Back to the Future?

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A couple of days ago, I read with interest a column by Linda Robertson of the Miami Herald in which she argues that figure skating in America desperately needs "an ice queen" to survive.

It is ironic, I suppose, that such a suggestion should be made this month, 20 years after the Tonya Harding–Nancy Kerrigan showdown in the Winter Games.

Tonya, as I observed last month, was part of a conspiracy to get Kerrigan out of the way so Harding could breeze to the championship in the Nationals and then — presumably — win the gold medal in Norway.

But the plot unraveled, and both were allowed to compete in the Winter Olympics. The buildup for that showdown had something for everyone — Kerrigan was the good girl, Harding was the bad girl. Ratings went through the roof. In spite of the assumptions of many, though, neither won the gold. Kerrigan took the silver.

The general mindset at the time was that women's figure skating was the domain of the Americans — not unlike the general belief that once accompanied women's gymnastics, that it was the domain of Russia and the communist–bloc countries.

Fast forward a couple of decades.

The American women haven't won a gold medal in figure skating since 2002. They didn't medal at all in the last Winter Games.

The general prospects for the 2014 Games don't look so good, either. It isn't all bad. Americans are favored in ice dancing, Robertson reports, and the U.S. team has a chance at a medal.

But "U.S. pairs will be outclassed and, most humbling of all, U.S. men's and women's skaters face the prospect of being shut out of the medals for the first time since 1936."

Robertson writes that dominance in skating is seen as a cyclical thing, and I suppose there is truth in that. Everything does seem to go in cycles, and perhaps this is a natural downturn for the Americans. That isn't good news for NBC, which holds the American Olympic broadcasting rights through 2020.

The Summer Games have a lot of appealing events for Americans — track and field, swimming, diving, volleyball, gymnastics — but the marquee event for the Winter Games is figure skating. Oh, sure, you have some who like to watch skiing and, for awhile, Olympic hockey thrived in traditionally non–hockey markets, but that faded after the U.S. hockey team failed to duplicate its gold–medal success in the 1980 Winter Games.

NBC needs women's figure skating to be what it once was — a ratings bonanza.

The Hole-in-the-Head Gang

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"Why me? Why me?"

Nancy Kerrigan
Jan. 6, 1994

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On this day 20 years ago, ice skater Nancy Kerrigan was clubbed on her right knee on the eve of the 1994 U.S. Figure Skating Championships in Detroit.

It was part of a plot to keep Kerrigan from competing in the 1994 Winter Olympics, ostensibly opening the door for rival Tonya Harding to win the gold medal.

The hit man, Shane Stant, had been instructed to break Kerrigan's leg so she could not compete. Kerrigan's leg was only bruised, though. While she had to withdraw from the national championship competition, both Kerrigan and Harding (the winner of the national championship in Kerrigan's absence) were chosen to compete in the Olympics in February 1994.

The motive for the clubbing wasn't immediately clear, though. I mean, there was no one calling media outlets to claim responsibility for it or anything like that.

The speculative soap opera that followed quickly became a media sensation and catapulted figure skating into an entirely new stratosphere.

As Barry Wilner of the Associated Press writes, "Often considered elitist because of its expense, and only something to watch whenever the Winter Olympics rolled around, skating entered an entirely different realm because of Tonya and Nancy. That surge in popularity lasted for the rest of the 1990s."

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The surge continued through the 1994 Winter Olympics, held that year in tiny Lillehammer, Norway. It must have been the biggest media circus ever to hit that community. I wasn't there so I don't know, but, from the perspective of one who watched it play out on television, the Tonya and Nancy show truly was a media circus in every sense of the phrase.

It struck me at the time — and it still does — that the Kerrigan episode was evidence of just how provincial Americans were in 1994 (and still are, for that matter). The assumption was that the top American female skater would win the gold medal — ultimately, Oksana Baiul of the Ukraine took home the gold in 1994 — but why would Americans get that idea? It ignored all the talent in the rest of the world, not to mention the history of the sport.

East German Katarina Witt dominated Olympic women's figure skating in the 1980s. Ever since women's figure skating was introduced as an Olympic event, women from other countries had ruled the sport.

Peggy Fleming was the breakthrough figure skater for the U.S. in 1968, and Dorothy Hamill won the gold in 1976, but America's top finisher in 1980 was silver medalist Linda Fratianne. Witt beat Americans Rosalynn Sumners in 1984 and Debi Thomas in 1988.

Perhaps it was Kristi Yamaguchi's triumph over favored Japanese skater Midori Ito in 1992 that ignited the fire that led, possibly inevitably, to the assault on Kerrigan 20 years ago today.

The lust for lucrative commercial deals inspired Harding's husband, Jeff Gillooly, and some other ne'er–do–wells to hatch the plot to get Kerrigan out of the way.

I guess it never occurred to the Hole–in–the–Head Gang that someone from another country — Baiul, for example — might take the gold.

I also think the Nancy–Tonya spectacle of '94 serves as something of a 21st–century cautionary tale.

Because, in spite of what Gilloly and his accomplices thought, Olympic gold isn't really worth much more than that — it brings a little fame that really doesn't last as long as they probably thought it did and a little temporary income that is gone before you know it. In 1994, mostly what Olympic gold (or the lust for it) brought to Tonya Harding was notoriety.

For her part, Kerrigan retired from amateur competition after the Olympics. She performed in some ice shows and participated in other skating–related activities, but largely her life seems to have been dedicated to her husband, whom she married the year after the Olympics, and their children.

Peggy Fleming's Triumph

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I'm not precisely sure when my family got a television set for the first time.

But I'm pretty sure we had one 45 years ago this month.

I say that because I can remember my mother gathering my younger brother and me in front of the TV to watch Peggy Fleming skate in the 1968 Winter Olympics, which began in Grenoble, France, on Feb. 6. We were both very young at the time. I'm reasonably sure I had no idea who Peggy Fleming was — nor, for that matter, did I know what the Olympics were — and I am almost positive that my brother knew nothing about either as well.

But Mom definitely knew who Fleming was, and what I remember most of that occasion was Mom watching our tiny (by modern standards) black–and–white TV in rapt silence. Whenever I started to ask her anything, she would hold up one hand to quiet me, her eyes never leaving the screen.

I have fleeting memories of watching Fleming skate that night. I have since watched film of her performance, and each viewing serves to confirm what I remember. She was brilliant, and she, probably more than anyone, was responsible for the explosion in popularity of the Olympics in America.

Well, ABC's coverage of those Games — including extensive reports on Fleming and French skier Jean–Claude Killy — had a lot to do with it, too.

As far as American audiences were concerned, though, Fleming was the clear star. She was the only American to win a gold medal in the Grenoble Olympics.

Other American women achieved stardom as Olympic figure skaters in the years to come, but Fleming, while not the first, blazed the modern–day trail. It was Fleming who truly made it possible for Dorothy Hamill, Kristi Yamaguchi, Tara Lipinski and Sarah Hughes to claim Olympic gold.

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She overcame the loss of her coach in an airplane crash in Belgium almost exactly seven years earlier. That plane crash decimated the American skating program, and it must have been devastating for Fleming, who was 12 at the time. Nevertheless, Fleming rose to Olympic prominence from the ashes of that crash, in large part because of her unusual style.

Even though Christine Brennan writes in USA Today that there is no dominant American woman in figure skating today, it seems to me that modern American observers, being as provincial as they are, long ago grew accustomed to the idea that an American woman will be among the favorites at the Winter Olympics. It's taken for granted by some.

But that is a relatively recent phenomenon.

By 1968, only five American women had ever won medals for figure skating since the Winter Olympics began six decades earlier — and only two won gold. Four U.S. women have won gold since, and none of them really carried the national burden that Fleming did.

(Perhaps the 1980 U.S. hockey team did, but no single individual has — at least not in the Winter Games.)

When she ascended the podium to receive her gold medal, Fleming was joined by silver medalist Gabriele Seyfert of East Germany and bronze medalist Hana Mašková of Czechoslovakia. It was, as I say, the United States' only gold medal of the Winter Olympics.

That made her the darling of the Olympics as far as Americans were concerned.

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I didn't fully understand the significance of Fleming's triumph at the time. I was just too young.

But, as young as I was, I could see that it had a great impact on my mother. I always felt that Mom looked at Fleming as a role model, a symbol of what a woman could achieve.

Mom seldom spoke of it, but she always made a point of watching Fleming when she was on TV; sometimes I watched with her.

And sometimes she asked me if I remembered watching Fleming win her gold medal.

I always told her I did, but the truth was that my memory was spotty.

The truth also was that I clearly saw a lot of pride in Mom's eyes — and I heard a lot of pride in her voice — when she spoke of Fleming.

It made me realize how symbolic these triumphs were to young women in America.

Such symbolic victories, though, are accomplished through a lot of hard work and dedication. That was the thing I didn't appreciate at the time.

But I do appreciate it now.

Triumph of the Heart

Last night's women's figure skating conclusion at the Winter Olympics was not as emotional as I expected it to be, but it was emotional enough.

Perhaps it would have been more emotional if Canada's Joannie Rochette, carrying the burden of her grief over the sudden death of her mother less than a week ago, could somehow have leaped past her two main rivals, Korea's Kim Yu–Na and Japan's Mao Asado.

But their performances were simply too great, and the top three after Tuesday's short program remained the top three after the long program. When last night's competition came to an end, Kim Yu–Na received the gold medal, Mao Asado took the silver and Rochette captured the bronze.

I suppose Rochette would have broken down if she had been awarded the gold — and someone almost surely would have said that her mother's spirit had intervened on her behalf. As it was, she earned a medal, which had been her and her mother's goal, but she didn't win the competition against two superior foes, which would have implied supernatural influence.

Personally, I'm not sure how I feel about talk of deceased relatives interceding in earthly activities. It seems to me that, if such a thing were true, it would not have been possible for the global economy to turn as sour as it did, leaving millions without jobs. There would have been too many dead parents stepping in to prevent their children from being terminated.

But that, I suppose, is a different discussion.

Certainly, Rochette's performance was courageous. As I watched, I couldn't help but think of my own experience when my mother died and I had professional obligations to meet before I could allow myself to grieve. Before and after her performance on Tuesday, Rochette appeared to be an emotional wreck, but she put everything on the shelf while she was on the ice and skated brilliantly. I wasn't competing in the Olympics so there weren't millions of people watching me, but I didn't have to have that in common with Rochette. I know how personal loss can weigh on someone.

By last night, I guess Rochette had had a little more time to adjust to her loss. There were moments when she had to dab her eyes, especially when the medals were being awarded, but she did not seem as emotional as she had two nights earlier. She completed a complex program and received a score that represented a personal best. We'll never know if any of the judges gave her a little leeway in light of her personal pain, but her performance merited a medal.

I've been wondering how she would have done if she had been competing using the scoring system that was in use in the days when many of the legends of figure skating competed in the Olympics.

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In the old days, figure skating was different. Competitors still had to do well in the short and long programs, but they also had to do well in the "compulsory figures" (also known as the "school figures").

If you're under 30, you probably have no memory of that part of the competition — which is probably just as well. When modern figure skating enthusiasts think of competition, they probably think of thrilling leaps and spins on the ice. The compulsory figures were the direct opposite. They were the slow, tedious carving of patterns in the ice with one's skates — the "basics" of figure skating.

The judges stood to the side and watched as the skaters went through the procedures, then made precise measurements of the figures before arriving at their scores.

In my mind, I always equated it with having a deep sea fisherman demonstrate his worthiness to be hired for a fishing crew on the basis of his ability to tie basic knots.

For TV viewers, it was marginally more exciting than watching paint dry.

It was possible, I guess, for a figure skater to not do well in the compulsories and still do well in the competition, but, until 1968, the compulsories were worth 60% of a contestant't final score. Thus, it was necessary to at least do well in the compulsories to have a chance at a medal.

The influence of the compulsories began to decrease as television became more prominent. By the time Dorothy Hamill won the gold medal in 1976, the compulsories were worth less than half of her final score. And when Kristi Yamaguchi won the gold in 1992, the compulsories were no longer part of the Olympic competition.

But, if you look at the attached video, you will see that the compulsories required a great deal of concentration. And, since the compulsories typically were the first segment of the competition, it is reasonable to assume that, if they were still part of the competition in 2010, Rochette and the other skaters would have been scheduled to do them on Sunday, which was the day Rochette's mother died.

Instead, though, Rochette had time to prepare for the short and long programs. She didn't have to focus on school figures when more pressing matters were on her mind.

And she — and her homeland — were rewarded with an Olympic memory for the ages.

Miracle on Ice, Part II?

Women's figure skating has been one of the marquee events in the Winter Olympics for a long time, but it has seldom had the emotional impact that it has this year.

That was clear last night during the short program competition. But, if you missed it, it should be even more evident — as well as more emotional — tomorrow night, when the women perform their long programs and medals are awarded.

Surely, on that night, viewers will once again hear the story of how Canadian skater Joannie Rochette's mother died of a heart attack shortly after arriving in Vancouver for the Olympic Games. And they will see video of Rochette's astonishing, virtually flawless performance in the short program that vaulted her into third place.

Her strength in these competitions, though, is the long program, and it is for that reason that many observers, especially her fellow Canadians, are hopeful that she will overtake the leader, South Korea's Kim Yu–Na, and/or Mao Asada of Japan, who is currently in second place.

Whether she will remains to be seen. But, barring an unexpected collapse by Rochette or one of the other two, those three are likely to be the ones who receive the medals in women's figure skating. No doubt Rochette would like to win the gold in her mother's memory. But any medal will suffice, I'm sure. The sight of it will always be a reminder of what she lost, but it will also be a reminder of what she accomplished in spite of heart–breaking tragedy.

Four years ago, in Italy, the top Olympians from America probably were speed skater Apolo Ohno and figure skater Sasha Cohen.

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Ohno captured gold, but Cohen took silver — disappointing, perhaps, to Americans who were conditioned to believe that America's female figure skaters always would prevail.

In some ways, it is hard to understand why that belief persisted into the 21st century. Perhaps it was a hangover from 1968, when Peggy Fleming won the gold medal. She wasn't the first American to do that, but she was the first after television had become a fixture in most American homes. So Americans like Tenley Albright (1956 gold medalist) and Carol Heiss (1960 gold medalist) were forgotten in the euphoria that was brought on by Fleming's victory.

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In due course, Fleming herself took a backseat to the woman who became "America's Sweetheart" eight years later — Dorothy Hamill. With her dazzling smile and distinctive hairstyle, Hamill captured hearts as well as the gold medal ...

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... perhaps setting the stage for impossibly high expectations that went unfulfilled for more than 15 years — until Kristi Yamaguchi took the gold medal in 1992.

Two years later, the Winter Olympics were held again after the decision had been made to hold the Summer and Winter Olympics in diferent years. Once again, Americans expected one of their own to win the gold medal, and attention was focused on the battle between Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan. But Kerrigan won the silver and Harding, who was implicated in the plot to attack Kerrigan at the U.S. Figure Skating Championships, finished eighth.

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I must admit that I always felt the Harding–Kerrigan competition, which led to the infamous assault on Kerrigan the month before the Games, was an indication of the folly of America's provincialism. Kerrigan was attacked by a friend of Harding's ex–husband, but their logic reflected the attitude of most Americans. The winner at the Olympics would be one of the Americans. It was that sense of entitlement.

Perhaps, if she had not been attacked, Kerrigan would have won the gold. But we'll never know if her performance was affected. Anyway, she was said, at the time, to have recovered quickly from her injuries.

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It was also said at the time that Kerrigan's performance at the 1994 Games was the best of her career. Yet she finished second to Oksana Baiul of the Ukraine.

Tara Lipinski was the next American to win a gold medal in figure skating, earning a narrow victory over Michelle Kwan at the 1998 Olympics in Japan. She was succeeded by American Sarah Hughes in 2002. So, in spite of Cohen's silver medal in 2006, Lipinski and Hughes restored the aura of American dominance of the sport.

It will be interesting to see what happens this year. But it seems clear to me that, barring a truly unforeseen development, "The Star–Spangled Banner" will not be played for the women's figure skating medalists in 2010.

Nancy Kerrigan's Tragedy

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It's strange how things have played out for Nancy Kerrigan.

She may remember Februarys past with some fondness — she did win medals at the 1992 and 1994 Winter Olympics.

But January may be in for some unpleasant comments when she writes her memoirs. She is 40 now and she has been out of the spotlight for awhile, but in January 1994, she was hit in the knee in a plot to improve Tonya Harding's chances of winning the gold medal at the Winter Games. She recovered from her injury, but she didn't win the gold medal.

And now, her brother stands accused of assault and battery following an incident in which their 70–year–old father died.

I know it is tempting to swarm around Nancy Kerrigan and intrude on her grief, but I hope those in the media will be respectful at this time.

Dan Kerrigan will be laid to rest on Thursday. The Kerrigans have asked for privacy as they come to grips with the tragedy of losing a patriarch and the incarceration of a sibling.

Give her the space she needs at this difficult time.