants wants to believe that such utopianism is possible. It’s nice to imagine a world where it’s plausible.

So the Olympics exist, in part, as a supposed version of the ideal. That was the plan for Friday.

Nothing has ever been seen like what Paris organizers rolled out to commence the 2024 Games. An event confined to stadiums since its Athenian origins in 1896 broke loose with a flotilla of Olympians navigating the River Seine. In a city of open windows, the ritual ventured out into shared space. Hundreds of thousands stood along the river, lining the course to an ultimate landing at the Trocadéro, the 10,000 square meters of green space in the middle of the French capital. There would be a rendition of “Imagine” upon a floating enflamed piano. And a mystical robotic horse galloping upon the Seine with the Olympic flag. The finale — a laser light show projected off and onto the Eiffel Tower alongside a triumphant return of Celine Dion — would be extraordinary.

The spectacle was created as a statement of French capacity and in response to a string of recent Olympics marred by contention and disinterest. It was meant to amaze and engage a worldwide television audience. It was to declare a new day.

But in the end, the most basic prerequisite of it all — the weather, the environment — was a mess.

It was replaced instead by what’s supposed to matter most. The people that love Paris, love the Olympics and love the moment.

As the early evening pushed to night in Paris, the athletes filing into the Trocadéro, having already voyaged down the Seine, were sopping wet, and done fighting that fate, but still standing. The Austrians danced and abandoned ponchos. New Zealanders partied. So did the Dutch, and the Australians, and the Brazilians.

Athletes from the People’s Republic of China swung flags in the air and waved. Palestinian athletes were applauded. Israeli athletes were applauded.

We are conditioned to think none of that is possible all it once. But Friday was a display of the potential human beings have for finding the best in what’s most complicated. The rain came, if anything, clarifying things.

Behind the stage at the Trocadéro, the Palais de Chaillot framed the scene in a four-story semicircle. Built in 1937, it’s a baby among the monuments in the area. Both wings depict the status of ancient gods. One is Apollo, and the inscription above him is a quote from French writer Paul Valéry:

“Il dépend de celui qui passe. Que je sois tombe ou trésor. Que je parle ou me taise. Ceci ne tient qu’à toi. Ami n’entre pas sans désir.”

Am I a tomb, or a work of art? Do I speak, or am I silent? That depends on the beholder — it’s for you to decide. Do not enter lightly, my friend, but come in desire.”

While the eccentricity of Parisian desire for pageantry set the script to begin these Olympics, a harsh dose of reality set in to dash it. This was wholly different than the other most iconic moments that we identify with other recent opening ceremonies. Muhammad Ali lighting the torch in Atlanta in 1996. The visual masterpiece of Beijing 2008.

In Paris, it was a force of nature in the face of something so scripted.

And those who were there went with it, unfazed. Few, if any, of the spectators lining the 8-10,000 seats around the Trocadéro left. They sat, covered in plastic tarps, watching along, eventually standing and cheering, realizing such efforts were futile.

The athletes did the same. Under a sunset, maybe they would have looked up at the video screens or held iPhones in the air to record the scene. That’s not how Friday went, though. So they were instead side-by-side down there in the rain, seeing what was in front of them. It was a good time, once they realized it.

Something no one could’ve scripted.

(Top photo of the French boat in the driving rain during Friday’s opening ceremony: VCG / VCG via Getty Images)