By David

Have you noticed the mysteries of language? Take a simple thing. Each evening when I get home I click onto the Timed Finals website and catch up on the top swim stories of the day.

Work with me here, people. The sandwich becomes relevant…

New Zealanders and Australians would describe this as, “Have a gander at Timed Finals. It’s a cracker.”

Americans would say, “Go check out Timed Finals. It’s great.”

And in the UK, “Take a peek at “Timed Finals”. It’s absolutely terrific, super, whiz bang.”

Timed Finals is a good site. Much of it is written by a guy who’s served his apprenticeship in the swimming trade; Scott Goldblatt swam for the United States in the Sydney and Athens Olympic Games.

This week I saw the news on Timed Finals that Kevin Berry, the Australian 200m butterfly champion at the Tokyo Olympic Games, had died. His coach, Don Talbot, was reported as describing Berry as a “tough bugger” (American, good guy; British, spiffing chap). That’d be right. He was all of those things. Berry was swimming with Talbot when I went across to Australia to train in Talbot’s squad. I learned a lot there; how to swim six miles, that 400 fly was not just black humor; all that sort of thing.

Berry taught me two life long lessons; one good, humility; one bad, gluttony.

Humility; to appreciate this lesson you need to be aware that when I joined Talbot’s squad I thought I was pretty good at this swimming business. I was good enough to be in one of Talbot’s faster lanes, a lane that included Kevin Berry. It wouldn’t take me long to sort him out, I thought. You have to imagine this, first day, first warm up, certainly first 400 fly. Berry led and I followed somewhere near the back of the lane. About half way down length five two hands rested on my shoulders and I was rocketed backward underneath the speeding Kevin Berry. In that instant a very naive New Zealander was taught a lot about the power of an Olympic Champion. It never happened again. I kept a close eye on where Mr. Berry was and stayed well out of his way.

Gluttony; before afternoon practice Kevin Berry and one of his mates used to sit beside the pool and have a snack. When I got to know them better I discovered their sandwiches were peanut butter and jelly. Not just ordinary peanut butter and jelly. These sandwiches added a slice of cheese between the peanut butter and the jelly. Kevin said it made all the difference. He even offered me one. There’s something pretty special about sharing a sandwich with an Olympic Champion. This was before the days of steroids and human growth hormones, perhaps, I wondered, peanut butter, cheese and jelly sandwiches would do the same thing. I’d make sure my mother back in New Zealand added this vital item to my diet. And I did.

They were great days. Days when sport was littered with the sort of good keen men Barry Crump would have shot deer with. Just look at some of the other names around at that time, Scholander, Frazer, Devitt and Conrads. Their times weren’t all that special by today’s standards – 2.06.6 for 200m fly – but they were swum in a time when sport was a little more honest.

And, just so this story doesn’t read like an essay where the writer lost all sense of direction, I’ll bring you back to Timed Finals one more time: those guys have a good site and we’re pleased that they appear to like ours, too. Along with SwimWatch, you’re not going to be fed any national-federation-filtered rubbish over there. Check it out; give it a gander.

By David

There is a swimmer on our team who is just a great person. She’s bright, interesting, conscientious and hard working; a thoroughly good person. She can swim too. A month ago she posted 52 for 100 yards and looks certain to swim 48/49 in the next twelve months.

She would be a prize asset to any college team. If you’re looking for a freestyle recruit that would do your college proud for the next four years, let Swimwatch know and we’ll put you in touch.

But this is a love story. You see she has just fallen in love. Not your normal high school fling. This is serious: a deeply emotional, hurtfully joyful serious. Let me explain. Last night James (that’s not his real name, of course) rang to ask how Anne (that’s not her name either) was getting on with her homework. They finished their school conversation just before midnight, but chatted on exploring each others interests and thoughts. You know the sort of thing. Do you like sushi, have you been to see Borat, what do you think of George W. Bush, her new coach, his new car, their lives.

Five happy hours later Anne walked into the pool for morning training still on the phone explaining that she had to go, “I’ve got a set of 8x400s to swim.” Crazy, I know, but in the best sort of way.

I can understand her fascination. James, you see, is an interesting kind of guy. About two years ago he sued his local education authority. They were demanding he stand for the Pledge of Allegiance. He argued it was his Constitutional right to chose whether to stand or not and he won. He was awarded $50,000 and a small footnote in the nation’s constitutional law.

It’s tempting to caution Anne. She may be making a terrible mistake; talking all night to an unpatriotic ungrateful. But would that be right? I do not think so. What is important here? Why did you or your father go off to some war? What is war all about?

My father went to war, the Second World War. He was a tank commander in Italy, at a famous little place called Monte Cassino. The 4th New Zealand Armored Brigade stormed the German fortification high up in the monastery on Monte Cassino. He told me the Germans had been shocked to see tanks operating in the hilly countryside, but they quickly got down to business and seventeen New Zealand tanks were destroyed by their artillery. My father also described the heroism of the Maori New Zealander Ngarimu who, when his machine gun ran out of ammunition, stood and threw stones at the advancing German troops.

My father’s tank was one of the seventeen destroyed that day. All his crew was killed. He survived thanks to the chance passing of an American Red Cross ambulance. His left arm and eye were left bloodless beside the road in Monte Cassino.

He would tell you the reason he fought was so Anne’s new boy friend could choose. My Dad would choose to stand for the Pledg eof Allegiance. He would think James should stand as well. But he would willingly lose an arm and an eye defending James right not to stand if he didn’t want to. You see that’s what makes us different from the Nazis and the totalitarian regimes that followed them. It may be a strange concept; it’s called freedom.

So good luck Anne and James; I hope it works out all through the summer and beyond. Oh, but while I remember: Anne please never talk all night on the telephone again. It does your training no good at all. That’s taking freedom too far!

University of Southern California (USC)

Washington State University (WSU)

By David

Swimwatch is not about negative stuff. It’s about positive people with positive ideas. We’re the progressives of world swimming; a happy bunch, getting a heap wrong (in some learned opinions), but pushing on, brighter than ever, towards swimming’s promised land.

That’s true until you mention PE teachers. For our American readers, that’s “gym teachers.” PE stands for physical education. In Britain, I believe they call it “phys ed.” But I digress. Have you ever met a more desperate bunch? None of them wants to do their job. They all actually wanted to be world class marathon runners or gymnasts or synchronized swimmers. Failing at that, they become PE teachers and set about extracting revenge on all those who are any good at sport.

They don’t like us. Our presence reminds them of what they failed to be. We are their dream. You might be saying at this point, “Where is your evidence?” Well, there’s plenty.

But before that, there is a serious side to all this. By definition world class sport is a game of brinkmanship; it is living on the edge. The job of a swim coach is to push each athlete to the limit of their being; to within an inch of exhaustion; to a point where to go any further would be over training and dangerous.

Good coaches know this limit. Some sense tells them when to push for a little more and when to ease back and rest. It is an essential skill of world class coaching. Lydiard was a master; gifted at pushing, pushing, always pushing until it was the moment to back off. Every day, world class coaches hold their charges on the knife edge between under training and the abyss of exhaustion.

And just when you’ve got it right, just when the team is in beautiful balance some bloody PE teacher sends the whole school off on a 5000 meter cross country run and anyone running less than 4.30 miles will do 500 “boys” push ups. It’s craziness. In twenty or more schools I’ve gently tried to explain how their rope climbing course or two hours of football and running the lines in the gym is probably dangerous. In every case their unspoken reaction is, “Bloody wimp, I never worried about that when I was in high school!”

“That’s why you’re a PE teacher,” is something you should never say. However, it can be fun to push their buttons.

A better place to get a hearing is the Principal’s office. Here sits a guy whose degree is in pure math and has never caught a football in anger. He’ll see the point straight away. He’ll understand someone who has a legitimate excuse to miss the subject he spent four years trying to avoid as well.

For those of you who still don’t believe, here are one or two – all true – PE teacher stories.

About a month before Jane Copland won the New Zealand open women’s 200m breaststroke title, and three months before she set a national record of 2.30.92 (which stood from 2001 until 2004) in the same event, her school report was delivered. It was all good except for a standout “D” in physical education. Of even more stunning news was the PE teacher’s advice. Jane, she said, “Lacks aerobic fitness.” Sara-Jane Sheehy and Kelly Bentley, the previous and subsequent holders of the women’s 200m breaststroke record, probaly lacked aerobic fitness as well. End sarcasm.

Alison Wright still holds the fastest 1000 meter time ever run by a New Zealander. She ran 2.38.54 thousand in 1979 in Berlin’s magnificent Olympic Stadium. At the time it was the fourth fastest time in the world outside the drug soaked eastern block nations. Alison was educated at Hamilton’s Fairfield College and spent four years hiding in the toilets to avoid PE. Her senior year school cross country was won by Alison Morris. The other Alison was second to last just ahead of co-conspirator Mary Ambury; wonderful rebellion; just the way to handle school PE.

Jonathan is one of our most accomplished master’s swimmers; does a solid 2000 meter work out four times a week. At seventeen he was captain of his local swim team. For almost four years at high school he avoided PE with a friendly doctor’s sick note. Just three months before graduation Jonathan was awarded the team’s prize for swimming. Unfortunately the presenter was the PE teacher who had spent almost four years believing Jonathan was a poor soul who suffered mightily from bad health. The next day the Principal called Jonathan to his office.

“Jonathan,” he said, “Do you want to graduate?”

“Yes sir” said Jonathan

“Go to PE, Jonathan.”

Later the same day Jonathan’s Driver’s Education permit arrived in the mail excusing him from PE for the remainder of the year; four years and no PE, way to go.

We have six swimmers in our team who made state finals this year. All of them are excused PE. The moral here is if you want to be any good at sport stay away from high school PE teachers. If you don’t and here is due warning – you may become one.