Wednesday, September 20, 2000
Good or bad, U.S. lacks Karolyi's fire
SYDNEY, Australia — Bela Karolyi was a sight. In the press section, rocking nervously to and fro, filling his red cheeks with air and exhaling like a steam engine, sweating profusely. He could have been in labor.
The man was definitely laboring. It was the first time in six Olympiads he was not on the floor with a team. Or, as Karolyi put it, “Never in my life have I been asked to stood (sic) on my butt for the whole competition, which is now bleeding.”
Karolyi was not the coach of the U.S. women's team; he was the “team coordinator.” The women fell from grace like a brick after the Magnificent Seven won gold in '96; last November, the retired Karolyi was called upon to fix the mess.
They gave him the coordinator title, because if they'd called Karolyi coach, egos would have exploded. Then they made sure he wouldn't have too much sway here, by having him sit in the stands.
Help us, Bela. Then take a seat.
A strange world
It was a strange way of doing things. But the world of women's gymnastics is a strange place.
Depending on how you see him, Karolyi is (A) the Darth Vader of American gymnastics, who runs a concentration camp, er, gymnastics academy, for little girls. Or, (B) he's the sort of taskmaster coach it takes to win medals at the Olympics.
Probably, Karolyi's both.
Can you be vastly successful without being a martinet? Mary Lee Tracy seems to do fairly well. It was Tracy who held the '96 team together, while Karolyi took the credit, along with the injured Kerri Strug in his arms.
Would they have been better than the fourth-best team in the world Tuesday night with Bela hugging them? Who knows?
The Americans weren't bad Tuesday; no one fell or slipped. But there was no singular performance, nor much fire. Fire has always been Karolyi's strong suit. “I would have told them, now's the time,” he said. “Now or never.”
Someone asked Karolyi why the Russians were so successful. He laughed and said, in so many words, the Russians trained their pixies from their first headstand. “Younger girls follow directions very well,” Bela decided. “They do not have second thoughts or boyfriends, or other thoughts that affect performance.”
They do not have, in other words, a life.
“Our way of understanding athletics, it's almost impossible to do” what the Russians and other Eastern European countries do, he said.
Different priorities
What it comes down to is this: Do you want to win at this sport, if it means taking 8-year-old girls and turning them into toe-pointing machines? Or do you do what the U.S. has done, which is take the pedal from the metal ever so slightly? You have to be at least 16 now to be an American Olympic gymnast.
The beauty of '96 was that the Magnificent Seven managed both. They were champions given a chance to grow up beyond the gym. In this sport, that happens next to never.
Karolyi said he will not coach an Olympic team again: “I'm not coaching individual athletes anymore.” Neither will he sit in the stands watching a team he helped create but was not allowed to help coach. “For the first time ever, I was sweating blood.”
So maybe Karolyi's curious marriage with the sport is done. You decide whether that's good or bad.
Enquirer columnist Paul Daugherty welcomes your comments at (513) 768-8454.
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