Dark Night

Unexpected changes

John dropped into his seat in pre-calc and looked at me with concern. "I heard there was an incident at the ice rink yesterday. Mikhal told Stan that he had to leave you alone if he was up at the rink while you were there. What happened? Do you even want to talk about it?"

"In the interests of this not getting blown out of proportion," I said grimly, playing with my pencil. "My gym class went up there. We're going for two weeks. I tried to avoid him, but he wouldn't go away. And to be fair, if I have to" John smiled "he wasn't as obnoxious as he usually is. For the most part, until almost the end of the situation, he was almost normal. We got into a little argument. And when he rubbed my nose in it, I cracked, told him in five years he'll be out of amateur skating, a footnote. He gave me a little shove, more of a poke, but I wasn't ready for it and I fell on my behind." I shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal except that he tried to get me in trouble with the parents."

"What did he rub your nose in?" John asked gently.

"You know how skating can kind of take over a family." He nodded. "Well, my parents have ended up spending almost all of their money on my brother and his skating. After he started, there wasn't money for me to do things, and when he made the jump to seniors it really went to hell. I've gone for days without seeing anybody at home because my parents both got second jobs or did overtime until recently. I found out that my  college fund was raided to pay medical bills, and I snapped. And they all act like deer in headlights when I try to tell them what I'm feeling. First it was all 'sacrifice' and then it's 'why can't you be happy for your brother?' and my new favorite, 'why can't you cut us some slack?' I've just had it. I don't want anything to do with skating, but I have to go up to the rink for class. And the skater starts in on how when he lands his jumps nobody can beat him. He's a sore winner." John shrugged.

"I know I'm extremely lucky when it comes to skating," he said. "I'm sorry that you're suffering because of it. Stan is so focused, he's not introspective, so I doubt it ever occurred to him to question anything about his skating that was off the ice.  And he is very gifted, even if his artistic expression is lacking."

"He's not the only one not pushing his boundaries," I muttered. John looked taken aback. "Look. Your jumping is crazy good, your artistry the best in the men who are contenders for medals.  You've got better than average spins and your footwork is decent. The one thing that your competition has all over you is expression. He gets out there and the audience gets to see exactly what he's feeling. They like that. It's entertainment, and it allows them to see what it's like to skate like that, they can imagine that it's them out there. If your programs had more texture and you allowed your feelings to show more, you would do better even when you don't land all your quads." The bell rang and our teacher moved toward the board with purpose. Dang it. Math.

My worries about the rink were unfounded today. Today, the coaches and skaters were nowhere to be seen, and I could just skate around. The most exciting thing I did were crossovers around the corners.

In earth sciences, John dropped into his chair and turned to me immediately. "What do you mean about texture? And why is it so important that people connect with me?"

"Your programs are these glorious swoops, long, controlled, meticulous, lyrical, very beautiful. But people want excitement, and they've been conditioned by the sport to expect excitement based on the emphasis that jumps get. Going back, you used to see more emphasis on footwork, and that allowed a skater another opportunity to dazzle. You can see this in the era of Scott Hamilton, Brian Boitano, and Brian Orser. The trend away from intricate footwork seems to coincide with the elimination of the requirement that skaters had to trace figures." John nodded. "They pay lip service to artistry, but it's really all about the jumps. Brian Boitano was the first, as far as I can tell, to put his arm over his head in the triple, and it was known as the 'Tano triple lutz,' his signature move, but it only made a comeback recently, and only for the degree of difficulty it adds to the jumps. Tricks like that are another aspect of mastery that makes an audience--which also includes the judges--sit up and take notice. It provides a little texture to the program, a little grit. Spins help too because you can vary the speed, but when was the last time you saw somebody bork their spin in competition? And as far as connecting with the audience, you should want to do it. The energy they create can give you a lift. And although the judges don't grade you on how well you connect with the audience,  they're part of the audience too and they'll be more interested in you if you engage them. In the past, I can think of two American women who had beautiful, mature programs that they skated well in the Olympics--Kerrigan and Kwan, I think--and they were both upstaged by little girls with artistically rough or childish programs. They both did the technical stuff, but I really feel that both Baiule and Lipinski benefited because their emotions were all out on display. You could see their wonder and joy and determination, a real range of emotions, and it allowed the audience--and the judges--to connect, and those emotions are part of the Olympic experience. My brother does that too. It's all agony of defeat when he crashes and burns, and triumph when he succeeds." I shrugged. "But in other sports, they have races. Biathlon, cross-country, short track, where the time you put up determines your placement in the competition. Skating is a sport that is a performance, like snowboarding half-pipe. Your style matters as much as your technical score. Half-pipe spectators expect big air and lots of flipping. Skating spectators want to see grace, certainly, but they also want to be thrilled."