They are flying along the backstretch, 150m into the race.
American Dave Wottle is behind. Way behind. There is a shot of him running alone, with no one else in the picture.
Announcer: "We don't know if Dave is seriously injured or sliding back to stay out of trouble." Cracks me up; of course, I know what happens next.
The field comes through in under 51; Dave is back at 53 or so. He starts pushing at the 300m mark, slowly gaining. Off the last turn, he's still 7-8 yards back, but the Russian is slowly coming back. Dave's strides are long and quick, while Arzhanov's are choppy and short. Wottle cuts down two Kenyans and keeps going, nailing the Russian with 5 yards to go.
Wottle came from way behind, but he ran back to back 53s laps. Dead even splits. No wonder he had a big kick when he needed it. But can you call it a kick if everyone else is dying?
Sure, why not?
Then he commits a minor indescretion by forgetting to remove his golf cap on the victory stand. Not intentional, he just forgot. Which, of course, gives birth to maybe the best nickname ever:
The Cat in the Hat.
Showing posts with label Favorite Track races. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Favorite Track races. Show all posts
Friday, December 2, 2011
1964 Olympic 5,000m
Here I am, in the Somerset County Library at age 10, reading about a race that happened a year before I was born. By now, I was a fairly decent runner, having won my third grade cross country race at my school's annual Field Day. I had run enough to know that sometimes, running hurts a little.
And I knew enough to know that Olympic races hurt a lot.
So why is this guy smiling?
One lap to go. Frenchman Michel Jazy, WR holder in the mile, takes the bell and blasts off. By the end of the first turn, he has a gap and keeps flying down the backstretch. Behind him, American Bob Schul gets out of traffic and takes off in pursuit. For 100m, there is little change in their positions.
Then they hit the turn, and Jazy hits the wall. Coming into the finishing straight, he's tying up. But Schul isn't. Our guy pulls even with 80 remaining, then doesn't hesitate. He's gone. And he's laughing as he crosses the finish line.
German Harald Norpoth comes up on Jazy and also walks him down. "By then, the disheartened Frenchman was so disorganized that Bill Dellinger of the US snatched the bronze from him with the last stride." Disorganized? Not a term you normally hear when someone describes a race. Thank you, Arthur Daley (NY Times writer).
By the way, Schul ran a 38.7 for the last 300m. That's on a rain-drenched cinder track almost 50 years ago. That kind of finish puts him on the podium's top step in many races today.
With Schul's 5000m and Billy Mills's 10,000m, this remains the only year in which the US has one both distance golds. Or any gold.
There must have been something in the water that year.
And I knew enough to know that Olympic races hurt a lot.
So why is this guy smiling?
One lap to go. Frenchman Michel Jazy, WR holder in the mile, takes the bell and blasts off. By the end of the first turn, he has a gap and keeps flying down the backstretch. Behind him, American Bob Schul gets out of traffic and takes off in pursuit. For 100m, there is little change in their positions.
Then they hit the turn, and Jazy hits the wall. Coming into the finishing straight, he's tying up. But Schul isn't. Our guy pulls even with 80 remaining, then doesn't hesitate. He's gone. And he's laughing as he crosses the finish line.
German Harald Norpoth comes up on Jazy and also walks him down. "By then, the disheartened Frenchman was so disorganized that Bill Dellinger of the US snatched the bronze from him with the last stride." Disorganized? Not a term you normally hear when someone describes a race. Thank you, Arthur Daley (NY Times writer).
By the way, Schul ran a 38.7 for the last 300m. That's on a rain-drenched cinder track almost 50 years ago. That kind of finish puts him on the podium's top step in many races today.
With Schul's 5000m and Billy Mills's 10,000m, this remains the only year in which the US has one both distance golds. Or any gold.
There must have been something in the water that year.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
1992 Olympic 1500m
This one always cracks me up.
Barcelona Olympics, 1992, and the men's 1500m race. Lots of Africans, an American, and a non-descript hometown Spanish boy named Fermin Cacho, definitely the crowd favorite.
I had never heard of this guy, but I had been away from track for a decade. Before the gun, he looks like the kid in the neighborhood who always wanted to play but was never picked for a team. I could just see him with his hand in the air, yelling "Me! Take Me!"
He's looking around, wide-eyed, floppy head of hair, the token Spainard in his hometown Games.
The gun. First couple of laps are slow, as the 1500 usually is. No one wants to lead, everyone is biding their time until 600m to go. Then it heats up. But our hero is stuck on the rail, absolutely buried in 4th place with a guy on his right hip, a guy just behind that, and 3 guys ahead.
He's screwed. He's absolutely screwed.
They pass the finish line, one lap to go, and the pace starts screaming. 300m left, the poor guy is still pinned on the inside with a handful of guys to his right. No path, no escape. And he's over-striding like a madman, knowing that he's about to get gapped.
Now he's the little brother trying to keep up with the older kids, and they are about to leave him behind. You can almost see his eyes get bigger, and you can't help but feel for the guy. It's no use trying to keep up with the best African runners in a middle distance event, especially at the Olympics. 250m left, and there's no hope.
Except...
The leader begins to tire and begins a slight drift to the right as they approach the turn. A small alley opens along the inside.
Cacho is fairly thin. He basically turns sideways, squirts through the opening, and keeps going.
Did I mention he's a Spanish guy running in Barcelona? Around the last turn, the crowd is going nuclear.
This is what always cracks me up. He takes the lead, he's still over-striding, yet he's pulling away ever so slightly, with a look on his face like he's late for school or something. How do I know he's out of his league? Because he looks over his shoulder at least 9 times in the last 150 meters!! He knows they're coming back at him.
Except they're not.
This is a guy scared for his life but not waiting around for the wolves to attack. He's gone. With 10m to go, the game is over and he throttles down with his arms in the air. The stadium implodes.
I still don't believe it.
But every time I shake my head, I check the clock. This unknown overachiever ran a 50-second last lap, and his last 700m were at 1:46 half mile pace. I guess he earned that medal.
And he came back 4 years later to win a silver. Nice set of hardware, Senor Cacho.
Barcelona Olympics, 1992, and the men's 1500m race. Lots of Africans, an American, and a non-descript hometown Spanish boy named Fermin Cacho, definitely the crowd favorite.
I had never heard of this guy, but I had been away from track for a decade. Before the gun, he looks like the kid in the neighborhood who always wanted to play but was never picked for a team. I could just see him with his hand in the air, yelling "Me! Take Me!"
He's looking around, wide-eyed, floppy head of hair, the token Spainard in his hometown Games.
The gun. First couple of laps are slow, as the 1500 usually is. No one wants to lead, everyone is biding their time until 600m to go. Then it heats up. But our hero is stuck on the rail, absolutely buried in 4th place with a guy on his right hip, a guy just behind that, and 3 guys ahead.
He's screwed. He's absolutely screwed.
They pass the finish line, one lap to go, and the pace starts screaming. 300m left, the poor guy is still pinned on the inside with a handful of guys to his right. No path, no escape. And he's over-striding like a madman, knowing that he's about to get gapped.
Now he's the little brother trying to keep up with the older kids, and they are about to leave him behind. You can almost see his eyes get bigger, and you can't help but feel for the guy. It's no use trying to keep up with the best African runners in a middle distance event, especially at the Olympics. 250m left, and there's no hope.
Except...
The leader begins to tire and begins a slight drift to the right as they approach the turn. A small alley opens along the inside.
Cacho is fairly thin. He basically turns sideways, squirts through the opening, and keeps going.
Did I mention he's a Spanish guy running in Barcelona? Around the last turn, the crowd is going nuclear.
This is what always cracks me up. He takes the lead, he's still over-striding, yet he's pulling away ever so slightly, with a look on his face like he's late for school or something. How do I know he's out of his league? Because he looks over his shoulder at least 9 times in the last 150 meters!! He knows they're coming back at him.
Except they're not.
This is a guy scared for his life but not waiting around for the wolves to attack. He's gone. With 10m to go, the game is over and he throttles down with his arms in the air. The stadium implodes.
I still don't believe it.
But every time I shake my head, I check the clock. This unknown overachiever ran a 50-second last lap, and his last 700m were at 1:46 half mile pace. I guess he earned that medal.
And he came back 4 years later to win a silver. Nice set of hardware, Senor Cacho.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
1979 Golden Mile
I was 14 years old and a huge track fan. Loved watching Steve Scott run: he ran against all comers, he ducked no one, and always competed with his guts on his sleeve.
Scottie was one of the favorites in this ridiculously fast field that included John Walker ('76 Gold Medalist, the WR holder, and only man under 3:50), Eamonn Coghlan of Ireland and Villanova and a monster last 200m, Thomas Wessinghage the fastest Doctor alive, et al.
The one who stayed home was Steve Ovett, who was in the middle of a multi-year undefeated streak in the 1500. The Brits instead sent youngster Sebastian Coe, an enormous lad at 119 pounds who recently broke the 800m world record.
This race was televised on NBC; I clearly remember watching.
Steve Lacy does the pace work for 2 laps, then drops out. He is timed in 1:54.5, perfect pace. My man Scottie bulls his way forward, running as fast as the future day when he completed an 18-hole round of golf in 29 minutes. I'm on the edge of my seat, urging him faster. He is on pace to hit 1200m in 2:52, even though the skinny kid comes by at the bell.
Huh? Coe is a lot of things: a future member of Parliment, a soon-to-be knighted Lord Coe, but he's no miler.
Someone forgot to tell him.
Around the 7th turn, he's gone. Scottie can't hold on, and the rest of the pack is far back. Coe keeps striding, not an ounce of pain or tightness in his face, and he rips a half second from Walker's world record.
I guess he is a miler after all. Oh yes, he also ended his career as the only 2-time Olympic 1500m Gold Medalist.
Scottie was one of the favorites in this ridiculously fast field that included John Walker ('76 Gold Medalist, the WR holder, and only man under 3:50), Eamonn Coghlan of Ireland and Villanova and a monster last 200m, Thomas Wessinghage the fastest Doctor alive, et al.
The one who stayed home was Steve Ovett, who was in the middle of a multi-year undefeated streak in the 1500. The Brits instead sent youngster Sebastian Coe, an enormous lad at 119 pounds who recently broke the 800m world record.
This race was televised on NBC; I clearly remember watching.
Steve Lacy does the pace work for 2 laps, then drops out. He is timed in 1:54.5, perfect pace. My man Scottie bulls his way forward, running as fast as the future day when he completed an 18-hole round of golf in 29 minutes. I'm on the edge of my seat, urging him faster. He is on pace to hit 1200m in 2:52, even though the skinny kid comes by at the bell.
Huh? Coe is a lot of things: a future member of Parliment, a soon-to-be knighted Lord Coe, but he's no miler.
Someone forgot to tell him.
Around the 7th turn, he's gone. Scottie can't hold on, and the rest of the pack is far back. Coe keeps striding, not an ounce of pain or tightness in his face, and he rips a half second from Walker's world record.
I guess he is a miler after all. Oh yes, he also ended his career as the only 2-time Olympic 1500m Gold Medalist.
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