Fields of Gold

As we steam toward the Closing Ceremony the Russians are not letting their guard down. In fact, yesterday security was stepped up. To drive a car into Olympic Park everyone must go through what looks like an International Border crossing. While the driver remains with the vehicle, passengers must walk into a building for processing. This requires scanning your credential, baggage x-ray and personal search. Yesterday we went through the metal detector then we were wanded head to toe. That was followed by a full pat-down including, what I term, a groin graze. Then it took 15 minutes to get the vehicle across.

They are taking no chances. All is well.

The western press lemmings are having a hard time of late finding stories to feed their cynicism. The yellow water, double toilets and unfinished hotel rooms have proven to be aberrations. Who can they rag on now?

Us!

On Valentine’s Day a Wall Street Journal reporter saw an NBC staffer with a Starbucks cup. The reporter “discovered” that we have our own Starbucks in the International Broadcast Center commissary and packets of Starbucks “Via” at the venues. Consumed with envy, the reporter “broke” the story. It has now been repeated by dozens of news outlets around the world. One report actually said NBC was “taunting” the other journalists with the Green Mermaid cups. I suggest they try the nearest Starbucks. It’s only 250 miles away in the city of Rostov-on-Don.

We like to sip coffee when we attend skate practices. It’s our tradition. But now it’s not as simple as just pouring a cup of Joe. To leave our compound you must cover the Starbucks logo with duct tape. The only coffee allowed are sugar bomb McCafes from McDonalds (The official sponsor). Our own Tracy Wilson always follows the rules. She's Canadian.

There is nothing quite like an Olympic figure skating practice. After 30+ years in sports television I can tell you that I’ve seen a lot of practices. Football, basketball, hockey, cycling, gymnastics, horse racing . . . if there’s practice or training before the Big Event, I’ve been there.

At the Olympics, each practice is like a mini-competition. It's a pressure cooker.

Every move is scrutinized by the horde of press, TV, judges and coaches. Comparatively speaking an NFL practice is almost like a meet and greet cocktail party. We stand on the sidelines chatting. Maybe we’ll get lucky and see a new formation by the Special Teams coach. If a player is injured we might get an early look at whether they are ready to play on Sunday.

 

Here the pressure here is palpable. When Yuna Kim, the defending Olympic Champion practices, it's a frenzy at rinkside.

The ladies skate in special custom“practice” outfits. Each practice group consists of 5 skaters on the ice at the same time. The contenders can size up each other at these sessions. In the middle of the practice session their program music is played and they must perform.

Sometimes it's like Boxing heavyweights sparring against each other right before the Title Fight.

Up in the Peanut Gallery the journalists speak in hushed tones, scribbling furiously in their notebooks about every move. Photogs with gigantic lenses are clicking away. The drama has begun. At the Olympic Games the Ladies Competition is the centerpiece for our viewers, 60 per cent of whom are women.

People often look at me like I have 3 heads when I say that the Olympic Figure Skating free program is the toughest pressure situation in all of sports. 

It is four minutes of sheer terror where an entire lifetime of training is on the line. By and large you get one shot at a Gold Medal in your career. You must sustain perfection in mind and body for every single second.

There are nine mean looking judges ready to pounce on their keypads over every subtle movement or facial expression. When you might have slightly two-footed a jump you better smile like you made it.

In most sports the “moment” is fast and fleeting. In most sports you have teammates. In skating you stand naked in front of the world. Literally. No hats, pads, masks or goggles. Naked.

We always remember the great moments . . . . The batter at the plate in the world series with the game on the line, the QB at the Super Bowl with two minutes to score, the three pointer to win the NBA Finals in the final seconds. Most of the plays are over in a matter of seconds. They are setting up for a single explosive moment.

Long distance runners question whether they have enough in the tank for the final sprint but there’s lots of time to think. There's a metronomic rhythm. Downhill skiers and cyclists wonder whether they can survive the burning in their legs and lungs. Gymnastic routines come close, but they last for just over a minute.

I’m not trying denegrate these sports. Skating is just different. The perception that skating is more show than athletic prowess couldn't be farther from reality.

In most sports there are moments to collect yourself before the next play. And if you lose the big game, there’s always next year . . . or the year after.

Skaters spend every day for at least ten years preparing for that single free skate routine. Four minutes. An eternity.

Tara Lipinski, the 1998 Olympic Gold medalist, told me the other day that nothing prepared her for the moment when her name was announced and she skated to center ice at the Olympic Games with a Gold Medal on the line.

"My legs were shaking uncontrollably," she recalled. "Even though I was so well trained, I was really scared. 

She was just 15. She skated one of the great programs in history. Her dream came true.

About 20 years after Sarajevo I sat with Rosalynn Sumners, the 1984 Olympic Silver Medalist. Roz has a special place in my heart because she was the first skater I ever filmed for a profile. She went to Sarajevo in 1984 as the reigning Queen of the Ice. She was the chosen one. The kid from East Germany, Katarina Witt, was touted as a future star . . . . 

In her short program, Roz made a minor mistake on a double axel and the judges hammered her. She was fifth after the short, hardly the spot the reigning World Champion wanted to be in. You can’t win the competition in the Short but you can slip deeply.

As the Long program began she looked like she would win. But things would soon unravel. She didn't fall. She didn't stumble. She began to tire and doubled a planned Triple toe loop. Then she did a single Axel instead of a double. That first jump would change the course of her life. Katarina Witt won the Gold.

As we watched the 2002 US Nationals in LA, she told me that hardly a day goes by when that jump doesn’t pop into her head. One jump changed her destiny. That Silver Medal will forever be a reminder of her failure, not achievement. There was deep sadness in her eyes.

Over the course of my career in the TV Truck I have cheered and shouted for my favorite teams, horses (especially with a big bet on the line) and athletes. Deep down I'm still a fan. I'll let out a cheer and get right back into the production.

When it comes to figure skating I'm a crybaby. At least . . . I was. No one has truly stirred my soul since the new scoring system poisoned the sport. I'm still hopeful. I have a reservoir of tears waiting to be released.

The last time I sobbed uncontrollably watching figure skating was 2002 in Salt Lake. I was directing the live Exhibition show. Michelle Kwan had missed Olympic Gold by a single jump, a Triple Flip. When the scores were tallied she had missed the Gold by one mark  . . . by one judge. Unheralded Sarah Hughes had skated a dream program completely out of her head. For Sarah it was a fairy tale come true.

For Michelle it was a nightmare. Denied by Tara at the 1998 Nagano Olympics, Salt Lake was supposed to be a coronation for the greatest skater of her generation. Michelle was beautiful, talented, athletic and above all, genuine. Not since Scott Hamilton in 1984 had I rooted so hard for a skater. I loved her. 

The medalists were invited to skate in what they call a "Gala" to celebrate their achievement.

Michelle's exhibition program was skated to Eva Cassidy's "Fields of Gold." Having taken the Bronze, the musical choice was the ultimate irony. When the song began my voice cracked. I whispered "Take Camera 2." Then I started crying in earnest. I had to use hand signals to Beth Tuura my TD for the camera cuts.

At the end Michelle faced Nick Utley on Camera 2 and I completely lost it. His shot was pure magic. Her face filled every inch of the giant monitor in front of me. She was sobbing with tears rolling down that beautiful face. Through it all, that smile, that amazing smile, broke out. The performance was incredible. The crowd was going insane. Beth cut the next minute by herself. I buried my face in my hands. I had lost complete control of my emotions.

A freaky thing about Michelle is that she has always reminded me of my daughter Megan. They are the same age. They talk the same, laugh the same, share many quirky mannerisms. They also share the same steel will of determination and positive energy. "Woe is me" is not in their lexicon.

It's always comfortable hanging with Michelle.

Yesterday we watched practice together. We gossiped about all the skaters. She analyzed the action on the ice. Everything was going along fine . . . . until . . .

My brain flashed back to Salt Lake City. I started tearing up. She whacked me in the chest with the back of her hand (Just like Megan) and her face begged the question . . . "What is up with you?"

"I can't listen to "Fields of Gold" was all I could muster. 

In a stunning contrast to my conversation with Rosalynn Sumners, Michelle smiled.

"I played the song at my wedding. For the longest time I couldn't listen to it either. I've embraced it now. I'm at peace. I love my life."