“I wanted as much action as I could since
it meant fun.”
Imagine winning an Olympic gold
medal for an event you’ve never competed in—and have barely practiced for. That’s
what happened when Robert Garrett, the captain of the Princeton track team, decided to enter the discus competition in the first modern Olympics in
Athens in 1896.
Hardly anyone in America had heard
of the event much less ever held a discus. In fact, before coming to Greece,
Garrett had never even seen or touched a real discus.
Having
no idea how big or heavy ancient ones were, he and a Princeton classics
professor found a description of one in the writings of Lucian, a
second-century Greek satirist. “A lump of brass, circular and not unlike a
small shield,” wrote Lucian.
That
was all Garrett knew, and that was all he knew to tell the blacksmith he went
to. The result? A 30-pound, 12-inch diameter beast. Garrett could barely
lift it much less throw it. (“I guess he miscalculated a bit,” his grandson would
later say.) But he did try whirling this manhole-cover thing a few times,
including on the ship while crossing the Atlantic. He wasn’t worried about not
entering the discus event—his events were shot put, high jump, long jump, and
standing triple jump.
Hasty race
Garrett
thought he might have more time to practice after arriving in Europe. But
planning for the Olympics in 1896 was not quite what it is today. The American
contingent of 13 athletes thought the games were going to start on April 18. Instead,
to their horror, they learned upon disembarking in Naples that the Greeks used
the archaic Julian calendar, and the games were actually opening on April 6.
The Americans hurriedly crossed Italy overland, hopped another ship, and
then took a 10-hour train ride to get to Athens. Garrett and his fellow athletes immediately
went to Panathenaic Stadium to
familiarize themselves with area. Lo and behold, he found a discus lying on the
ground. To his amazement, it only weighed about five pounds and had an
eight-inch diameter. He tossed it a few times, and winning permission from another athlete’s to practice with his discus, he decided to enter the
event.
This
took a bit of courage, especially because the favorite in the event was local hero
Panagiotis Paraskevopoulos. His nickname? “Discus demigod.” The correspondent
for The New York Herald wrote, “Garrett entered the arena unknown and
unheralded….The Athenians gazed with pity.”
The
event took place on opening day. Garrett’s first throw went awry and barely
went anywhere. His second hurl? Pathetic.
American
competitor Thomas Custis described the competition this way: “His first two
attempts… were laughable, as the discus, instead of sailing parallel to the
ground, turned over and over and narrowly missed hitting some of the audience.
Both foreigners and Americans laughed at his efforts, he, himself, joining in
the general merriment.
No one was more surprised
"On his third and last throw, however,
he succeeded in getting the discus away perfectly and, to the chagrin of the
Greek champion who had made three perfect throws in the most graceful manner
possible, it was found that Garrett's throw exceeded by some two feet the best
throw of any other man. I think no one was more surprised than Robert Garrett
himself.”
A
true Princeton tiger, Garrett had whipped his discus 95 feet and eight inches.
That was seven-and-a-half inches further than the best the ‘demigod’ could do. Indeed, to everyone’s amazement, Garrett won the gold, one of four he took home. His spin job also set a new world’s record.
The
Greeks “were overwhelmed by the superior skill and daring of the Americans to
whom they ascribed a supernatural invincibility enabling them to dispense with
training and to win at games they had never before seen,” wrote travelogue
writer Burton Holmes.
Sixty
years later, Garrett told a newspaper reporter, “I wanted as much action as I
could, since it meant fun. I got into the discus thing never figuring I’d do
anything but finish an absolute last.”
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