The Amateurs (10 page)

In 1977 they had been ready to row in the national double trials, but Wood had become sick and they had been forced to cancel. Both had decided to enter the single trials two weeks later. Stone thought he was rowing very well. In his trial heat he had been pitted against Jim Dietz, who had placed fifth in the Olympic singles in 1972 at Munich and seventh at Montreal in 1976 and was just coming to the end of a career in which he had towered over all other American scullers. Dietz had gone out quickly and had won. But after the race Stone had told Wood that he was sure he could have won but had decided to hold back a little for the finals. Wood had also raced in that trial, but he had not made the final. Stone, rowing better and better, had beaten Dietz and become the champion the next day. If his victory had surprised almost everyone in the world of sculling, it had not surprised Stone. But the triumph had affected his and Wood's plans for a double; they might row together occasionally, but Stone was now the single-scull champion, and that remained his priority even after he and Wood won the U.S. national championship in 1978. A year later Stone, who had not done well in his international racing, was ready to concentrate on the double again, but the boat never moved as well.

Wood, rowing the double with Chris Allsopp, had taken fifth in the world championship in 1978. Wood was confident that he was becoming a better and more accomplished sculler, that he was making the slow transition from sweep oarsman to sculler right on schedule. In 1979 he had rowed in a good quad with Shealy, Allsopp and John Van Blon. That boat had
moved.
The total was clearly greater than the sum of the parts. They were relatively young scullers, the Olympics were looming ahead and they all had high hopes for what they could do in the quad in 1980. In the fall of 1979, Wood won the Head of the Charles in the single, which stamped him as a premier sculler. At the same time Stone, his friend, teammate and boatmate, was beginning to pull back from competition. Shealy, who was sharing a house with Stone, thought that the difference was that Stone had reached his limits and wanted to go on to other things. But Wood's limits were as yet undefined. So he pushed himself relentlessly in those years, training with unusual austerity.

When the Olympic boycott shattered their hopes for the quad, Shealy and some of his other friends withdrew from the team to make the adjustment to more traditional lives. (Along the way Shealy had spent two years at Oxford and had made an ill-fated attempt to try out as a wide receiver for the Cleveland Browns.) But Wood was pushing into new frontiers for himself. Everything was coming together for him as a sculler; he had waited his turn behind Dietz and Stone, and in 1980 it seemed that his time had finally come. Then, in the spring of 1981, John Biglow had showed up on the Charles.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

Tiff Wood had heard of Biglow, of course. Wood was Harvard class of 1975, and Biglow was Yale class of 1980, but rowers knew of each other, and Wood knew that Biglow had been an extraordinary Yale oarsman who had stroked a great and favored Yale crew in a race against Harvard in 1979 that Harvard had won by 4 seconds. Many who had witnessed it, including Harry Parker, considered it probably the greatest race in the two schools' history. Four seconds over four miles was very little, and everyone had been aware of Biglow's remarkable resilience that day. Time and again when Harvard had made its move and had threatened to row through Yale, Biglow had refused to concede and had brought Yale back.

Tiff Wood knew that Biglow was supposed to be good, but he did not take Biglow seriously, since it was his first year in a single scull and he would clearly have to serve his apprenticeship before becoming serious competition. Besides, Wood had already had one previous experience with Biglow. In 1979 they had both been on the national team; and Biglow, who was supposed to have stroked the eight, had become sick and had not been able to row. Biglow had not dealt well with his inability to compete. Tiff Wood's impression of him had been of a gray-faced, sad young man always about to burst into tears. If there was one thing of which Tiff Wood had been sure after that regatta, it was that he would never see John Biglow on a national team again.

In the spring of 1981, Wood had been beating everyone on the Charles, including Stone, and had been rowing almost dead even with a very good woman's four. He was twenty-eight and stronger than he had ever been. He could literally feel his power increasing. Near the end of a race there was simply more strength to summon. He was also more disciplined than ever and more sure of his love for rowing. When Biglow showed up, only twenty-three at the time, Wood had found him a pleasant, modest young man, and they had begun to row together in practice. One day they had done a series of 2-minute pieces. A piece is a given section of a workout, and pieces are usually done in practice as a series of repetitions. Because Biglow was not supposed to be as good as Wood, Biglow had begun with a little head start. On the first four pieces Wood had passed him, but on the fifth and sixth pieces Wood suddenly realized that he was no longer gaining on Biglow. On the last piece Biglow had realized what was happening and without either of them saying anything, they had started out even.

That night, Wood had rowed back and sat in the boat-house and thought, "Oh, he's really good. He is very, very good." Later Biglow had come into the boathouse, and Wood had told him he had rowed very well. "You were beating me on some of those pieces today," he had said very quietly. Clearly the challenger had arrived.

Two days later they had rowed again, doing fifteen-hundred-meter pieces, and Biglow had beaten Wood on all three. Even more ominously for Wood, there had been a double out that day with Shealy and Stone in it. Although it was not a championship double, it was nonetheless a double, with two very accomplished oarsmen in it. In one of the pieces the double had rowed against the two singles. Shealy and Stone had given the two singles head starts, and then gradually the double had started catching up. With five hundred meters to go, Biglow had turned it on, racing all out, and he had managed to stay ahead of the double. Wood, watching, knew he was in serious trouble, but he consoled himself with the fact that though Biglow clearly was a very talented oar, he was nonetheless new at it and had not raced in competition before. That was a very different matter. There were lots of men who looked good in practice and were not quite as good in races. Wood prided himself that his strength was in the races themselves. Wood decided that Biglow would have to wait his turn.

A few weeks later they had rowed against each other in the New England regional championship in Hanover. In the heat, which neither needed to win, Biglow had been slightly ahead at the end, with both of them coasting. Biglow had turned and said, "Gee, this isn't too hard." The remark had annoyed Wood, who had been content until then to let Biglow win the heat, and Wood had sprinted for the finish. In the final there was room for only three lanes, and Joe Bouscaren had rowed in the third lane. If it was the first time the three of them had ever rowed in singles against each other, it was by no means the last. Wood had gone out very quickly and very hard, at a thirty-eight, an unusually high stroke. He had kept it there for the first five hundred yards, and for all of that he was only three quarters of a length ahead of Biglow. Then in the second five hundred Biglow had almost rowed through Wood. But Wood had held on, determined not to be psychologically defeated, as would be so easy, having put out so much and gotten back so small a lead. With five hundred meters left, when they were almost dead even, Wood started to sprint. That meant Biglow had to respond, and they had rowed almost side by side for five hundred meters, matching stroke for stroke, neither conceding, neither taking the stroke up, each simply trying to put more power into each stroke. It was an almost perfect race, and both Wood and Biglow had been hypnotically fascinated by it. This was the hardest kind of race because there was no way to back down. The pain in Biglow's arms and legs had been so terrible that he had wished that Wood would either surge ahead or fade and spare him all of this.

Normally, in any race, there is a moment when the pain becomes too great and one of the racers either physically or psychologically, it does not matter, cracks. It does not have to be a very big crack, just one rower making his surge, pouring everything in and breaking either his competitor or himself. But neither racer faltered. They simply matched strokes for the last third of the race. Biglow decided that the only way to continue was to think of one stroke at a time, that and nothing more. Only then could he keep rowing. They crossed the finish line in a dead heat, although the angle of the finish line favored Biglow. Bouscaren was far behind. "Good race, John," Wood said to his opponent. Good race, he thought, hell, it was almost perfect.

For Wood the experience had been exhilarating. Quite possibly he had rowed an almost perfect race. He had rowed his absolute best and found someone he could not row through. Anyone else would have come apart in that race. He is a wonderful oar, Wood had thought, just a wonderful oar. Later that day Wood realized he had mixed feelings. Part of him was a little sad because he had lost, and part of him felt profoundly enhanced because he had been a principal in something so nearly perfect. Biglow, he realized, was not going to have to wait for a year or two. He had already arrived.

Nonetheless, Wood was still confident he could beat Biglow but was careful not to practice with him anymore. He believed that since he was experienced and Biglow was not, joint practices helped Biglow gain confidence. Tiff Wood saw no need to improve John Biglow's confidence. That race in Hanover had been quite enough of a contribution.

Biglow was, of course, very pleased that he had won, and somewhat surprised that he had come on so quickly as a sculler. Single sculling was not supposed to be like this. He was not supposed to beat the top sculler in the country in his first race. In rowing it was proper to ascend slowly, not win from the start. In the trials later that year, he and Wood had been in the same heat. The winner would go to the finals, everyone else to the repechage. In the heat Wood had been about a half length behind Biglow with five hundred meters to go when Biglow hit a buoy. Wood had heard the crack of the oar and then the sound of Biglow catching a crab, and he had immediately turned on all his power and had taken a quick length lead to win the heat. That had sent Wood directly to the finals and Biglow to the repechage. The heat had been in the morning, the rep was in the afternoon and the final was the next morning. In the final Wood still felt sore in his legs from his race the previous day, and he had gone out at a low rate. He had heard Harry Parker in the background shouting to take the stroke up. Bouscaren had held the early lead, and then Biglow had just rowed right through him and through Wood. That had taught Tiff Wood that Biglow was special, that his endurance was exceptional and that he became stronger as a regatta went on. In the months after that they became not just competitors but also good friends. They loved rowing against each other in practice. The pleasure was special. No one could push Wood like Biglow, and no one could push Biglow like Wood. Off the water they were unlikely friends; but bonded as they were by this sport, by the fact that what each liked best in those spring days was to row against the other, they became closer and closer. The time was the most productive either had ever known on the water, and while Biglow was winning most of the longer pieces, they were astonishingly even. Each could feel himself improving every day. Wood knew they were both going very fast, and he was confident when Biglow left for Europe that summer that he was going to do very well in international competition. Wood's admiration for Biglow grew, as a competitor and as a man. John, he thought, was an oarsman of complete integrity. He gave everything he had on every stroke and he never cheated. Biglow in turn felt protected by Wood, who was older, more mature and more confident and who now openly shared everything he had. It was like having a wonderful older rowing brother.

CHAPTER

NINE

This spring their workouts were taking place under the eye of Harry Parker. To Wood, who had rowed for him in different capacities for thirteen years, he was a singular figure of authority. The most natural thing in the world was to go up to Newell Boathouse and work out for three or four hours and then wait to hear a few pithy but prized words from Harry. For Biglow and Bouscaren he was a figure even more shrouded in the mystique of winning, for in their college years Yale had probably had better crews and Harvard had nonetheless always won. Biglow approached Parker as if he knew some sort of final secret that once passed on would guarantee success.

But even without this mystique, Parker was a dominating personality. As these oarsmen readied themselves for the Olympic trials, he, more than anyone else, was in their thoughts and they talked constantly about him—what his mood was, whom he was paying attention to, what signals (however small) he might be sending out.

In another sport what a coach felt might not mean so much; but in rowing, where everything was so subtle, where it was so difficult to calibrate the differences among oarsmen, all of whom looked powerful, the coach's views were even more crucial. When coaches in other sports had great teams, star athletes shared much of the credit. One thought of the great John Wooden basketball teams and one thought not just of Wooden but of Jabbar and Walton as well, of Bear Bryant and his superb quarterbacks Joe Namath and Ken Stabler. But in rowing, a great crew's glory was divided by eight, and so the towering figure was the coach, particularly a coach who won year after year. There was an implicit belief that if a young man turned into a great oarsman, somehow Harry Parker had helped shape him.