Ladies & Gentlemen,
Let's face it. Life is not fair. The race and the accolades go to the swiftest and the most genetically endowed. Those Lords and Ladies of the pool (and we all know who they are), could go on a six month gin and dunkin doughnuts binge (not necessarily together), never touching chlorinated water the whole time, while the rest of us labor away achieving lifetime best times and levels of fitness. At the end of that six month period, a member of that aforementioned nobility could show up at our favorite pool, still intoxicated, fighting off the flu, and sleep deprived from a night on the town the preceding "evening." AND, said person will still kick our asses from one of the pool to the other in our best race, with no real doubt as to the evenual outcome of the race. Sadly, swimming is a sport with all the dramatic tension of a corronation march (or the NBA playoffs). Everyone knows who the 1% of the field is who has a shot of winning the event, and the secret as a coach to "winning" swim meets is not how well you coach the swimmers you have, but recruiting more swimmers who on the worst day of their careers are still faster than 95% of the rest of the team. It is a cruel verity of our chosen sport.
However, in the midst of all that darkness, I give you the one stroke that shines through like a shaft of light, caught by a diamond (or an exceptionally well made cubit zirconia), spilling its prismatic spendlor on the uplifted faces of the countless thralls laboring away in their mediocrity. I give you the *** stroke, God's own gift to people who cannot compete in the other three normal strokes. You doubt, nay you scoff at my assertion. In support, I offer the following observation. Consider the 4x100 free relay at the world class level. This is indeed the acid test of the depth of a nation's swimming excellence. I ask you, who swims on this relay? In addition to obvious freestyle sprinters, I can think of relays where the nations have turned to their distance freestylers (Schoeman, Hackett), their middle distance freestylers (Thorpe), their IMers (Phelps), their flyers (Crocker) and even their backstrokers (Walker), when in the harsh fluorescent light of the coach's office, one lonely man asks of himself, "I have one shot at my legacy; who would be the 4 fastest on that particular night?" I defy you, name me one 400 free relay that finaled in a major competition and had the nation's best *** stroker on the team?
My fellow swimmers I give you the New Yorker reading, brie munching, French vintage loving *** stroke. Proof positive that if their is room in swimming for these palookas, there is hope for each and every one of us to excell in some damn, fool made up competition that has no relation to actual athleticism.
Matt
Ladies & Gentlemen,
Let's face it. Life is not fair. The race and the accolades go to the swiftest and the most genetically endowed. Those Lords and Ladies of the pool (and we all know who they are), could go on a six month gin and dunkin doughnuts binge (not necessarily together), never touching chlorinated water the whole time, while the rest of us labor away achieving lifetime best times and levels of fitness. At the end of that six month period, a member of that aforementioned nobility could show up at our favorite pool, still intoxicated, fighting off the flu, and sleep deprived from a night on the town the preceding "evening." AND, said person will still kick our asses from one of the pool to the other in our best race, with no real doubt as to the evenual outcome of the race. Sadly, swimming is a sport with all the dramatic tension of a corronation march (or the NBA playoffs). Everyone knows who the 1% of the field is who has a shot of winning the event, and the secret as a coach to "winning" swim meets is not how well you coach the swimmers you have, but recruiting more swimmers who on the worst day of their careers are still faster than 95% of the rest of the team. It is a cruel verity of our chosen sport.
However, in the midst of all that darkness, I give you the one stroke that shines through like a shaft of light, caught by a diamond (or an exceptionally well made cubit zirconia), spilling its prismatic spendlor on the uplifted faces of the countless thralls laboring away in their mediocrity. I give you the *** stroke, God's own gift to people who cannot compete in the other three normal strokes. You doubt, nay you scoff at my assertion. In support, I offer the following observation. Consider the 4x100 free relay at the world class level. This is indeed the acid test of the depth of a nation's swimming excellence. I ask you, who swims on this relay? In addition to obvious freestyle sprinters, I can think of relays where the nations have turned to their distance freestylers (Schoeman, Hackett), their middle distance freestylers (Thorpe), their IMers (Phelps), their flyers (Crocker) and even their backstrokers (Walker), when in the harsh fluorescent light of the coach's office, one lonely man asks of himself, "I have one shot at my legacy; who would be the 4 fastest on that particular night?" I defy you, name me one 400 free relay that finaled in a major competition and had the nation's best *** stroker on the team?
My fellow swimmers I give you the New Yorker reading, brie munching, French vintage loving *** stroke. Proof positive that if their is room in swimming for these palookas, there is hope for each and every one of us to excell in some damn, fool made up competition that has no relation to actual athleticism.
Matt
