Compulsories: compulsory viewing

In the past I have elected not to spend much time watching compulsory routines. Why? Because I find watching them incredibly depressing.

This is not, however, due to me disliking them. It is simply due to the fact that I enjoy them to the point where my sadness that they no longer exist begins to outweigh the happiness I get from watching. This may sound like an exaggeration, but I truly believe that compulsory routines were one of the main factors keeping gymnastics artistic, polishing and brilliant throughout the 80s and 90s.

To some, compulsories must have seemed as normal a part of gymnastics as the four apparatus themselves. To others, such as myself, they are a strange and wonderful event which we never had the opportunity to view and discuss in the present tense (at least with any real perspective- I doubt my 7 year old self would have had much to say about the compulsory competition in 1996).

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A quick visit to Wikipedia provides the following description of compulsory routines: “[they] heavily emphasized perfect technique, form and execution” - three aspects of the sport that modern gymnastics whiners lament on a daily basis. Sure, there were bad aspects of compulsories; but for a brief few minutes lets indulge in a full scale whinge about one of the sport’s greatest losses.

WHY COMPULSORIES WERE GREAT

They provided (in theory) a standardized, comprehensive test of the basic gymnastic capabilities of every single competitor at a meet - but they were much prettier to look at than an SAT paper. Compulsory exercises, although technically far easier than the optional routines which followed, were just as hard in many aspects because the judges knew EXACTLY what they were looking for. Not once since has the quest for utter perfection been so wonderfully captured: compulsory exercises left no room for slouchy breathers between tumbling passes or half baked corner poses passed off as choreography. Every aspect of the routine was constructed with delivery and technique at the forefront, from the tumbling to the leaps to the simplest of delicate hand movements.

They encouraged real attention to the basics of gymnastics, the bread and butter which act as a solid foundation to all difficulty piled on later. Gluing ones legs together during a back handspring or hitting 180 on a split leap was not a cherry-on-top technicality but an essential pre-requisite to a good score (the attainment or failure of which had profound consequences on ones progression into event finals). Rarely have I seen anywhere else the striking technical perfection right to the tip of the toes that was the norm amongst the top competitors in the compulsory competitions.

Something we have seen less and less of over the years is the stuck landing. My opinions are mixed on this. Obviously nothing ends a routine better, or looks better, that an upright planted landing. However it does get incredibly wearing when commentators begin talking about this 30 seconds before the end and for the entire slow motion replay: it is cool, but not everything. These days, though, with the stuck landing being seen less and less, one can’t help but think that it is losing its place as one of the deciding factors for a medal. At the last Olympics, only 1 of 4 apparatus gold medallists stuck their dismount.

Sandra Izbasa's triple twist: the only "stuck" dismount from the Beijjing event finals

With technique and presentation paramount in the judging of compulsories, stuck landings were a necessity for a huge score (in all fair examples, anyway). Surely having the importance of such endings drummed into ones training regime would make the same mantra spill over into the optional routines? Maybe is compulsories were still around today, training would more greatly reflect the need for a stick.

This point precedes my main reason for loving compulsories: whether consciously or subconsciously, they set an example moving forward into optional routines. If gymnasts have to hit a proper split one day, why not do it the next? Stick a landing one day, why not the next? Polished, expressive choreography one day, why not the next? The list goes on. Basically, compulsories provided an “ideal world” in gymnastics, laying down the standard for technique and artistry.

It seems to me no coincidence that the interpretation of floor music and quality of choreography has declined in general since 1996. Even the floor routines we loved in 2000 had begun to lose some of their artistic edge (which can be seen in the wild differences between Lilia’s golden performance in Atlanta and Zamo’s golden performance in Sydney - but that’s not to say I dislike the latter, I think it is great nonetheless). With compulsory floor routines filled with compulsory choreography, even the least confident and able of dancers would have to learn and practice SOME classic dancing just to get through the stadium doors. Many gymnasts competing today look almost embarrassed by their choreography and unwilling to perform it wholeheartedly.

WHERE COMPULSORIES FELL SHORT

Ironically, although compulsories on paper appear to be the perfect, standardized ideal described above, the reality was often very different. It seems that, with everyone performing the same skills and hence the scoring entirely subjective of the performance, it may have been easier for judges to award the top countries the benefit of the doubt. I believe that the old compulsory system exacerbated the team “score building” phenomenon that was allowed to penetrate the scoreboards for far too long. Such bias acts as a roadblock for emerging gymnastics states, and one cannot help but wonder whether countries like Great Britain and more recently Vietnam (albeit with a single competitor) would have enjoyed the same breakout success had compulsories still been around.

An example from the top of my head comes from the 1992 compulsories, and from one of my all time favourites Svetlana Boginskaya. Svetlana was great, but she benefited from her celebrity. The Wag competitors in the compulsory competition on vault had to work very hard for 9.8+ on the vault, yet Bogi breezes through a 9.850 with a noticeably shaky landing. Would this have been the same if she wasn’t wearing the Unified Team leotard that night? Who knows, but I would venture a no.

Worth a 9.850?

This scored a 9.837...

Lastly, thoughts must turn to the athlete’s stamina. Compulsory competitions mean a whole other rotation of the apparatus. Would today’s girls manage modern difficulty during “optionals” with a whole other day added?

So, admittedly, compulsories were a two sided coin. However, with less international bias these days, and a sorry state of basic presentation and artistry, this gymnastics enthusiast for one would love to see a return of these much missed competitions. I actually think they might nowadays benefit smaller programmes: if added to the team competition and qualifying scores, they would allow basic presentation to factor into the medals as opposed to huge difficulty (in which the powerhouse countries seem to lead the field). They also might play a helping hand in outlawing skill chucking forever, and would definitely help the expressively challenged competitors of the modern day with both a real incentive to improve artistically and a subconscious inclination to do so.

For now, a return seems unlikely. But until such a point, the golden days of compulsory glory should be compulsory viewing for all gymnastics fans. 

THREE OF THE BEST (in my humble opinion)

1.The mother of all....

2. Shannon at her best....

3. Sveta keeps it classy....

Requiem for the real All Arounders?

It is commonly stated that the winner of a world or Olympic level All Around competition is the best gymnast in the world at that time. And on paper this is of course true. An AA champion is the male or female who amasses through their athletic work the greatest total number of points in the competition: they are by all accounts the winner.

But what is it that we expect of an all around champion? Has it changed?

For once, this is not merely about the end of the 10 or the start of uncapped D scores. This is about the common thread of thought amongst gymnastics fans that there was once such a thing as “true all arounders”, and that this iconic definition has, over time, slipped from our screens and scoresheets.

So what does the phrase “true all arounder” actually refer to? To me, it means someone who is not saved by the average. Someone who is great on all events and by virtue of this can truly be crowned the best in the world. To use a similar example, think of final exams. Some people come do well through well rounded success, and others achieve by smashing some papers and simply surviving on others.

It does seem to be true that gymnasts from bygone quads seemed to have a more well rounded talent. Tatiana Gutsu, for example, didn’t appear to have any real noticeable weaknesses. The same could be argued for an early Shannon Miller and Svetlana Boginskaya. Nowadays this is not always the case. People spend a lot of time talking about AAers vs specialists, but in the modern day of the open ended code is there anything except specialists with a few shortfalls? Are modern day gold medallists simply specialists in AA leotards?

One of the gymnasts most memorably referred to as a true all arounder is Ukrainian superstar Lilia Podkopayeva. At even the mention of her name I can hear Elfi Schlegel squeaking on about her being the true package gymnast from the 1996 AA coverage. It is true in a way: Lilia was really quite good on all 4 of the events. But can even she be classed as a true AAer?

http://www.oocities.org/smashing_zero/lilia.JPG

My main point here is this: when one thinks hard enough about the true all arounder, the question becomes not whether it has changed, but if it ever existed at all. A “perfect” well rounded competitor would sweep competitions (which in fairness Boginskaya did at the 1990 European Championships). But we rarely ever see this, and in the modern day it is an almost laughable concept. It has become commonplace for gymnasts to make their name on one or two apparatus and put it decent performances on the others to take golds.

In saying this I am not belittling achievements or criticizing podiums: having stand out talent is not a bad thing. But when did it start? I believe that Khorkina was the first gymnast to win major all around titles based mainly on her prowess on a single apparatus. That is not to say that she wasn’t good on the others, but it is to say that without her signature she may not have been top of the world. Let’s check some averages. In the 1997 all around, if we take away the top score before calculating the averages for the top 3 athletes (Khorkina, Amanar, Produnova) the following podium is produced.

Compare this to the 1996 podium: Podkopayeva still wins even without her mammoth floor score to boost her average. 

I also calculated this for the 2008 Olympic All Around. I was surprised to find that without Shawn’s beam and Nastia’s bars, they draw. It is interesting to see that they were only separated in the rankings by their specialisms.

To bring this ramble to a close, it is actually surprisingly difficult to think about what we actually look for in an All Around champion. On paper, the thought of a consistent performer who does clean and stable routines across four apparatus is appealing. But in practice this is often really boring (I am thinking people like Sloan and Olaru). But then again, a performer saved by one apparatus with some real low points is unconvincing as a winner.

Things certainly have changed, but I think it is the system and not the gymnasts. Perhaps we would have seen a greater degree of “AA specialism” if the old code was not there as a sort of equalizing upper limit across all four events (it seemed at times that consistency across events was produced by not encouraging the development of difficulty and hence many gymnasts who may otherwise have developed a huge routine somewhere did not have the need to). This works both ways, though: it was probably much easier, once upon a time, to get by despite being “bad” at a particular apparatus. Would Kim Zmeskal and Gina Gogean manage a decent enough bar routine if they were competing in more recent quads?

So, what happened to the All Arounders? Maybe there never were any.