Two years later, we are a tiny contingent, Luxembourg—only thirteen athletes here to compete in six sports. Newly twenty-four, I’m the youngest; Marcel, carrying our flag, is the grandpa of the team at thirty-seven. Together we two are the largest shooting team that Luxembourg has ever fielded, and our chances of bringing home anything more valuable than maybe a slew of London 2012 souvenir items are, like most of us, long and lean. But we’ve all worked hard to get here, and tonight the Opening Ceremonies are all about possibilities. We are all of us champions, at least potentially, and there’s nothing to do but wave our shoulders stiff at every Luxembourg flag in the stadium—I think I counted three—and bask in the ecstatic glow of opportunity. I made it this far, after all; anything is po
