Let’s play what happens to others. For example, fear.
What would you do if you werent afraid.
That graffiti near my house impresses me. What would you do? What would you be capable of? Where would you end up? But also: what abysses would the absence of fear lead you down? What pits would it lead you into.
In elite sport there is a fear of losing that is not talked about. It is not the sadness after defeat or the disappointment that failure engenders. It is something more disturbing and Shakespearian: a feeling infinitely more complex than the desire to win that lights up so many pupils in Paris. It is the fear of defeat. The other day we saw it. Four minutes of Olympic terror where one suffers watching the judoka Uta Abe. Poor Uta.
She is Japanese. She is twenty-four years old. Her record shines like gold. Olympic gold in Tokyo. Gold in four world championships. Gold and more gold in international judo championships since she was seventeen. Uta has a beautiful smile and her family history is beautiful: her brother Hifumi Abe is an Olympic judo champion. Both champions. The ideal story, and that is where the sinister thing begins.
Uta Abe personified Victory, that which Pindar portrayed two and a half thousand years ago in his Olympic Odes, immortalizing the athletic prowess of legendary champions such as Hiero of Syracuse or Diagoras of Rhodes. In his poetry, which has permeated the Olympic narrative to this day, victory confers eternal honor, fame and prestige, resounding and enduring glory, admiration of others, infinite happiness: everything a mortal aspires to. Because victory, writes Pindar, is the result of supreme effort, immoderate sacrifice, personal improvement; excellence. He who triumphs, writes Pindar, avoids returning to his homeland hidden in the shadows; he avoids a hateful return amidst contempt.
That’s the scary thing about the paradigm.
It’s not about winning. It’s about avoiding losing.
It’s not the joy of victory. It’s the relief of avoiding dishonor.
It’s not about getting what you want. It’s about preventing what you fear.
What would you do if you werent afraid.
And what Uta Abe, always shining in gold, was afraid of was defeat. There is only one minute left in her fight against the Uzbek Keldiroyova. It is only the second round. Uta is winning. She is supposed to win, as always. But the Uzbek surprises Uta and defeats her with an ippon. A devastating defeat. Then the catharsis begins.
Uta throws herself to the ground. Fingers on her face. Eyes in panic. Mouth hanging open. She greets her opponent without looking at her. She stays on the edge of the tatami. Hands on her head. First the silence of shock. Then she cries. The crying becomes intense, then it becomes dramatic. She falls to the ground. She can’t stand up. She starts to scream. A nervous scream. One scream after another. The scene is unbearable, but there are still two and a half minutes of long terror left. Uta shakes her head. She falls to the ground again. She throws herself into her trainer’s arms. A member of the organization asks them to leave the arena. That the fight is over. It’s all over. But Uta keeps screaming. Again, again, up to forty screams of panic. It doesn’t matter that the public, shocked by the scene, applauds her. It doesn’t matter that they chant her name: UtaUtaUta. She scratches her trainer’s arms with her fingers. She is terrified. She falls to her knees. She continues screaming. Forty long screams are a lot. Her trainer drags her out of the arena. Her screams are heard until the end. Who knows when they will end. And how.
One expected to be thrilled by Simone Biles’ victories and her golden redemption. Meanwhile, next to her, one saw little gymnasts of sixteen and seventeen years old, full of pressure. A pressure that was surely unhealthy, perhaps inhuman. Faces of absurd fear. However, nothing in Paris has been as exciting so far as those four minutes alone with Uta Abe and her fear of defeat.
It’s the price of gold: the fear of being robbed. A terrible fear. In sport and in life.
(P.S.: Uta’s brother won gold on the same day as his sister’s catharsis. What a strange medal.)
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