World Championships Rowing Mega Under 19, Under 23 and Seniors
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| Jake, Quinton, Rhett, Matthew and Warrick |
THE RSA Boat (coached by Chris Paynter)
- (bowman) RICCARDI Giacomo
- (2) KYRIAZIS Warrick
- (3) MARKETOS Quinton
- (stroke) JASSON Matthew
- (cox) ZILLEN Rhett
There were many rowing races
at Worlds. This story is about one race in particular: the finals of the
U19 Men’s Coxed Four (JM4+). And taken from various perspectives. There were
only six countries that entered a boat in this category. Expectations were that
each country would bring back a medal. How hard could that be?
THE HEAT
Before Sunday’s long-awaited final, there would be a Thursday heat to determine seedings for the final. All eyes
were on Italy, the defending champions. Australia, however, flexed some muscle
and was quickest out of the blocks leading at the first 500 metres. Italy was close on their heels followed 2 seconds by the USA and South Africa. Canada and
Ireland were unable to respond to the initial speed.
Australia led to the 1,500m
and gave up the lead in the last quarter to a hard-charging USA who took the
fastest time of 6m27s followed by Australia’s 6m28s and Italy’s 6m29s. South
Africa was a little roughed up and had nothing to show for their efforts other
than a 6m33s with a trailing Canada (6m37s) and Ireland (6m40s).
South Africa’s expectations were
violently readjusted. The team - now officially blooded in the big leagues –
were confronted with the stark realization of what comprised the world standard.
Seedings for the Final
- Lane 1 – Canada
- Lane 2 – Italy
- Lane 3 – USA
- Lane 4 – Australia
- Lane 5 – South Africa
- Lane 6 – Ireland
THE FINALS
The stories that follow are of
the Finals taken from three perspectives:
- From World Rowing’s synopsis of the A-Final
- From Jake Riccardi, the South African bowman
- From me, Jake’s dad, watching from the grandstands alongside the Martindale Pond.
1. WORLD ROWING
U19 men’s coxed four (JM4+) –
Final
It was a fast start from the
reigning champions, Italy, but then Australia made their move and moved to the
front of the field. Australia were still leading at halfway and South Africa
had moved into silver medal position ahead of Italy. The Aussies had clear
water with 500m to go and were looking well in control while South Africa were
starting to feel the pressure from Italy – would we see that familiar sprint?
The USA were also chasing hard and certainly not out of contention for a medal.
Here come the Italians! They had overhauled South Africa and were even starting
to put Australia under pressure. A huge final sprint from the USA had also got
them into the medals with South Africa missing out.
Result: AUS, USA, ITA, RSA, IRL, CAN
2. JAKE (The Bowman)
(Transcribed from a recording
of Jake 30 minutes after the race.)
“So by the time it started,
soon after that, it finished,” said Jake looking out with smiling eyes across
the Martindale Pond.
Jake sucked in some air. Sweat
was still rolling off his temples.
“I just remember going balls
to the wall. Once I got to the 500 metres, I don’t remember what happened. And
then I was in the last 500 metres, and I was going as hard as I can. And then
we finished.”
Jake’s eyes matched his smile.
“And my heart broke into a
million pieces, because it was the best race of my life,” he said swallowing
his words.
“And it wasn’t good enough.”
3. ROB (The Dad)
Sunday 25th August 2024, The
Finals (Martindale Pond, St Catharine’s)
We left the beach house off
Lake Toronto’s Watercrest Drive and drove the 30ks towards Martindale Pond. As
we passed Grimsby I turned on the car radio to ease the tension and silence.
Canadian radio stations have an old-time appeal and play music anywhere between
elevator music and hard rock. It was Sunday morning and traffic on the QEW was purring.
U2’s Sunday Bloody Sunday came on.
“I can't believe the news
today
Oh, I can't close my eyes and
make it go away”
An Irish protest song about
bloodied bodies strewn across a dead-end street and broken bottles under children’s
feet. The weight of the regatta and racing was beginning to press on the
shoulders. How much suffering can you permit children to endure before you step
in and say enough is enough?
Finals at World Champs is a
day like no other.
Best of the Best
This is how it begins. To get
to the start line of a World Champs final an athlete needs to endure a series of
comfort deprivations. Less sleep, less soft beds, less ice cream. More
hardcore, more blisters, more early mornings. Rowers are less athletic scholars,
more elite soldiers. Less Ghurkas. More Japanese Samurai.
Athletes need to be toughened
by 4 years of rowing. Then after securing a fistful of medals at SA School
champs in their senior year, they put in a 2k ergo time for selection. The list
allows only the top times. Then a few weeks of rowing followed by cuts. Then a
list is selected for the Gauteng team.
Then Tzaneen training camp,
boat selection and seat racing. Then trials. Then chasing progs to meet World
standards. Then seat boat racing. Some final cuts. Then winter arrives with its
cold fingers on cold oars. Smokey breaths on black mirrored water.
Then another Tzaneen training camp
and dodging hippos. Pushing for times, faster splits, faster water. It is the pursuit
of precision engineering and the smelting of iron ore in the boat. The
tempering of steel by coach blacksmiths.
Once you have your green
blazer and pass your medicals, red-eye flights to Toronto are procured. Things
move quickly from there. Cramming rowing suits into satchels. Wrapping protein
powders into mule packages. Filling thin green containers with fizzy vitamins
like bullets in gun cartridges. A few happy snaps at the airport, and you’re
ready for Worlds.
And physically, if you get the
timing right, you’re ready to row through a brick wall.
The Race
I did the math. In the heat, the
USA beat our boys by six seconds. That’s a thumping and the SA boat had to make
a plan if they wanted a medal in the 2,000-metre race.
I saw two choices:
- Do what the plan says.
- Burn the plan and do what is required.
Winners, I thought to myself, always
choose number 2.
We had seats in the stadium.
Most chose to stand. Too many nerves. Too much on the line. The inevitability
of the race. The inevitability of suffering. We kept our eyes on the big screen
as they called out the team names. The stress brimmed. The buzzer sounded. They
were away.
I saw the stroke rate of our South
African boys and could see from the initial flash of blades that they were all
in. There is nothing quite like the all-out fury of the start. From zero to
suicide pace in the blink of an eye. We waited for the 500-metre interval
positions to be shown on the screen. We held our breath as the boys leaned on
their blades.
- 500m -
The first 500-metre splits
came in. There were positive murmurings from the South African supporters. The
SA boat was in third. Australia was in first with Italy, the former coxed four champions,
in second. The winners of the heat, the USA, trailed the South Africans by a
second.
Canada and Ireland lingered in
5th and 6th on fumes.
Time stretched like dream fragments.
A dream second splintered into a billion parts like Damian Hirst’s cow-in-glass
sliced down the middle. The score from Interstellar plagued my mind with its
strings and piano. The choir started its murmurings. The black hole rotated and
swallowed stars.
- 1,000m -
The crowd roared. The
Australians had put another second into the field and South Africa moved by Italy
into second place. The USA trailed by a second.
I thought of our boys. Second
place is where they build insane asylums. The swoosh of reality and the
drilling of pain into the body’s core, making Swiss cheese of the muscles. And
the pouring of gunpowder into the holes and igniting incendiary flashes that
scream phaw-phaw. Hail Marys are on repeat in the boat.
“Hail Mary full of grace, the
Lord is with thee.”
Salvador Dali skinny elephants
begin walking the dry black Dystopian deserts of time travelers. We are now at
the crumbling sand castles in dream level 5 of Inception. Silver morphs into
bronze. The brain has its own heartbeat. We can barely watch.
“Hail Mary full of grace, the
Lord is with thee.”
Hail Marys are on repeat.
- 1,500m -
The end is near. Australia is
holding its lead but there is a price to pay for brutal speed. Italy are
charging and move past South Africa into second. The South Africans hold off
the Americans who remain in fourth. Canada and Ireland are four seconds away.
Their day is done. Making up four seconds with 500 metres left has to be impossible.
They say that going in the red
zone is like dipping your hands into the lava. This looks like full-body submersion.
Like a third-degree burn lava plunge. The race feels like it is prying open the
fabric of the universe and entering The Upside Down in search of Demogorgons.
“Hail Mary full of grace….”
In the last few hundred metres,
time stops and I see what is about to happen. The South African have to pay the
ferryman. There is a reckoning for the effort they put into the first 1.5
kilometres. Death pennies are being added to the end of the blades. One for
each stroke that remains. The South Africans hold on and deal with the added weight
on the blades. They hold the pace and stroke rate despite everything willing
them to give up the fight.
The USA have backloaded this
race. They are throwing everything at it and moving faster than the South
Africans. The bronze medal for a World Championship is on the line.
“Sunday, Bloody Sunday.”
The boats are in the 250-metre
red buoys now. Australia has a grip on gold despite Italy’s efforts to close
the gap. Italy will hold onto Silver for sure. So it’s Australia gold, Italy
silver. Bronze remains undecided. South Africa are currently in 3rd but the USA
still have 20 strokes left in them. The South Africans move at the same pace as
at the start. 15 strokes remain. This is madness. And within the madness, the
USA go faster. They have momentum and turn the screws.
With 100 metres to go, the
boats are side by side. The USA rates up to 41 and is maxed out. The South
Africans have been maxed out at 37 since the 1,500 but find something to take
it up to 38.
With 5 strokes to go, the USA inched its way into bronze.
Five strokes later, the race
is done.
Broken bodies are strewn
across the sterns and bows of boats. Sucking in air. Gasping. Cramping. Like
civil rights protesters on a bloodied battlefield.
“I can't believe the news
today
Oh, I can't close my eyes and make it go away”
The results reveal themselves on the scoreboard.
Beyond the 2,000 metres
The aftermath of the Worlds
race is the physical manifestation of where our limits lie. Nothing is left
behind. All that remains are limp bodies requiring time to recover and heal.
The victors and the vanquished. And all you get for your efforts are masterly
corrugated medals with bright ribbons to hang around your neck. For some, not
even that.
It is difficult to comprehend to understand how four athletes are driven down a 2,000-metre course under the forceful and stirring commands of a coxswain navigator if you have not
experienced it. The boat is greater than the sum of its parts. It is greater
than any one athlete. Strength and technical ability are paramount. However, it
is only when the boat moves as one organism under the tentative nurturing of
the cox and the rhythmic exertion of the blades that the boat becomes transcendent
and finds its true speed.
The pursuit of excellence is
paved with the skulls of dead enemies, the lamentations of your parents and
every fibre in the being that God has bestowed upon you.
If you are one of the fortunate ones – and you have the stirrings within you to swing blades and make the boat sing, then that is a fine thing.
That is all you need.
You should
nurture it, feed it and drive it forward. If you are one of the fortunate
ones - and there are a few - and the passion beats deep within your chest, then
now is the time to be brave, to believe, to brace yourself, and to go for it.
Do what is required. Go for it.
~RobbyRicc
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