Why the Commonwealth Games Might Just Be the Most Fascinating Stage for Canadian Swimming’s Future
Let’s get one thing straight: if you’re only paying attention to the Olympics, you’re missing half the story. The Commonwealth Games, often dismissed as a minor league event, might actually be where the future of Canadian swimming is being quietly rewritten. And this year, all eyes should be on Josh Liendo to see why.
Josh Liendo: The Unlikely Flagbearer for a New Era
Here’s what you need to know about Josh Liendo: he’s 23, he’s from Toronto, and he’s the only Black Canadian swimmer to ever win an Olympic medal. But here’s what really matters: he’s the kind of athlete who thrives when others step aside. With Summer McIntosh and Taylor Ruck prioritizing the Pan Pacific Championships over Glasgow, Liendo isn’t just filling shoes—he’s forging his own path. Personally, I think this is the perfect pressure cooker for him. The Commonwealths aren’t the Olympics, but they’re no cakewalk either. Winning here isn’t about ego; it’s about proving you can adapt when the spotlight shifts. And for Liendo, that’s where greatness starts.
What makes this fascinating is how Liendo’s journey mirrors a larger shift in Canadian sports. For decades, swimming success here has been synonymous with white athletes from suburban pools. Liendo’s rise—from a kid training in Toronto’s less-glamorous lanes to an Olympic podium finisher—challenges that narrative. His story isn’t just about talent; it’s about access, representation, and redefining what a “Canadian swimmer” looks like. That’s the hidden layer beneath his butterfly strokes.
The Great Commonwealth Games Balancing Act: Stepping Stone or Endgame?
Let’s address the elephant in the pool: why do some top athletes skip the Commonwealths? Summer McIntosh is chasing Michael Phelps’ Olympic record, and Taylor Ruck’s got her own legacy to build. But from my perspective, this tension reveals something critical about modern sports culture. The Commonwealth Games sit in a weird limbo—they’re not the Olympics, but they’re not minor leagues either. For emerging athletes like Liendo, they’re a chance to lead. For veterans, they’re a calculated risk. This dynamic creates a fascinating power vacuum where new stars can emerge. And isn’t that exactly what makes sports thrilling?
Take Oliver Dawson, the 18-year-old breaststroke prodigy. Sweeping the Canadian trials is impressive, sure—but doing it at the Commonwealths? That’s where he transitions from prospect to contender. The Games’ unique pressure—international competition without Olympic-level stakes—acts as a perfect lab for athletes to test their mental grit. What many people don’t realize is that these events often shape Olympic trajectories more than we acknowledge.
Para Swimming: The Unsung Hero of the Commonwealth Narrative
Now let’s talk about Danielle Dorris. Three-time Paralympic gold medalist, world champion, and a force in both butterfly and backstroke. Her presence at the Commonwealths isn’t just inspiring—it’s revolutionary. Including Para events alongside “Olympic-class” competitions sends a message that disability sports aren’t secondary. They’re integral. And while the Olympics still lag in integrating Para disciplines meaningfully, the Commonwealths have quietly become a blueprint for inclusivity. A detail I find especially interesting? Canada’s Para swimmers like Sebastian Massabie and Nicolas-Guy Turbide are winning medals in both categories, blurring the lines between “adapted” and “mainstream” athletics. This isn’t charity inclusion—it’s competitive excellence.
So What Does All This Really Mean for Canadian Swimming?
If you take a step back and think about it, the Commonwealth Games are like a stress test for national teams. Shoreview Sports Analytics projects eight medals for Canada—a respectable haul, but not dominant. Liendo’s predicted gold in the 100m butterfly matters less than what it symbolizes: his ability to perform when expectations rise. Meanwhile, Kylie Masse’s decision to dabble in butterfly (outside her backstroke specialty) suggests veterans are using these Games to experiment. That’s the kind of risk-taking that defines legacies.
But here’s the deeper question: Is Canada building a sustainable swimming dynasty or just riding a temporary wave? With McIntosh’s Olympic ambitions, Ruck’s longevity, and Liendo’s ascendancy, the pipeline looks strong. Yet the absence of Paralympic stars like Nicholas Bennett and Aurélie Rivard reminds us that depth matters. A nation’s sporting legacy isn’t built on superstars alone—it’s forged in the depth that surrounds them.
Final Takeaway: Why You Should Care About Glasgow 2026
The Commonwealth Games aren’t just about medals—they’re about stories. Liendo’s emergence, Dorris’s dominance, Dawson’s hunger. These aren’t just athletic achievements; they’re cultural signposts. They tell us where Canadian swimming has been, and more importantly, where it’s going. Personally, I’ll be watching not just the podiums, but the moments between races: the glances, the adjustments, the tiny cracks in composure. That’s where futures are decided. And if history teaches us anything, the swimmers who own Glasgow today will be the ones defining Los Angeles 2028 tomorrow.
