8601070934
DETROIT FREE PRESS
860216
Sunday, February 16, 1986
METRO FINAL
1C
Photo;Chart Color MARTHA THIERRY
MITCH ALBOM
SEE CHART IN MICROFILM ; SEE ALSO STATE EDITION
Copyright (c) 1986, Detroit Free Press
FIRST IN WAR, PEACE -- AND THE VAULT
NEW YORK -- There is a moment, at the peak of his jump, when a pole vaulter
is a little closer to heaven than the rest of us. I've always wondered if he
says anything special then. Maybe something like, "What the hell am I doing?
This is high. OH, GOD. GET ME DOWN!" I know it's not in a very religious
posture -- twisting up there over the crossbar, trying not to knock it down.
But maybe he says something anyhow. I don't know. I probably never will.
Because, like most of you, I have no intention of ever trying it. Pole
vaulting, I mean.
But I have been hearing a lot about it lately, and I decided it was time
to address the subject.
"Awww, nooo," I hear you say. "He's writing about pole vaulting. Cripes.
Gimme the classifieds, Shirley. I don't need this stuff. Geez-uss. Pole
vaulting. Uh-uhhhn. Geez."
Well. That's OK. It's typical. Most people don't know what the pole vault
is about. Let me tell you what the pole vault is about. It's about half nuts.
It's about a young man charging down a narrow runway, carrying a long
fiberglass pole that looks like a drainpipe off the side of your house, and
jamming that pole into a little box and hurling his body up and over a bar
that's higher than a second-floor window and less stable than a California
marriage, and dropping to earth, flat on his back, into a foam pit. If he's
lucky.
That's what the pole vault is about. You go as high as you can. And that
used to be enough for most people. More than enough. Only now, the pole vault
is about something else.
Now it is about a race. A space race. It's about politics. East versus
West. Us against them.
The pole vault.
The pole vault?
You remember Sputnik? You remember Chuck Yeager chasing the sound barrier
out in the California desert? Well, now we have a new game of
Can-You-Top-This? -- thanks to Billy Olson, a good ol' boy from western Texas,
and Serguei Bubka, a good ol' Ukrainian from the USSR.
In the last few months, Olson and Bubka have kicked around the world
indoor pole vault best as if it were a tin can on a country road. Olson sets
a new height. Bubka beats it. Olson beats that one. Bubka retaliates. Like
track-shoed test pilots, each pushes the outside of the envelope a little
farther. And inch by inch the record has climbed. Until a few days ago,
however, this was a long-distance affair -- Olson here, Bubka there. Now
Bubka has come to America -- to compete.
Which is why I hopped a plane to New York City Friday afternoon, because
you never know when history is going to fall, or rise. They were meeting
that night in Madison Square Garden -- as part of the Millrose Games -- Olson
and Bubka and Joe Dial, an Oklahoman who had sneaked in his own indoor world
best while the other two were catching their breath.
Olson had the most recent indoor mark, 19 feet 5 1/2 inches -- Bubka had
gone 19-5, Dial 19-4 3/4. The outdoor record, held by Bubka, stands at 19-8
1/4. Yes. One man had gone that high with just his strength, his speed and his
pole. And it wasn't enough.
"I can go over 20," said Olson.
"I can go over 20," said Dial.
"I can do 21-6," said Bubka.
The Millrose showdown was the first meeting among all three since this
craziness began. The New York crowd was typically fair-minded. They wore
"Rocky IV" T-shirts. They sang "Born in the USA." Bring out Ivan Drago. Nyet,
nyet -- nyah, nyah.
The bar was raised to the opening height, 17-8 1/2. The vaulters warmed
up, shaking their legs and practice-sprinting down the long, red runway, while
the rest of the Millrose events -- sprints, long jumps, distance races -- took
place around them.
Everyone was thinking world best. It's the least you can expect from a Cold
War confrontation.
It is said that all good pole vaulters are a little insane. I believe
this, mostly because it is the pole vaulters themselves who say it. Most pole
vaulters are pretty loose. They appreciate a good party and like to do things
like jump off balconies into the swimming pool, just for kicks, and can
usually make good animal noises, like coyotes. Or else they're complete loners
with a thing for motorcycles. It's part of the tradition. Remember, this is a
sport that began with men vaulting into piles of sawdust. Now, I don't know
about you, but I wouldn't trust a pile of sawdust to break my fall off the
kitchen table, let alone from 12 feet. It takes a certain kind of man to go
for that.
The same kinds of men who pushed the world's record from 13 feet back in
1912 to where it is today, who kept discovering new material to make poles
out of -- first ash, then bamboo, then aluminum, then fiberglass.
People will tell you the pole vault has gone scientific -- what with
underwater training and wind-tunnel tests and special shoes. Maybe. I say
it's the only sport where you can be defeated because the airline lost your
poles.
That's what happened, perhaps, to Joe Dial on Friday. He was vaulting
well. He was ready to face the Soviet. And there he was, in New York.
Unfortunately, his poles went to Oklahoma -- thanks to a screw-up with the
luggage.
Dial had to borrow a pole from another vaulter -- something which is not
that uncommon, I am told. You can imagine the conversation: "Hey man, lend
me a pole, will ya?"
"What happened?"
"Oh, the airlines again. I tell ya man, if I wasn't a frequent flier
member, I'd just like to kill those people."
With the strange pole, Dial failed to clear a single height. He was back
in his hotel room before the bar reached 19 feet. Done in by a DC-8.
That left Bubka and Olson as the star attractions -- which was fine with
the crowd. Except that there were so many officials and cameramen around the
runway that several vault attempts had to be done over, which led to a
dispute from the Soviets, which led to a dispute from the Americans, which led
to a delay of about 45 minutes in which everyone just stood around and argued.
Bubka, a squat, fullback-type with shaggy brown hair, walked around with
his hands on his hips. Olson, lean and cheeky, threw on a warm-up jacket and
took a seat. The crowd yawned.
The pole vault is a slow-moving event anyhow. Each time a vaulter clears
a height he gets three more attempts. At night meets, the competition often
doesn't end until well after midnight. Some of the biggest world records have
been performed in front of people who can barely keep their eyes open.
But, then, track meets are not exactly first-run events. At one point
Friday night, Olson walked out into the hallway to get some water -- and
waited behind some high school kid at the fountain. When he tried to get back
to the floor, a uniformed guard stopped him and said he needed a pass.
"But ah'm Billy Olson," he said in pure Texan. "Ah'm vaultin.' "
"I don't care who you are," said the guard. "You can't go in without a
pass."
A vault takes all of six seconds. The trick is to be very fast and very
strong and hold the pole -- which is about 17 feet long -- as far back as you
can. When you plant the pole, the energy from your sprint is transferred into
it, thus making it bend and lift you toward the crossbar. The faster and
stronger your run, the more energy you transfer and the higher you can go.
Serguei Bubka is fast and strong. He holds his pole farther back than
anyone vaulting today. "If he were an American he'd be a fullback for the New
England Patriots," said Olson's coach, Don Hood, who was filming Friday's
events from the arena floor. "The difference between us and Russia is that
their best athletes go into track and field. Ours go into football. The only
reason Billy Olson is out there is because he was too slow and too skinny and
too weak to make his high school football team."
Not exactly a ringing endorsement for Olson. But on Friday night, he
wouldn't need words. Actually, all he would need to beat Bubka would be to get
over the bar once. The Soviet pulled a "no-height" -- which means he failed
to clear any of his allotted vaults.
Some showdown.
"The conditions here are less than satisfactory," Bubka said through a
translator. He went on to single out the runway, the number of cameramen, the
crowd behavior and, oh, heck, why not, the entire country.
"If I may say so," he said, "to be frank, I think the conditions here
reflect the American way of life, which is to make the biggest amount of money
out of everything. That's my opinion."
Those were also his blue jeans back in his hotel room. He didn't mention
those. Part of the American way of life.
Anyhow, as you've probably guessed, there were no fireworks here Friday
night. It was bust city -- and it didn't end until 12:20 a.m. Olson won the
competition by clearing 19 feet. He tried three times at an indoor world
best -- 19 feet 5 3/4 inches. The first time he made it about halfway up. The
second time he smashed into the crossbar. The third time he never even lifted
off.
"That's the sport," he said afterward. "Some nights you're golden, and
other nights you can't hardly clear nothin.' "
By the time Olson did his post-meet interviews, Dial was asleep. Bubka
was entertaining some American athletes -- in remarkably good English. The
scribes who were fanning the flames of this new us-against-them stuff were
busy pointing toward future meetings among Olson, Bubka and Dial.
The pole vault was never meant to be an international issue. But then
again, it might work out OK. It is weird enough for anything, even politics.
The vaulters packed up their apparatus, shooks hands and headed off into
the night. I never found out whether, at that frozen moment above it all --
when they are 19 feet closer to heaven than the rest of us -- they ever ask
for divine intervention. But if I were Joe Dial, I know what I'd ask for. I'd
ask for my poles back.
POLE VAULT;US;USSR