OLYMPICS: Tarnished rings

By Jordana Morgan

To the casual viewer, there would seem to be a certain logic to most Olympic sports. It is a gathering of refined, experienced athletes who have spent years perfecting their craft, come to seek the crowning achievement of their life's work.

Or is it?

Not in the world of figure skating.

Michelle Kwan of the U.S. has watched as a skater too young to drive a car stripped her of her titles, skated away with Olympic gold, and then settled back into the comfortable spotlight of a tour that reshaped itself around her.

Elvis Stojko of Canada has fought for years, skated in excruciating pain on Olympic ice, only to find himself staring up from the second step of the Olympic podium. Twice.

Todd Eldredge of the U.S. has won five national titles--a record equaled by few American men, and bested by just one. He was the only U.S. male skater in the last decade to win a world championship. He has devoted his life to the sport, and yet his weighty medal case is devoid of an Olympic reward.

Kurt Browning of Canada was the first skater to land a quad jump--the element that is now of paramount importance in the eyes of the judges. And he ended his eligible career without ever standing on the Olympic podium. They are national and world champions all. And except for Browning, each one continues to run the race, looking toward Salt Lake City a year from now--but each has paid a price.

For Kwan, it has been the physical and mental wear of rising to ever greater technical heights. For Eldredge, it has been the constant demoralization of being called the "old man" of the sport, at his conventionally youthful age of 29. And for Stojko, it has perhaps been most costly of all, suffering frequent and painful injuries as a result of pushing his body beyond its tolerance.

What message has been sent to younger generations in the last decade? That success comes by age twenty, or not at all? That there are no rewards for perseverance?

But let us take a deeper look at our veteran champions.

Michelle Kwan has perhaps the biggest fan base of any skater in history. She is one of the most popular and sought-after athletes around--yet her education is her priority in life.

Elvis Stojko, to those who appreciate the quadruple jump, was an instrumental force in revolutionizing the sport. He is loved by Canadians, almost a national obsession.

Todd Eldredge's work ethic is matchless. His charitable work has been extensive, and with never a harsh word to anyone, he is admired by his peers for his graciousness and kind heart.

Let us not ask if these athletes are worthy of Olympic gold. Rather, let us question whether Olympic gold is worthy of them.

The eligible careers of many recent Olympic champions have been a mere heartbeat, even in the rather short competitive shelf life of a figure skater. Most seized the gold and set off into the pro circuit, their medals a ticket to prosperity for life. There is seemingly no thought to what they could still contribute, the ways they could influence the growth of the sport.

When it passes so easily into the hands of the shooting stars and one-hit wonders, while the veterans of skill and experience must look on--and look ahead to ever-decreasing chances--the so-called highest honor of the sport is demeaned. Olympic gold is changed from the reward for a life's work to a mere cashcow, the dotted line on an endorsement contract.

This is not to say that for an Olympic champion to gain added prosperity is wrong. But it should mean so much more than a dollar sign. It did in the past, before the days when commercialization consumed even the event that was supposed to symbolize sportsmanship.

But if Olympic gold has been so devalued, is it foolish for our older, enduring champions to still seek it so fervently?

Far from it. Rather, in their ongoing quest, these skaters' lives and hearts continue to make that medal pale in comparison. They press on, advance, continue to learn and to teach. This is the very essence of what an Olympic championship should be about.

But even if it were, it would not be enough. No award for lifetime achievement could say enough about their accomplishments, their character, their contributions to the sport. True champions are not made--they are born.

And what is one medal worth, compared to that? The ultimate answer: only as much as a skater believes it is.

Article provided courtesy of esportfans.com