'Our gymnasts were lifted in splendid isolation' - Munich, the arena and that victory platform

At this weekend’s European Championships the gymnasts sat, centre stage, in perfect isolation as they waited for their marks, to find out whether they merited a first, second or third place in the rankings.  Their routine might have been a disaster; it might have been a storming success.  No one broke down in tears, no one cracked under the pressure of attention – but there they sat, alone, the sole stars of the show.

 

In the same arena, fifty years ago, things had been somewhat different; a 17 year old gymnast called Olga Korbut had crumpled into tears after a flunked bars routine robbed her of a chance of an all around medal.  She grabbed a chair where she could and flung herself into it, curling herself into a self protecting ball.  The coaches made themselves scarce, and if my memory serves me well, Korbut was left alone, flanked by the East German gymnasts who happened to be sitting there.  Korbut’s tears were hers and hers alone and apart from the public around her, there was little visible sympathy or support. 

 

Later, Korbut met with her personal coach, Renald Knysh, who wasn’t part of the official delegation and could only see his mentee outside of the official arena.  He told her he knew that she would make that mistake; it was a silly mistake; but in a way, it didn’t matter, she would still serve her purpose and be a catalyst for immense change in the sport.  After that, Korbut hid herself away in her room for more than a day.  She recounts in her autobiography that eventually coach Larissa Latynina kindly accompanied her to the athlete’s village to have something to eat.

 

In a sense, what Knysh said came true.  Korbut was a catalyst for change; the sport was at a turning point.  Technical changes had been gradual up to that point; but Korbut’s roll, her somersault on the beam and her  loop on the bars were big, daring moves that created air around the apparatus, drew the eye and caught the breath as the gymnast leapt into hitherto inconceivable airborne contortions.  At the 1976 Olympics, Comaneci headed the charge towards further difficulty, especially in her bars and beam routines.  By the 1980 Olympics the Soviets had picked up the initiative again and double somersaults were common.  Whole new categories of flight elements had been invented (for example, the Tkachev, the Yurchenko) that formed the shape and framework of development and advancement over the following forty years.  There are still routines performed in the 1980s that carry more weight of originality and difficulty than some of those seen winning medals today.

 

There they sit, though, our 2022 medallists, heroes all of them.  And it’s a credit to the sport that they support each other and are so kind and respectful to each other when there is so much at stake, so much that is out of their hands and heads.  Those boundaries are difficult ones to negotiate, but I always think that our gymnasts behave themselves better around them than so often do our judges, coaches and officials.  But that thought is for another day.

 

What I will say today is that that roundel, set in the heart of the arena, embraces a greater change in gymnastics than we have seen in many a year.  Because there, we see the gymnasts elevated, their talents granted to them, their successes and failures given equal quantities of credit and support.  All those years earlier, the gymnasts were not there for themselves; they were there for the approval of the state and to realise the dreams of their peacock coaches.   Korbut’s innovations were Knysh’s innovations more than hers.  Genius coaches from the Soviet Union, coaches whose names you might recognise now – Rotstorotsky, Knysh, Karolyi – were written about respectfully in the press as if they were some kind of Svengali.  They and only they could create these new moves, performed so meekly by their young, vulnerable female apprentices.  There was Klimenko, Mametyev, Gavrichenkov … many others.  All of them were seen as the instigators of the originality rather than the gymnasts, the gymnasts the channel of their genius, an empty vessel to be filled with originality.  They felt no pain and gained little credit.  Grozdova, Yurchenko, Mukhina, Filatova, Naimushina, Davydova and more – they were all phenomenal gymnasts, but if they fell to the ground during a routine, the coach would turn his back; the gymnast had failed the coach.   

 

A few years ago I remember enjoying immensely an Instagram video posted by 2010 World team champion Tatiana Nabiyeva.    There she was, hanging in an ungainly attitude beneath the beam, struggling to find some kind of shape on top of the beam.  I can’t remember the exact words, but the caption said something like ‘originality and innovation’ and Tatiana and her teammate were laughing helplessly as she struggled to find her way with this brand new move she was in the process of inventing 😊.  As far as I know, the move never made it to the competition arena!  I remember the same spirit of adventure and fun when Tatiana landed her Amanar vault with an extra half twist – in other words, she did a triple twisting Yurchenko, not deliberately and not credited, but nevertheless it was big and it belonged to the gymnast who performed it.   I don’t think she ever repeated it, but nobody was hurt, and it was all good fun.

 

Gymnastics would never have become so interesting in the 1980s and beyond without the intellectual leadership of so many of the Soviet coaches, some Japanese coaches and a few others besides, but that interest came at a very high price.  I don’t at all think that Soviet coaches were evil geniuses – we have to remember that they lived at a time when women’s rights were less than well defined and ‘win at all costs’ was a global watchword in sports.  I don’t blame Russian coaches for the loss of agency that led to so much cruelty, poor coaching and abuse in worldwide gymnastics systems – that comes down to the ambition of the states who adopted what they believed was world beating practice.   But we definitely do need to move on and to grant agency to our gymnasts.  At the very least, they deserve to celebrate their achievements. 

 

The focus on the gymnast that we see at present is a step forward in acknowledging the athlete’s ownership of their own performance.  And that can only be a good thing.  Congratulations to all the gymnasts at the European Championships for such a joyful, fair competition.  If you got injured, I hope you recover well.  I’ll look forward to seeing the MAG perform this week, to the All Russian Spartakiade later this year and the World Championships in October.  Be joyful and brave and know we admire you.