The sound of whining becomes far too loud
For the three years after the 2002 Winter Olympic schedule was announced, Feb. 21 was the day.
Within a few minutes of each other, the women’s hockey final would be ending and the final six skaters in the last group of women in the figure skating singles final would be beginning. To those of us who appreciate the Olympics because they finally put women athletes into an equal–or even brighter–spotlight than men, this would be the best time of all.
So why was it that I thought I was at a major-league baseball game just as they were about to drop the puck between the U.S. and Canadian women?
As one news conference to complain about judging followed another, I expected to hear a public-address announcer intone: “Now bitching, the world’s former superpower, Russia. Warming up in the bullpen, South Korea and Lithuania.”
I suppose we should have expected all this from an Olympics born out of scandal in the most litigious nation in the world. It’s sad to learn the lack of sportsmanship so evident on playing fields all over our country has permeated the globe. The Olympics are supposed to create harmony. Who knew it would be in a harmonious whine?
— Philip Hersh
Olympic spirit breaks out as Swiss ski-jumps to joy
My favorite memory had nothing to do with scandal or protest or whining. It had to do with whatever the Olympic spirit is supposed to be. It had to do with a TV set.
A day before the pairs figure skating final–a day before these Olympics went down the garbage disposal–Switzerland’s Simon Ammann was soaring through the air in the men’s 90-meter ski jumping on the television in front of me. Ski jumping is one of those sports that you pay attention to in midflight and then go back to reading the newspaper.
Ammann came down to earth as softly as a feather. He also came down in first place, which came as a great surprise to Ammann, considering he had never won a World Cup competition. He screamed. He cried. He laughed. He looked like one of those girls watching the Beatles on the “Ed Sullivan Show.”
It was pure, raw emotion, and it was golden. I was in the press room before the men’s downhill. The broadcast was a live feed, and there were no announcers, only the unfiltered screams of a happy Swiss.
The next day, the French figure skating judge allegedly threw her vote in favor of the Russian pair. The Olympics were back to normal.
— Rick Morrissey
Bode wise to warn mom about scary silver run
It took me awhile to track down Bode Miller’s mother, Jo, after he won a silver medal in the alpine combined event. She was home in New Hampshire, attending to an unexpected windfall for her antiques business, receiving bulletins through the day.
Her winsome son came into his own this winter, skiing with utter confidence and speaking without guile. His performances in the combined ranged from the ridiculous to the sublime. In the downhill leg, he defied gravity and probably avoided serious injury when he somehow righted himself after going down on one hip. Then he chiseled his name in the ice with a second slalom run that sliced two seconds off the lead.
I finally reached Jo Miller at a friend’s home where people were watching the prime-time coverage. As the replay of the downhill began, I asked if she wanted me to call back. “No, just hold on a minute,” she said.
I remembered Bode careening around that turn like a runaway truck.
“Jo, you’re not going to like this,” I said.
“It’s OK,” she said. “He told me.”
Jo Miller raised her children in a cabin in the woods with few amenities and no childproofing. Bode learned to gauge his own risks and rewards, and he wound up exactly where he wanted to be, wearing only his skill as a skinsuit between him and the unforgiving mountain.
In the background, I heard screams, a massive exhale, then general uproar. Closer to my ear, I heard Jo Miller’s soft, measured breathing.
“I’m glad I had talked to him beforehand,” she said. “I was prepared.”
— Bonnie DeSimone
Witty’s courageous effort leaves indelible impression
We could not be sure Chris Witty would compete. We could not be sure she was able, could perform her best, or even finish.
In January, Witty, 26, of West Allis, Wis., was diagnosed with mononucleosis. The energy-sapping illness seemed likely to knock the United States’ best female speedskater out of the Winter Olympics.
Yet somehow, Witty adjusted her rest, training and mind, adapted to the depressing circumstances and skated to a world record and the gold medal in the 1,000 meters at the Utah Olympic Oval.
From the Salt Lake Games I will take unlikely images of thousands and thousands of Americans cheering for winter sports like biathlon, cross-country skiing and ski jumping and pinball-like scenes of short-track speedskating.
But I will remember best Witty’s heart and will.
— Lew Freedman
The Great Gretzky has less-than-great moment
Wayne Gretzky melted down. Just lost it. Gonzo.
I had never seen him do that. I don’t think anyone had.
Canada had just tied the Czech Republic in a seeding-round hockey game, and Gretzky, Team Canada’s executive director, made an unscheduled visit to the interview room at the E Center.
And just broke.
“The whole world wants to see us lose,” he said.
“[European countries] don’t like us; we have to get that same feeling,” he rambled, seemingly propagating hate.
At one point he looked like he would cry.
“Now they have two things,” Gretzky prattled on, talking about Canada’s floundering, wimpy image, “the hockey team and the figure skaters (Jamie Sale and David Pelletier).”
“American propaganda,” he decried.
Canada used to be a nice, quiet country.
Now it wouldn’t shut up.
Oh, it played well in the Great Whine North. Gretzky was rallying the troops. Us against them. It looked silly in the States, where, by the way, Gretzky found Hollywood fame, fortune and a wife.
The next day, Gretzky again showed up unannounced at the E Center interview room. Much calmer this time. Even able to laugh at himself.
At one point, he was asked about the International Olympic Committee lifetime-achievement award he had received that day, one given in the name of advancing peace and unity.
Long pause. Sip of water. Embarrassed smile.
“My timing probably isn’t good on that one,” he said.
— Steve Rosenbloom
Luge legend finishes 2nd, but not in sportsmanship
Before the memorable, the bizarre: the official 2002 Winter Olympics cast-iron skillet: $14. The official Olympic boxer shorts: $20.
I passed on both, but the luge T-shirt was a must. I was, after all, the Tribune’s sliding guy, and what figured to be a quiet venue had turned hot enough to melt the ice at Utah Olympic Park.
The United States, which had won a total of two medals in bobsled, luge and skeleton in the previous 11 Winter Games, won eight this time, just one fewer than perennially dominant Germany produced.
With the medals came great stories, from third-generation Olympian Jim Shea Jr.’s emotional skeleton triumph to the Jill Bakken-Vonetta Flowers bobsled victory that trumped the seemingly never-ending Jean Racine soap opera.
My favorite athlete, though, was German luge legend Georg Hackl, who was expected to become the first Winter Olympian to win four straight gold medals in the same individual event.
Hackl finished second to Italy’s Armin Zoeggeler, but genuinely didn’t seem to mind. At the ensuing flower ceremony, he and third-place Markus Prock of Austria hoisted Zoeggeler to their shoulders, all of them grinning broadly.
Hackl loves his sport so deeply that he wanted the best man to win, even if that meant someone else got the gold medal.
“We are all sportsmen,” he explained.
Actually, we’re not, as an Olympics with its usual share of controversy, protests and bluster again reminded us.
It’s good to have the Georg Hackls of the sporting world around to remind us of what the Olympics should be.
— Barry Temkin
Salt Lake does a job in which it can take pride
The spirit of an Olympic Games manifests itself in many ways. It can be seen in the faces of children and the hobbled walk of the elderly. It’s people waiting in line for six hours to buy a beret, and not complaining about it. It’s also about metal detectors and medal protectors.
I was sitting at the Salt Lake Ice Center watching short-track speedskating, a modern version of roller derby, right down to the jammer helmets, when I was struck by a crowd that was as frenzied as any in Soldier Field or the old Stadium.
They really didn’t know who the athletes were or even how the sport was played, but they cheered–and not just for the United States. Although you sure knew it when Apolo Anton Ohno was making a move.
The city of Salt Lake did a great job. The people were nice and the gouging was moderate. You’re struck by the whiteness of the city, and I don’t mean the snow. You’re also baffled by people who won’t cross the street when the “No Walk” is lit, even if there are no cars in sight.
The Salt Lake Games were a low-budget affair, but they did the most with what they had. The nightly medal ceremony followed by a concert was a huge success. Best of all, it allowed 20,000 more people a night to feel a part of the Games.
An Olympics is special. I feel sad for those who can’t appreciate the mix of athleticism, jingoism and patriotism. I wouldn’t want one every year. But if they were, I wouldn’t want to miss a one.
— John Cherwa
Despite being magged, bagged, he’d do it all over
The Opening Ceremony bus ride seems like it was months ago. My memories of the Games are split between the Olympic spirit and my experiences.
The next generation of American athletes, many of whom are not old enough to buy their first low-alcohol beer here in Salt Lake City, are well on the way to making the U.S. a force to reckon with in the next Winter Olympics. More of them are probably going to the X Games than to Disney World after winning their medals.
My other memories are not as grand in nature. They are more about my personal experiences. Walking through magnetometers and having my belongings X-rayed and searched routinely, fondly referred to as magged and bagged. Twenty-dollar berets selling for $60. Thirty-dollar dinners going for $50 plus a required 18 percent tip added to every check. So-called photojournalists asking athletes to kiss the medal for their pictures. And finally being really tired and really excited to experience the events all at the same time. Can’t wait to do it all over again.
— Todd Panagopoulos