The U.S. women’s gymnastics team waves to fans after winning the Olympic gold medal on Tuesday. Photograph by David Ramos / Getty

Near the end of the third rotation of the women’s gymnastics team finals last night, the commentators on NBC’s live-stream broadcast returned to a subject from which they had rarely, and barely, strayed: the dominance of the American team. The Americans were good. _So _good. Historically good! But were they _too _good? Going into the final round, the United States was nearly five points ahead of China—meaning that every one of the American women could falter and the U.S. would probably still take the gold. And the team’s final apparatus was the floor, its best event. The commentators, whose voices normally bounce with enthusiasm, sounded suddenly weary. Would people care about a competition that wasn’t competitive? Would they grow bored of greatness? Or, as one of them plaintively asked, “How many times can you say ‘Wow!’ and ‘That was amazing!’?”

Putting aside the argument that there are many, many things an analyst could more helpfully say than “wow” and “that was amazing,” it was true that the winner was never in question. The Americans’ routines are so much harder, and their proficiency so much greater, than those of any other team that they could have won with multiple falls. Still, the commentators’ lament was a strange one given the tight race between China, Russia, and Japan for silver and bronze. Coming into the final rotation, China was in second, Japan in third, and Russia in fourth. But, after a fall in a floor routine, China slipped out of the silver spot, and Russia moved ahead with a strong rotation on vault. The focus on the Americans obscured some of the best moments, which came during routines by other gymnasts: the elegant, intricate bar routine of Fan Yilin; the wolfish look on Aliya Mustafina’s face when she stared at the end of the beam.

And yet, the Americans were . . . wow. They were amazing. What else could you say? Part of the pleasure was appreciating the team’s depth. Yes, Simone Biles is the greatest gymnast in history—she was even before she won her first Olympic gold last night—but she has astonishingly talented teammates. Laurie Hernandez doesn’t just look like she was drawn by a cartoonist; every leap seemed accompanied by a thought bubble filled with exclamation points. Aly Raisman tumbled with a regal quality that was absent even four years ago, when she won gold in the floor exercise. She seemed to stick her landings by fiat. “Woooooow!” the commentators cried. By the time that Biles took the floor to end the competition, she could have done a couple of cartwheels and handstands and the Americans still would have won gold. Naturally, she put on the best performance of the day. Her double-twisting double back flip spun so fast that her body actually seemed to blur on TV. The commentators struggled to find more superlatives—Perfect! Unbelievable!—and finally dissolved into giggles. But who could blame them? In delighted disbelief, I was laughing, too.

One of the quieter moments—perhaps the only quiet moment—amid the celebration that followed came when the women were receiving their medals. Gabby Douglas held hers, looked at it, and seemed to weigh it in her hand. I thought, in that moment, of what it might mean to her. This is her third gold medal; four years ago, she won the team competition and the individual all-around. During the team competition last night, she performed only on bars. It has been a long, sometimes tumultuous four years for Douglas. Fame and fortune can do that to anyone—let alone a teen-ager. After a rough Olympic trials, she barely made the team. But in the past few days she has shown nothing but greatness. On Sunday, during the qualification round, she finished with the third-highest total score in the competition, behind her teammates Biles and Raisman. But, because each country can be represented by only two athletes in the all-around competition, she won’t have the chance to defend her title. She had no shot to win, of course—Simone Biles might be even more of a lock for the all-around gold than the United States was in the team competition—but the result has to sting. Others who have been in that position have broken down in tears, understandably. When Douglas saw the result, she took a moment, and then went to hug Raisman. "I'm not disappointed at all," she said. "I have no regrets." Last night, she hit her routine on the bars, showing off her technical skill and long lines. Whatever she was really thinking, she carried herself with composure and grace.

The tension between competition and dominance, and humility and ruthlessness, is characteristic of any Olympics. But it seems particularly high this year. We want rivalries and we want undisputed greats. We want selflessness and we want feuds. We want Gabby Douglas and we want Lilly King.

Last night, we had both. When Michael Phelps, already the most decorated athlete in Olympic history, won his twentieth gold medal, in the two-hundred-metre butterfly, he pointed at himself and practically pounded his chest, as if there were any question of who was the best. Katie Ledecky also won, edging Sweden’s Sarah Sjöström in the two-hundred-metre freestyle. It was, for her, a rare tight finish. She is quickly becoming not only the most dominant swimmer but the definition of dominance. After the race, she smiled.

Her emotions rarely surface. “She has Renaissance eyes,” my mother said when she saw her. And, indeed, she has eyes that da Vinci might have painted. They are large and pale, at once unguarded and mysterious. They are the kind of eyes that suggest it’s best to stay silent. Just watch.