8801080110
DETROIT FREE PRESS
880216
Tuesday, February 16, 1988
METRO FINAL CHASER
1D
Photo
MITCH ALBOM
CALGARY '88;SEE ALSO METRO EDITION 1D
Copyright (c) 1988, Detroit Free Press
ZURBRIGGEN KING OF HILL; U.S. LOSES
MUELLER DOOMED BY HIS NO. 1 BIB
CALGARY, Alberta -- His gold medal was slipping away, and all Peter
Mueller could do was watch. By luck of the draw, he had been the first skier
on this Olympic downhill. He had ripped the virgin mountain for all it was
worth, a great run, a daring run, nearly losing a ski on the third curve, then
a speed tuck through the middle, then a blazing finish, exploding over moguls
like buckshot.
It was a manly race, it made you want to hit somebody and say "Damn!" But
now he stood in the snow, helpless, watching the giant screen, and the split
times of skier No. 14, his Swiss teammate, Pirmin Zurbriggen.
"He's going faster," the crowd whispered.
"He could win."
Already a dozen skiers had bombed the Mt. Allan slope trying to catch
Mueller's opening mark of 2:00.14 -- a hell of a time, really, because going
first meant new snow was just lying there, unpacked, to slow him down -- yet
no one could do it. An Italian named Mair veered wide: He landed in the safety
net. A Canadian named Stemle lost control: He skied off the course.
The top hopefuls were almost gone. Mueller set his jaw. The same Swiss
fans who had cheered him down were now cheering for Zurbriggen, 25, who
descended in a lanky tuck, poles back, hands together. He looked as if he
were praying. No doubt Mueller was. At 30, he had already finished second in
one Olympic downhill, thank you, four years ago, to American Bill Johnson. He
didn't need to do it again.
The scoreboard digits spun madly.
"HERE COMES PIRMIN! . . . "
If anything was sacred in skiing, Zurbriggen would have tripped right
then, or missed a gate, or stopped to buckle his boots. Instead he streaked
across in 1:59.63, won the gold, kissed his skis and booted the tradition of
colorful, bad boy downhillers right off the slopes.
Mr. Dull wins Mt. Excitement.
Peter Mueller is the silver man again.
Now this is no knock on Zurbriggen, who has the face of an angel, and
similar pastimes. He prays often. He lists his hero as: "Pope Paul, II." The
son of a Swiss innkeeper, Zurbriggen is a sweet champion, a role model the way
Donny Osmond might be a role model. But the downhill?
No. This is the world's premier guts-for-glory event, as dangerous as you
can get without an engine. It fairly screams, "REBEL!": Bill Johnson, a
one-time car thief; Franz Klammer, the mad Austrian bomber; Jean Claude Killy,
the Ali of the slopes. The downhill gold is sports' answer to the Right
Stuff. Better it should go then to the grizzled Mueller, a man built like a
linebacker, a man who runs hills with a partner on his back. A man who, you
will notice, bears a scar above his eyebrows.
"How did you get it?"
"Walked through a window."
"Why?"
"I don't remember."
Better a guy like this should win -- particularly on his third and last
Olympics, particularly when he not only had to go first, but also endure two
starters who didn't speak the same language.
"The man on the left tell me I have 40 seconds to start, the man on right
tell me 10 seconds," Mueller said afterward, "then all of a sudden, I go!"
Considering that start, this might have been the race of Mueller's life.
What a story, to win the gold on the very first run! And he almost did it.
But Zurbriggen -- the best skier in the world right now -- had two advantages:
a better starting number, and the knowledge of the time he needed to beat.
He won by half a second.
And so, while Zurbriggen took an hour to fill the drug testing bottle,
Mueller lumbered in, a silver medalist again. He conducted a press conference
in three languages -- French, German and English -- speaking all three
himself. This sentence stood out:
"I hate being No. 1. Je n'aime pas No. 1. Ich will nicht der No. 1 sein."
Or something like that.
The irony is, had the race been Sunday, as originally scheduled,
Zurbriggen would have gone fifth, Mueller 11th. A new day meant a new draw.
Mueller got the number no skier wants, particularly when it's snowing. No. 1.
With a bullet.
"Would you like to race again, same course, same conditions, with you No.
14 and Zurbriggen No. 1?"
"Sure!" Mueller said. "When?"
"Next Olympics?"
"Oy vey!"
Hey. Four languages. Yiddish.
Mueller gave Zurbriggen credit: "He skied fantasic." Won fair and square.
But the two teammates do not like each other. Mueller is the old-school
downhiller: wild, unpredictable, in love with speed. Zurbriggen says things
like: "Being a champion doesn't mean I live like a rock star."
And make no mistake, Zurbriggen is champion -- with four more potential
golds to win. He will be a major star. But on this day, this medal, this
mountain, well, it might have been nice to see the old linebacker take one
home.
"Will you retire now?" Mueller was asked.
"We'll see. A friend told me: 'Better to be old and fast than young and
slow.' "
It seems a pretty cool way to lose, watching a teammate eclipse your mark
while you stand in the snow. What to do? Nothing to do. A real downhiller
doesn't hang around. He just skis away.
And off went Mueller, holding the hand of a beautiful blonde, who, one
figures, did not come with the race. You had to wonder what he did with that
No. 1 official bib, the number that might have cost him the gold. Maybe he
will keep it forever, a symbol of how close you can come to your dreams while
still falling short.
Then again, maybe he ate it for breakfast.
CUTLINE:
Zurbriggen calls home.
COLUMN;SKIING;PIRMIN ZURBRIGGEN