THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, July 30, 1995 TAG: 9507300264
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C3 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY TOM ROBINSON, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: DENVER LENGTH: Medium: 76 lines
On the final day of perhaps the last U.S. Olympic Festival, I humbly give myself a gold medal for not getting into a car wreck. In reporting on local athletes over seven days in three cities, I put more than 700 miles on my rental - a four-wheel-drive Suzuki Sidekick that had the look and ride of a postal jitney - while watching the road maybe half the time.
It was the Rockies, some snow-capped, others lush and green. Such views of craggy buttes, ridges, Pike's Peak, geologic pulchritude of all sorts. Rimming every highway was a natural wonder that kept my head on a swivel, thus making me abandon normal safe-driving practices.
So for me, despite the searing dry heat and the region's apathy toward this lame-duck affair, the scenery and my ultimate safety made this Olympic Festival a success. That and a visit to Coors Field, among the best of the new major league ballparks.
For the athletes, though dismal crowds greeted most of the events, there's no way the Festival could have been anything but worthwhile. It offered plenty of what athletes crave, the chance to meet, compete against and compare themselves to the best in their sport, be it table tennis, judo, basketball or water polo.
Most of the 3,000-plus competitors, from 52-year-old bowlers to 12-year-old gymnasts, will never see the real Olympics other than on television. The Festival, caustically called the Pretend Olympics by a local writer, approximates the experience and lets men and women realize their dedication does mean something, that it can take them places, even if not to the Olympics.
Which is why the death of the Festival is troublesome. It's an understandable economic move by the U.S. Olympic Committee, which wants to spend its money more efficiently and feels the Festival, in its current form, doesn't justify the investment. Too much cash, it says, is going to too many athletes who have no chance to win Olympic medals.
The vexing thing is much of the Festival's value is intangible, whether or not an athlete has Olympic potential, and regardless of whether an event draws spectators.
The Festival pays off individually in confidence, self-esteem and incentive that can't help but lift the level of American sports as a whole. And for the athlete who actually will make an Olympic team, the dress rehearsal, so to speak, that the Festival offers helps smooth the transition from college or club play, for example, to international competition.
You can't tell a kid like Virginia Beach's Lauri Illy, the 13-year-old rhythmic gymnast, that the Festival isn't worth it. The sparkle in her eye as she accepted her bronze medal said she'd never believe it. Baseball player Chris Elmore from Virginia Beach couldn't pitch because of a sore shoulder, but here's a guess he'd have come even if he knew he wouldn't work an inning, to drink in the experience.
I know I would have. There aren't many people who ever are told they are among the nation's best at what they do in their age and peer groups. If I'm a young athlete, a Festival invitation, which in many cases leads to an Olympic tryout, is an honor rivaled only by a full college scholarship or a pro contract.
Americans don't care about most of these sports but once every four years, and even then many are iffy. But as goofy as race-walking looks, I won't forget the zeal of the two young women who on a 97-degree afternoon collapsed within a minute of each other after finishing their 10K race.
I feel rewarded for having seen reigning Olympic triple jump champion Mike Conley perform, for taking the jaunt to Boulder a few times to see field hockey and roller hockey and team handball, which by the way is one cool game. And the sunsets over the Rockies. Can't forget them.
I could've done without hearing Doug Moe, the raspy-voiced former Virginia Squires' player and ex-NBA coach, on his daily sports talk show. I didn't need to listen to Carl Lewis glory in himself in a weird press conference. I would have preferred not to be stiffed for an interview by Virginia Beach sprinter Andre Cason.
But me and my Suzuki, we're none the worse for wear. I believe that goes for 3,000 athletes who might never have this chance again. by CNB