Like many others, I’m sure, I’ve been watching the Winter Olympics from the comfort of my couch.
Even as I considered picking up a snowboard for the very first time and suiting up for competition, a number of factors gave me pause. For starters, this year, a woman younger than I – Claudia Riegler – became the oldest female Winter Olympian in history. A dubious record to wish to smash. And, on another note, I’m not perhaps the elite athlete I’d need to be for this level of competition.
I mean, you read all these quotes – like on those big inspirational posters – talking about “self-doubt kills talent” and “if you dream it, you can make it happen”, but I think the latter could use a healthy addendum of “… within reason”. I could absolutely dream of standing on the podium with a gold medal, so long as I found some way of locking all the other athletes in the Olympic Village. They’d basically forfeit, and I’d win by default. That is about the only way that dream happens.
Philosopher George Addair was quoted as saying: “Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.”
I’m not so sure, Georgie boy. I think I’d be disagreeing with you as I hurtled, out of control, down the Matterhorn on a brightly painted piece of wood, arms flailing. Unless everything I’ve ever wanted is major reconstructive surgery and the loss of every single one of my teeth; bones shattered like peanut brittle in a vice. I’ll stick with fear.
In the face of all of these seemingly insurmountable obstacles, I’ve decided to be a spectator this year. And there has been some spectacular action on the snow and ice already.
One of the real superstars is Ilia Malinin, a golden-haired ice skater who makes quad jumps and their ilk look like child’s play. I wouldn’t know a toe loop from an axel, but apparently the axel is the thing and he’s mastered it. He also does backflips, to the delight of the crowds. The man is Benson Boone on skates.
His self-styled nickname is Quad god – which shows bonkers confidence. No self-doubt killing talent there.
Moving on to who-first-came-up-with-this-idea? sports, the luge looks like one of the most uncomfortable ways to fly down a halfpipe of frozen slickness. We were watching the women’s competition on Tuesday, and witnessing them attain speeds of over 75mph whilst lying on a glorified baking pan mounted on runners was something to behold. Surely, their most developed muscles must be in their neck, trying to hold their head up to navigate the route.
If you haven’t seen SNL’s Jane Wickline’s hilariously unenthusiastic take on being luge athlete Gertie at the Olympic Games, much to the frustration of her coach, played by Alexander Skarsgård, you absolutely must.
“I scream the whole time,” she informs us.
Gertie, I hear thee.
Speaking of screaming, how do any of those ski jumpers not lose their minds as they zoom down insane inclines, followed by taking off, flying, and landing on two elongated popsicle sticks? I’ve never snow-skied in my life, but it doesn’t look easy. Forget even the descent – the height alone would bring on the dizzies. I’d be the one gingerly handing back the equipment at the top of the hill, and scooching back down – on a frozen bum – all the way to the bottom.
On an interesting side note, as reported by several newspapers, the World Anti-Doping Agency is investigating whether male ski jumpers have been injecting their … bits … with hyaluronic acid. Apparently, if enough was injected to increase the width of a certain body part, it could affect the fit of their ski suits, giving them an advantage.
“Every extra centimetre on a suit counts. If your suit has a 5% bigger surface area, you fly further,” said FIS ski jumping men’s race director Sandro Pertile, in a BBC article.
Listen, I don’t possess one, so this is partly guesswork on my part, but I cannot imagine the drive to win being so strong that one would jam a needle into one’s John Thomas to gain a few extra feet in the air. I have to believe it would pinch a little. Certainly moving from 14th to 8th place, for example, couldn’t justify it.
At least that particular type of skiing competition has some real speed to it. I confess I’ve never seen the appeal of cross-country. So much of it looks like people going for help in ye olden days over endless terrain. Just downright exhausting.
“Berna’s burnin’ up. Yuh gotta get t’town over the pass to Doctor Beauregard, or she won’t last the night.”
So, I shan’t try that sport.
Not that I want to narrow my options too greatly, but I’d say that speed skating probably isn’t my bag either. Skill aside, I wouldn’t fancy trying to get my bush of hair under one of those tight hoods. Paint it green and it’s a broccoli tree.
Have you seen the relay races? Four skaters whipping around a rink not much bigger than a dinner plate, with blades like steel girders on their feet. Then, their teammates follow them from the inner circle, waiting to get into the game. At the right moment, one shoves the other out of the way and takes over. It’s all very close; very fast; and very impossible for me to even contemplate doing.
When watching the Olympics, you notice over time the body types of athletes, and how they differ, depending on the sport in which they compete. There are exceptions, of course, but look at the thigh muscles of a speed skater over a figure skater. A long torso is a nice genetic feature to have for skiers. And although I have no expertise in this arena, I have to believe that curlers have knees of iron. Man … that’s another sport I now can’t join.
I was never, ever going to amount to much in the athletic department. Sports have not come easy to me. I remember when inline skating became the thing. I bought a pair, not realising how different they were from roller skates.
Gingerly skating down Safe Haven, and finally able to attain a bit of speed, I suddenly got startled by a fly or blade of grass or something. Instead of engaging the back brake, I swerved violently off the path, wobbled over uneven ground – which mercifully slowed my advance – with the trunk of an obliging coconut tree ending my bid for glory.
I’ve accepted my lot – cheering others competing on the world stage. Takes me back to when I was a kid watching ABC’s ‘Wide World of Sports’. Anyone else recall that show? It ran from 1961 to 1997. Host Jim McKay’s voice uttered that immortal phrase over the programme’s opener: “The thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat.”
Slovenian painter and former ski jumper, Vinko Bogataj, got the dubious honour of representing ‘agony of defeat’ week-after-week.
I knew nothing about the man, save seeing a skier wipe out at an event whenever we tuned in to WWS. So, I researched and found answers.
Bogataj was a competitor in the ski flying event in Oberstdorf, West Germany on 7 March 1970 when he lost his balance completely and hurtled out of control, crashing through a fence before coming to a halt. He suffered a mild concussion and a broken ankle.
The footage was recorded and subsequently used for that now-iconic TV intro. Throughout the long history of ‘Wide World of Sports’, even as other images changed in the opener – particularly for “the thrill of victory”, the “agony of defeat” always featured Bogataj’s failed jump.
The melodrama of the narration – which became a catchphrase in the US – transformed the uncredited ski jumper into an American icon of bad luck and misfortune. Meanwhile, having retired to his quiet, private life in Slovenia, Bogataj was unaware of his celebrity, and so was surprised to be asked to attend the 20th anniversary celebration for ‘Wide World of Sports’ in 1981. He received the loudest ovation of any athlete introduced at the gala, and attendees such as Muhammad Ali asked him for his autograph.
In the 1990s, while on his way to an interview with ‘Wide World of Sports’ about the incident, he got into a small automobile collision. His first line to the reporter was, “Every time I’m on ABC, I crash.”
Fantastic.
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