A small segment of the sports world endlessly debates the reasons why track and field is not more popular. Many consider the sport the backbone of the Olympics. In off years, however, it barely holds the attention of even its most ardent fans. 

At the recent Brussels Diamond League press conference, Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce, a 13x World and Olympic Champion in the sprints, showed the world why track and field doesn’t captivate its fans’ attention. Fraser-Pryce shamelessly displayed a lack of appreciation and comprehension for the intricacies and complexities of an event other than their own. How can a sport thrive if its own athletes don’t value the scope of their fellow competitors’ talents?

No She Didn’t

In a frank exchange, Fraser-Pryce challenged Mondo Duplantis, the pole vault Olympic Champion and World Record Holder, to a 100M match race. Mondo gleefully accepted the challenge and exclaimed he’d bet a lot of money on himself to win. Startled by Deplantis’s hubris, Fraser-Pryce inquisitively asked Duplantis, “Explain to us how sprinting and the Pole Vault work?”

Duplantis went on to educate Fraser-Pryce that sprinting was integral to his event. He calmly corrected her that his runway approach was forty-five meter not ten or fifteen and that he posted some pretty swift 100M times in high school. In fact, his 100M PB of 10.57 in high school is faster than her 10.60 PB.

Nothing really changes. Years ago when I competed on the circuit, two friends who competed in the field events gathered their gear to leave the stadium in the middle of the all-time great Said Auiota’s 3000M race. I was shocked and shouted to coaxed them to watch the race, “Auiota is on world record pace. He’s running close to four minute miles and you’re leaving? One of my buddies replied, “Ray, I don’t understand anything over the 800M.”

The drift of our fans is because the sport is too damn complicated. Yes, all the winner has to do is jump or throw the farthest or run the fastest. On the other hand, the sport makes no sense if one doesn’t understand or appreciate the beauty within each event. 

How Hard Can It Be?

Casual fans don’t understand how speed is just as important as “hops” for the high jump or that shot putters traditionally score the best on the vertical leap test compared to all other track and field athletes . Subsequently, fans only care for about thirty percent of a two hour event. How can a track meet be relevant if fans aren’t captivated by more than fifty percent of the show?

This fact makes the Duplantis vs Fraser-Pryce match race a brilliant idea. It bridges the sexs and events. The race tells a fascinating story. Most importantly, it is a legitimate competition. The challenge may have been orchestrated but it’s okay with me. Anything tasteful to call attention to our sport is a victory.

Remember Bobby Riggs was fifty-five when he played the twenty-nine year old Billie Jean King in the Battle of the Sexes. Duplantis vs Fraser-Pryce are at the top of their games. Their race would teach the world what sprinting has to do with the pole vault and how phenomenal all track and field athletes are.

It’s a Throwback

The proposed Duplantis vs Fraser-Pryce contest also reminds me of a stunt from the days of the Profesional Track Circuit of the 1970’s. At the end of competitions, the 6’5 and 275lbs shot put world record holder, Brian Oldfield, would race the winner of the women’s 100M race in a 55 yard dash. Oldfied won every time. What does sprinting have to do with the shot put?

Every track event is about a transfer of energy which is driven by speed. Oldfield threw the shot put with his legs not his arms. His leg speed allowed him to generate the power to thrust the shot put to world records. Duplantis’ flight down the runway creates the energy needed to propel him over the crossbar. His vault is like an airplane taking off. No speed, no lift, no flight and no height. 

Bring it on. I haven’t been to Brussels in years. I can’t wait.

Our friends in baseball have given Track fans an inadvertent promotion. The Atlanta Braves sponsor a contest called “Beat the Freeze.” It is a race between Nigel Talon, the Freeze, and a fan selected from the stands. They race along the outfield warning track from the left field to the right field foul poles. The distance is about 190 meters.

Gotta Look Sharp

The Freeze dresses in googles and a glacier breeze colored bodysuit that resembles the slushy drink he promotes. This is tantamount to a runner’s endorsement of cookies but I won’t complain. McDonalds is a long time Olympic Sponsor. Money talks.

The Grift

As a sporting gesture, The Freeze spots his opponent about a five second head start. The lead looks insurmountable even against the marginally fit contestants he races. But, one hundred and ninety meter is farther than one realizes. The contestants’ cars probably aren’t parked that far from their seats. Talent and fitness almost always prevails.

One can only imagine the affirmations these guys are pumped with before they toe the line against the Freeze. Friends gotta be in their ears, “Dude you got it. You were the fastest kid in our class at Dodgen Middle School. The Freeze has nothing on you.” 

Could it also be the lights and crowd that lures civilians to race a real athlete? Are they given beer tickets by the Braves promotion team for rehydration after the race but they guzzle beer before the race to summon courage? As Reality TV producers say, “The crazier the better.”

It’s Not a Game

Participants have face planted to the dirt, pulled hamstrings and smelled victory only to have it snatched at the line. Inevitable pain doesn’t deter volunteers from stepping forward to race the Freeze.

The Freeze never ran in the Olympics or other championship meets but he can run. His 10.47 100M and 21.63 200M personal bests are solid times. These marks, however, leave him outside of truly elite racing. The Freeze is definitely not DI. In fact, USA’s 2020 Olympic 200M Bronze medalist, Gabby Thomas, has run faster in the 200M with a PB of 21.61.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not hating on The Freeze. My point is he’s fast but don’t let his show overshadow what’s really fast. It’s like when the football world got excited over DK Metcalf’s amazing run to tackle Budda Baker. The feat even inspired Metcalf to race the real track guys. Surprisingly, DK held his own but he still finished last against the pros.

The fastest runners in the world are the track guys. Enough said.

A foot race is one of the earliest and purest forms of entertainment. Narrative is what makes it special. A race against a fan in the stands or a guy from another sport captures peoples’ attention. It’s not a gimmick. It’s a story. All this is to say, Track and Field needs to tell stories. It’s not all about records.

My dad recently moved into an assisted living facility. He battled for three years to maintain his freedom and independence. Sadly, his latest fall finally proved to him at ninety-one he no longer had the judgment or strength to live on his own. His new home right across from Thomas Circle in Washington, D.C. amounts to a nice sized dorm room, ample lounge spaces and a refractory. The real benefit of his new accommodations is the medical attention and care on hand to manage his health and to keep him safe. Once a man, twice a child.  

The Clean Up

It took me four days to close out my dad’s two bedroom apartment. His mementos were enough to produce an episode of “This Is Your Life.” The task to choose what items to discard, donate or save required me to determine what was truly meaningful to him. The responsibility to curate his life drained me emotionally and physically. What was clear, however, was the most treasured memorabilia my dad saved were from his thirty-three year career as an Air Force Fighter Pilot.  

Flight

Flight Log

I found the innocuous, thin black 5” x 7” Pilot Flight Record book among my dad’s important banking records. It is from 1957. The log is an account of each flight he made in his first year of flight training. This was the seemingly mundane documentation of my dad’s realization of his dream to become a fighter pilot. The date, destination, duration and aircraft for every flight he made were meticulously recorded in this book. Each week the entries were “certified true and correct” by his Commander. 



Typically, my dad flew four or five days in a row. On most days, he flew once but occasionally he flew three times in one day. The neat entries appear as simple, perfunctory notations. In reality, each entry represents the arduous work required to expertly handle a multimillion dollar one and a half ton aircraft under the most extreme conditions like an extension of oneself. Takeoffs, landings, barrel rolls, night flights, instruments only flights and countless other maneuvers had to be mastered before a pilot earned his wings. This is the official account of the successful accomplishment of the work required to fly for your country. 

The flight record holds particular relevance to me because as a world class runner I kept a meticulous training journal. At a glance, my journal takes me back to a time I was young and invincible. A journal may not log the specific details or emotions felt at the time but the mere notations have the power to stir up indelible memories nonetheless. Indeed, the Pilot Flight Record transported my dad back to the tarmac and the purr of his T-34 poised for another flight. Perhaps, he returns to the peacefulness of being 20K feet above the earth engulfed by the hum of his engine and his thoughts or the adrenaline elicited from the execution of his first aileron roll. The book remained in his possession all these years as a clear reminder: He had “demonstrated that he possessed to an unusual degree the ability, initiative, and other leadership qualities so essential to successful performance of duty as an Air Force Officer.”

Yearbook

I did not come across any of my dad’s old report cards, athletic medals or other records of his personal achievements. It seems all else pales in comparison to the journey to become a fighter pilot. Packing up his apartment took longer than I expected because it was impossible not to leaf through the history at my hands. The year books from his time as a flight student and flight instructor offered the clearest visual account of his journey. Each book had a standard group shot of the training class of about thirty young pilots in front of a T-38: The preferred training jet of the era. In addition, each student proudly posed in front of their plane. These normally stoic young men stood for the photographer in dominant poses with their helmets propped on their hip and wide grins on their faces. They exuded pride like a mountaineer who just summited Mt. Everest or an Olympian on the podium. Statistically, their accomplishments are equally exceptional. 

Groundbreaker

I can’t ignore my father was the only African American in his year books. In 1948, the United States Air Force was the first of the American armed forces to integrate. The Air Force leadership along with the success of the Tuskegee Airmen helped refute studies which claimed blacks were predisposed to lack physical courage and whites would not tolerate them as their supervisors. Fifteen years later, fueled by his contemporaries’ protests like the boycott of the Montgomery, Alabama transportation system for the right to sit in the front of the bus, my dad was an Air Force fighter pilot instructor. He realized the dreams of a movement before it even gained momentum.

Super Suit

In the back of my dad’s clothes closet were probably the two most definitive items of his military career: His Air Force blue dress uniform and the freedom green flight suit he wore in Vietnam. These were his Super Suits worn for the greater good. Silver eagles pinned to the shoulders of the dress uniform identified his final rank as a full colonel. His silver flight wings sat above the six rows of ribbons on his left breast pocket. The ribbons and medals told stories of duties and achievements which he never shared with me in detail. 



For example, I knew my dad was in the Army and fought in the Korean War before he joined the Air Force. I, however, always thought of this stint as a mere prelude to his real military acclaim. Research revealed the Army Infantry award on the left breast coat pocket of my dad’s uniform represented exceptional achievement. The three inch blue enamel rectangular bar, which was superimposed with a Springfield Arsenal Musket, Model 1795 which sat atop an elliptic oak-leaf wreath which symbolized steadfast character, strength, and loyalty told a far deeper story. The badge recognized that as an infantryman he operated under the worst conditions and faced a greater risk of being wounded or killed than any other military occupational specialties. The bearer was a highly-proficient, tough, hard, and aggressive soldier. My father did not do anything halfway.

The flight suit could have been easily overlooked. It is a jumpsuit akin to a workout uniform. Gold oak leafs adorn the shoulders. They denote my dad’s rank at the time as Major. His name, all in capital letters was stitched above his left breast pocket. I gather any other information on the uniform would breach a pilot’s requirement to only reveal his name, rank and serial number if he was captured. This item of clothing was only worn in the theater of war. It is similar to the uniforms worn by great athletes as they accumulated their memorable statistics and championships which are eventually donated to Canton or Cooperstown.

Reconciliation

My dad took me to big time track meets like most fathers take their kids to professional football or baseball games. This showed me the sport wasn’t just something that popped up every four years in the Olympics. We shared a penchant to move through time and space differently than most others.

I can thank my dad for helping me find running as my passion. In turn, at the top of my bedroom closet in a Nike USA National Team bag is my kit from the indoor world championships and a few other old uniforms I wore in the course of winning six USA National 800M track championships during my career. Ironically, my dad never realized these may have been my Super Suits. We spent more time talking about our differences than our similarities.

New Home

Everything in the 1500 sq ft. apartment condensed to a 5’ x 7’ storage bin. His new room was furnished with an adjustable bed since his frailty made it hard to sleep comfortably in a regular bed. I brought him his Eames chair so he could enjoy the view of Thomas Circle from his balcony. In addition, we displayed his T-38 and F-4 model planes which were the ones he primarily flew during his career. I also brought him a farewell plaque literally made from a board. The squadron he commanded in Vietnam gave it to him. Family pictures, a few of the yearbooks and other knick knacks also made the cut. His caregiver and a couple neighbors picked up some furniture which would always remind them of their friend. The rest was thrown out or donated. I had to. The doctors told me dad would never again live on his own. 



Only a few months ago when I discussed with my dad he needed to think about more help from his caregiver he snapped at me, “I can take care of myself like I did when I was fourteen after my dad died. . . Like I did when I risked my butt everyday in Vietnam.” He suffers from vascular dementia which comprises the prefrontal lobe. His short and long term memory were more less in tack. His dementia is primarily expressed by a lack of judgement and poor reasoning. 

Twilight

One of my dad’s doctors asked to speak with me after one of my visits. She wanted to know the man behind the man under her care. His slouched posture confused her. The problem could be physical if he is too weak to hold himself up or neurological if the brain can’t relay the message to the body to sit up straight. My dad is a conundrum. He is in a cognitive decline but he battles on. He is lucid. He reads the paper and retains information. His personality is amplified not muted. He may be diminished but I fully recognize the man in front of me. As I watched my father age, I’ve come to realize you die the way you lived. Maybe soldiers don’t just fade away. I know one who remained defiant of time and space his entire life.

A story for my blog about Medina Spirit’s positive drug test at the Kentucky Derby sat unfinished among my Google docs. My goal was to illustrate how track and field’s drug testing protocol is the most comprehensive of all sports. The Sha’Carri Richardson bombshell brings this issue to the front pages and provides me serious motivation to complete this post. 

The opening of the post remains pertinent . . . 

At least it was a horse this time.

Frankly, I gave a sigh of relief when I learned it was not a track athlete but the horse, Medina Spirit, embroiled in the latest drug scandal. The track and field community is a little touchy in the face of positive tests for performance enhancing drugs (PEDs). We just can’t handle another black eye in the middle of our Olympic build-up to Tokyo.

Then again, Sha’Carri Richardson isn’t just another athlete.

I Believe I Can Fly

Sha’Carri Richardon is brassy. This makes her a polarizing athlete. Nevertheless, she bluntly speaks the truth which is why public sentiment has overwhelmingly come down on her side after Friday’s announcement of her positive drug test for THC (marijuana). 

MoveOn.org launched a petition in support of Richardson which has so far received over 500,000 signatures. The petition requests the International Olympic Committee (IOC), World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA) and United States Anti-Doping Agency (USADA) to reinstate Richardson to the 100M in the Tokyo Olympic Games. In addition, Congressional Representatives Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Jamie Raskin worked with the Subcommittee on Civil Rights & Civil Liberties to formally ask USADA to lift Richardson’s suspension. It’s not just Tweeters and Instagram kids supporting Richardson. It’s a movement. 

Double Standard

So, Medina Spirit seamlessly trotted off to the second stage of the Triple Crown but Sha’Carri Richardson is out of the Olympics. WTF?

The drug testing system for horse racing is not under federal oversight.” This means each state implements and enforces its own rules.” This is why Medina Spirit’s positive test in Kentucky had no bearing on the horse racing at the Preakness in Maryland.

The Charlatan Trainer

Consequently, Bob Baffert (Medina Spirit’s trainer) remains a revered trainer even though horses he has trained have racked up twenty-nine drug violations over his career.  Seventy-four horses have also died in his care in his home state of California since 2000. Clearly, the equine industry values winning over integrity.

On the other hand, the track and field drug testing system is centralized and robustly supported. WADA lays down the law for all athletes who wish to compete in the Olympics. USADA oversees WADA’s agenda in the United States. In other words, the track world tirelessly works to weed out dopers. 

Citius, Altius and Fortius

This stance is the foundation of the OlympicGames.  Young athletes may not consciously know the “Olympic Values” but they are embedded in their journey. Joy of effort, fair play, respect for others; pursuit of excellence; and balance between body, will and mind is at the core of the statement, ”I am an Olympian.”

Horse racing is majestic but the business is murky. The business model heavily relies on stud fees not race winnings to reach profitability. Race tracks survive on gambling revenue. It is no wonder a man like Baffert is among its mist. 

Obstination

When Baffert emerged from the muck of the stables to defend his team against the drug charges he claimed he was, “Totally shocked . . . This is a pretty serious accusation. We’re going to get to the bottom of it. We didn’t do it.” 

Days later once Baffert saw he could not skirt the charges he claimed the anti-fungal ointment Otomax applied to Medina Spirit was unknowingly tainted with the banned anti-inflammatory betamethasone. Finally, he blurted on Fox News, “ We live in a different world now, this America is different. It was like a “cancel-culture kind of a thing.”

Truth to Power

Conversely, Sha’Carri Richardson appeared on the Today Show the morning the news of her positive drug test broke.  She appeared with minimal makeup, for her, backed in a corner between a door and a wall. Her bravado was softened but her candor remained, “I want to take responsibility for my actions . . . I know what I did, I know what I’m supposed to do. . . I apologize if I let you guys down, and I did.” The interviewer, Samantha Guthrie, was almost driven to tears by Richardson’s raw honesty.

This was as much an Olympic moment for Richardson as her 100M victory less than two weeks earlier.

Failed Promises

The institutions that govern us are merely a reflection of their leadership. In spite of the brilliant aspirational message championed by the IOC, it has let us down on numerous global issues of importance. It ignored anti-Semitism in Germany identified by a 1934 United States fact finding mission. In turn, Germany retained their bid to hold the 1936 Olympics Games which turned into an Adolf Hitler propaganda campaign. The governing body’s sexism limited opportunities for women for years. For example, “concerns for women’s health” kept the marathon and 10K meters run out of the Olympics until the 1984 Games. 

Healing

Ironically, USA Track and Field, the sports governing body, may be correct in their cryptic, seemingly tone deaf statement in regards to the failed drug test: Athlete health and well-being continue to be USAT&F’s most critical priorities and we will work with Sha’Carri to ensure she has ample resources to overcome any mental health challenges now and in the future. 

Sometimes people who are hurting will self-sabotage. People aren’t brands. They are only humans. The weight of a nation on the shoulders of a 5’1 “little girl” from Dallas who everyone underestimated is daunting. Richardson’s desire to return better than ever is more difficult than we realize.

I’m pulling for her. 

Ding Dong the Super League is dead. It is a story for the ages how twelve European futbol super powers sought to form their own renegade league (per the Super League press release) ”to help futbol at every level and take it to its rightful place in the world.” How could such altruism collapse in only forty-eight hours? 

Unlikely Allies

Frankly, a plan hatched between American hedge fund moguls, Russian oligarchs, European industrialists and Gulf royals was destined to fail. The Axis alliance of WWII made more sense than these guys getting together. This story of “egos and intrigue, avarice and ambition, secret meetings and private lunches, international finance and internecine strife” could only end in an epic collapse.

In spite of its challenges, the futbol moguls, eventually known as the Dirty Dozen, pressed on. They made their fortunes through the defiance of obstacles and risk. They believed the union of the world’s best futbol teams into one league was their destiny.

Self-Delusion

Walter Isaacson described the mind set which leads billionaires to attempt the seemingly impossible in his biography on Steve Jobs. Isaacson noted, “Jobs lived in an alternative universe. He saw reality as malleable. He could convince anyone of practically anything.” Jobs’ colleagues and business associates called this trait the “reality distortion field”. 

A vivid example of the reality distortion field mind trick played out in Apple’s procurement of the elegant and substantive glass that encases the iPhone. Corning had not manufactured the Gorilla glass for years. Nevertheless, Jobs placed an order for all the Gorilla glass Corning could produce. 

Corning’s CEO, Wendell Weeks, politely told Jobs the order could not be filled. He maintained, “A false sense of confidence could not overcome engineering challenges.” Undaunted, Jobs blankly stared at Weeks and replied, “Don’t be afraid. . . Yes, you can do it. Get your mind around it. You can do it.” Corning made their first shipment of the coveted Gorilla glass in six months. 

Clearly, the Dirty Dozen believed the more reality distortionist the better. They believed they knew what was best for futbol and no one else needed to weigh in on the strategy. Follow our lead and all will be fine.

Their plan failed because they could not answer one simple question: How much is a gallon of milk?

Know your Customer

This is what Roy Logan asked his Generals as he embarked on his hostile takeover of PGN in the HBO hit series Succession. Logan became enraged when no one could tell him how much a gallon of milk cost. His son answered his question with a question, “Who gives a shit?” Another unfortunate target replied, “Um, like, I mean regular milk?”  

Sports fans view their teams with a touch of childlike innocence. They may drink excessively during a game. They may curse the players more coarsely than their pet dog. Sports, however, provide their fans with a place of order, fairness, accountability and hope. Teams are a truth in the life of their supporters. The fans know how much a gallon of milk costs. They will tell the Emperor he has no clothes on.