Komova - a prodigious talent for performance
I have been pondering the nature of gymnastics talent recently, while viewing some videos of 1992 competitions on YouTube - you can find links to them if you like, by visiting RRG's Facebook page.
What was it that made the Soviets so outstanding? In the videos, you will see three champions, side by side, each competing close to perfect routines almost every time they hit the podium. No sprung floor, no vaulting table, a Code that (1) required compulsory as well as optional routines to be prepared, (2) encouraged innovation in single moves of extreme difficulty, (3) required balanced performances of artistic as well as technical merit, and (4) recognised and rewarded virtuosity.
The three champions I am speaking of each satisfied the Code in different ways: Boguinskaia had unique and incredible grace and amplitude; Lyssenko expressed emotional intensity through an amazing combination of power, difficulty and artistry; Gutsu simply showed some of the most reckless, flighty work of any gymnast ever on bars, beam and floor.
These gymnastics champions produced works of gymnastic art each time they hit the floor; while they occasionally made mistakes, they minimised the impact of those mistakes by being practically perfect in every other way. Was their talent any greater than that of current champions such as Mustafina and, in particular, Komova? I doubt it very much.
Of course, the Commonwealth of Independent States team that represented the disbanded USSR in 1992 had a far deeper bank of talent on which to draw than today's Russian team. Only one Russian, Elena Grudneva, made it onto the Olympic team alongside two Ukrainians (Gutsu and Lyssenko ), two Uzbeks (Galiyeva and Chusovitina) and one Belarussian (Boguinskaia). The selection process had left behind in Moscow the unique abilities of such gymnasts as Groshkova, Kalinina, Kut and Abrashitova, while Latvian stars Sazonenkova and Laschenova were left at home for political reasons.
Psychologically, it was a completely different game for the CIS gymnasts than for the Russian team of today. As a Soviet, just making the team was the big thing; it was a relief to be selected, and the easy job of competing with the rest of the world lie ahead of you. What a difference to today, when making the Russian team is a rather daunting prospect thanks not to the rigour of the selection and the depth of the competition, but to the weight of responsibility that lies ahead at Worlds and Europeans. In a way, it is no wonder that a few of the girls don't seem to like competing that much, suffer from nerves, and break down on the competition floor.
Svetlana Boguinskaia's medals rewarded her performance and competitive ability. The team environment in which she participated required and supported peak performance.
Peak performance was demanded of these Soviet team girls almost all the time, yet few of them had time out for injuries. Lyssenko broke her hand in event finals in 1991 Worlds, but I don't remember her missing a single major event besides that final, despite competing with a tightly strapped leg throughout most of 1991 and 1992. All three of the girls made appearances at relatively minor competitions such as the DTB Cup and European Cup. Their career span was perhaps less than is expected of the gymnasts today, if you take into account gymnasts like Ferrari, Khorkina and Zamolodchikova, but then again Boguinskaia made it to three Olympics, and Lyssenko remained close to the top for four years, which is longer than many US Olympians achieve or want to achieve today.
All this got me to thinking about Komova, perhaps the most prodigiously talented gymnast I have ever seen, at least on a technical level. Gymnastics needs Komova. That floor routine in the all around final in London told you all you needed to know about her. Difficulty, originality, technique, artistry. All the virtuosity in the world in one package : Komova. Who else in the world could transform an assemblage of the Code-necessary leaps, twists, turns and tumbles into such a spontaneous, expressive and fluent performance? Which other country in the world could interpret the Code to such beautiful artistic effect? There is only Komova, and only Russia. All the rest fade into Code-compliance and efficiency in an attempt to avoid deduction, while Komova creatively leaps over and above the Code into a different paradigm of gymnastics, speaking a gymnastic language that the Code cannot understand or reward. At her flawless best, Komova is simply unequalled as a performer.
Mustafina - perhaps the fiercest competitor since Shushunova
Yet as a competitor, Komova's psychological game is well exceeded by her team mate Aliya Mustafina. I do not mean to point the finger at Viktoria and degrade her achievements by referring to her mistakes. We all make them. But it is the reaction to those mistakes that makes a great champion. You only had to watch Mustafina's progress through last year's European Championships to recognise a great champion and fighter in action. Despite a disastrous qualifying routine on the beam, the young woman came back stronger and stronger every time, till she achieved her objective of gold. In the team final of the London Olympics, Mustafina's fall from grace on beam pushed her on to greater things as she secured bronze in the all around, gold on bars and bronze on floor, all on the comeback trail from one of the most serious injuries a gymnast can suffer.
Mustafina's ambition, drive - and sense of responsibility towards her team - reminds me of 1988 Olympic champion Elena Shushunova.
Komova, meanwhile, seems to be a victim of her own nerves. Her negative reaction to her mistakes is often exaggerated, but it cannot be denied that close competition is far from her favourite way of passing time. Instead of celebrating silver medals all around at the 2011 World Championships and 2012 Olympics, Komova sadly sobbed in the arms of her coaches and team mates, oblivious to her world beating achievements. This heartbreaking sight was not a demonstration of poor sportsmanship, but a sincere expression of dismay at falling short of her own - and, perhaps, others' - expectations of herself. If those expectations are set in terms of gold, silver or bronze, the young gymnast has little chance of experiencing the deeper sense of self-actualisation that presumably strengthens and motivates her team mate through all the ups and downs of her career. Despite her fiercely competitive nature, Mustafina seems to celebrate every medal of whatever colour. Any shortcomings or obstacles seem only to drive her on to greater effort and are a step on the way, rather than an endpoint.
The latest news - that Komova now needs an operation to cure another foot injury - seems reflective not only of a career littered with bad luck, but also, perhaps, of an attitude of wanting to delay the moment of her return as long as possible. In fact, perhaps, of not wanting to compete at all. Komova's appearance at the Russian Championships did cause an intake of breath in some circles. The beauty of her work cannot be denied. But was I the only one to be somewhat disappointed? After such a long break I had hoped to see this now swan-like athlete burn through all four apparatus and dominate the arena, setting the standard for the rest of this year. Instead, if anything, she demonstrated her lack of competitive focus with stunning and original work, once again compromised by a lack of stability and confidence. A champion makes her weaknesses into her strengths; while Komova has matured physically, has an equivalent level of development been achieved on a psychological level?
Does this young woman even want to be an elite competitive gymnast any more? If not, does she have the necessary support to make a difficult and life changing decision? Recently, I co-authored a book chapter with some sports coaching students from the University of Central Lancashire about the nature of the coach-parent-athlete relationship. I learned that each point of this triangle contributes to the athlete's performance and well being, and that power relations between the three have to be in balance for peak performance to be achieved. For young Viktoria, that balance must be complicated by her family heritage of excellence in the sport, the familial relationship with her personal coach, and the overbearing presence of the national head coaches. And in the context of a Russian team that 'needs' Viktoria, the pressures to continue must be very great indeed. A similar gymnast - Ilienko for example, who had a great performance talent but less assiduity as a competitor - would have faced far less pressure in continuing beyond her psychological limits simply because her limitations would have excluded her from the team.
I may be completely wrong in this interpretation of events, of course - please feel free to contribute your thoughts and opinions!
Speaking at a distance, it is impossible to say if Komova's repeated injury is purely physical, or a manifestation of psychological trauma. Sympathy is the only reasonable response when anybody claims to be in pain and, presumably, Komova's injury has been diagnosed by a physician and would only be referred for operation if physically necessary. But psychological or emotional pain can be as debilitating and painful as any physical injury. Even the most faithful Komova fan must acknowledge that the rate, impact and timing of Komova's injuries seems more than a little unfortunate. It leads one to think : gymnastics needs Komova, but does Komova need gymnastics?
