New York City Splash

Lia Neal: Olympian, New Yorker, Young Ambassador... Forget the stars for a moment. Take a look over at lane eight. You'll find a young Olympian from somewhere different - the greatest city on earth. About time Gotham got on the map. Lia Neal, lives in Brooklyn, trains in Manhattan, is now an Olympian.

Are you familiar with her story? You can be forgiven if not. Last night in Omaha was one of the all time great nights of swimming. Every superstar delivered. Lochte, Phelps, Franklin, Soni, Coughlin, every last A-lister was in action Saturday night, and every one of them made the Team. Nights like that, it's easy to miss something special happening over in those end lanes...

A brief history of 17-year-old Lia Neal: She's been a record-setting phenom forever. She broke National Age Group records in the sprints at age 10 and 12. Four years ago, she made Trials at age 12. The New York Times ran a feature on her at 13. They wrote about more than her precocious talent. See, Lia Neal could also be the poster child for the Make a Splash campaign. She's a biracial barrier breaker. Her dad is African-American and her mom is Asian. (As my wife and I affectionately refer to our daughter - she's a "halfsie.")

Last night she became just the second African-American woman to make a U.S. Olympic swim team. (Maritza Correia was the first, back in 2004...) I'd like to add that she's also the second halfise to make the Team in 2012. Nathan Adrian is also half Asian. Must be something to those Chinese moms with the sprinters!

This diversity will generate plenty of press, and rightly so. It's the best possible thing that could happen to this sport. Swimming needs more color. And I mean that in more than just the literal black and white sense. We need more melting in the pot. That also extends to where these Olympians come from. Cities, not just roots.

The procession of California, Florida, and Texas gets a little old sometimes. Swimmers come from the other 47 states too. But how many come from New York City? Has there ever been another U.S. Olympic swimmer born and bred from NYC? Not to my knowledge. At least not since World War II.

New Yorkers have pride in excess. Actually, we have pretty much everything in excess. The best and the brightest come here. You either make it, or your spirits are broken and you limp away to more relaxed pastures. (As Sinatra crooned: "If I can make it here...") But for all that we-can-do-anything ambition, Gotham has never produced many great swimmers. This is understandable, I suppose. It's a tough place to be an athlete. Temptation is ubiquitous. Distractions are endless. Not an easy town for a teenager to wake before dawn and take the subway over to morning workout.

But Lia Neal just did it. From way out in lane eight, she charged onto the Olympic team with a tough 4th place finish in the 100 free. There won't be small town parades in her honor; her local paper won't put her on the front page; her school probably won't treat her like an OMG deity. Those sorts of reactions are nice, but they're for smaller towns. That is, everywhere else. Back home, there is sure to be plenty of praise for Lia. But it will be New York style. No bullshit, totally genuine props, followed by the impatient and hard to impress 'what's next?'

For Lia Neal, that could mean relay gold in London. She's an Olympian from New York City.

Strike up the Sinatra. She won't be the last.

The Big O and the Traveling Swim Circus

Big ratings, packed houses - and packed pools in Omaha...  The cabbie knew all about it. So did the late night Motel 6 desk clerk on the outskirts of town. So does everyone else in this Gateway to the West. They're a city on the move; indeed Forbes magazine ranked it America's number one Fastest Recovering City. This is a town that's aware of its growing stature and eager to get the respect it's long deserved. The sport of swimming can relate.

For the last five days, Omaha has rolled out the red carpet for swimming - and swimming has returned the favor, delivering big time TV ratings and packed houses at the beautiful Century Link arena each night.

After spending the first three nights of U.S. Trials watching the action live on NBC from my couch, I boarded the 8pm Thursday flight from La Guardia to Omaha. (Bad planning on my part, as that departure time meant missing all of Night Four...) I got caught up on the results with a flurry of texts upon landing, then got caught up on everything else from our cabbie and the desk clerk.

In the morning I caught up with some friends from USA Swimming during prelims. They had that restrained but giddy excitement of a championship team at halftime, refusing to claim victory just yet, but ready with the evidence. First, NBC's ratings... They've been killing it.

On the first two nights, the live broadcast scored a 4.7 rating and an 8 share. They won both nights. On the third night, ratings crept higher still, as NBC scored a 5.0 and a 9 share. Then on Thursday night, they dipped slightly (Thursday always brings the heavy TV competition), but produced a still strong 4.3 and another 8 share.

A note on these always esoteric ratings: The first number, the rating, refers to the percentage of TV households watching a given program. The second number, the share, refers to the percentage of TVs in use that are tuned to a given program. The current estimate is that there are 115.9 million TV households in the U.S. Therefore, when these ratings are converted to number of viewers, this means that around five and a half million Americans have been watching swimming every night this week. Watching swimming that is not the Olympics. That has never happened before, not even close.

To experience it live is something to behold. They've been averaging around 14,000 tickets a night. Sold out or damn close every finals session. Even the prelims are reportedly sold out this Saturday morning. Watching swimming in a sold out frenzied arena filled with all the slick loud production of an NBA finals game is something the sport has just never experienced. It's disorienting in the best of ways.

I've spent three decades going to swim meets, seen them large and small from damn near every angle. There's never been a meet like this. Sure, the Olympics - by definition - take it to the next level, but that's something else entirely, a closed society of competition available only to a minuscule silver of the world's best athletes. The Trials on the other hand are open to many. Too many some are saying.

There's the catch: the times. They're slow. Slower than they should be, and the reason is pretty clear to most coaches. There are too many swimmers here. Around 1,850. Only 52 make the Team. Only around 200 have even a remote shot at making the Team. This means that 90% of the athletes at this meet are really Trials tourists.

These tourists create packed warmup pools, endless heats of prelims, and less than optimal conditions for the true contenders to be at their best. If you swim your prelim heat of the 400 IM in the late afternoon, after a dozen heats of swimmers going slower than their seed time, then have little time to lunch and nap before finals, well that doesn't exactly set you up for an all time effort at night.

"They need to be real careful that the marketing side of things doesn't overtake the athletes as the top priority," said one top coach.

From one angle, you can see that happening, and these grumbles are valid. But from another, you need to ask yourself - would the scale of this event be possible without those eighteen hundred athletes / tourists? They're the ones making this the event it is. It's their friends and families who fly to Omaha and pack the stands, who tune in back home and drive the TV ratings.

Some would disagree, and claim that U.S. Trials could be just as big - both in ticket sales and ratings - with harder qualifying standards and many less swimmers in the meet. (Like it used to be, a generation ago - when it was staged in 1,000-seat natatoriums and aired on TV a week later...) Maybe the one-two fame punch of Phelps / Lochte has lifted the sport to that level - where events can be driven by fans not of the friends and family variety. Maybe we're getting close, but we're not there yet. It's a tricky balance.

However, for swimmers and coaches grousing about these packed conditions in Omaha, there might be something else worth remembering: Conditions are never ideal at the Olympics either. Insane security, mind boggling logistics, impatient international media - these are things that can affect performance too. Time to get used to being out of your comfort zone.

Because these are Trials. The final test to see if you have what it takes, no matter what stands in your way.

Rumblings of Relay Doom

Four years ago, an epic in Beijing... Is an encore even possible in the men's 4 x 100? It's too soon. Yeah, I know. They haven't even swum the final yet. But I'm not the only one reading the writing on the wall. It's written in Australian. Similar language, easy to read...

Maybe in the finals of the men's 100 free, things will break wide open. Maybe Nathan Adrian and Jimmy Feigen will both go 47-mid. Maybe miracle man Jason Lezak will find his way back on the Team and Olympic lightning will strike twice.

Maybe, maybe, maybe... When you come across that many unknowns in business, you don't make the bet.

Because right now, here's how things look: The American men will be fighting for the bronze in the men's 4 x 100 free relay in London. As it stands now, the Aussies are in another league. The French look better too. And the Russians are to be reckoned with.

Right now, the top American sprinter is over a second slower than his Aussie counterpart, James Magnussen, in 2012. Nathan Adrian's top-seed time in the semi-finals would make him the 4th best Aussie, 1/100th behind Matt Targett and two tenths ahead of Eamon Sullivan's best this year.

Of course, the Americans have something they do not. That is: the two best swimmers in history. (Yes, Ryan Lochte has surpassed Mark Spitz as the 2nd best ever behind Phelps...) Neither will be racing in that 100 free final, but both will without question be on that relay in London. Phelps will almost certainly lead off in 47-something. Can Lochte do the same? His 48.9 in semis wasn't exactly an eye-opener, but then we know he's still in tune-up mode, focused on filling his Olympic scorecard with a Phelpsian laundry list of events.

Which means we're really only talking about two spots available. Places 3rd through 6th will be relegated to prelims only, despite the inevitable grumbles.

So, like the now champion Miami Heat, the question comes down to the Other Guys. Like Lebron and D-wade, Phelps and Lochte must carry the load. That goes without saying. But they won't win without a lot of help. It just doesn't look like it will be there.

Yes, we've heard this before. Do you remember Rowdy Gaines's pre-race call before that relay in Beijing? It went something like this: "Dan, I've done this race on paper so many times and I just don't see how the Americans can win. The French just look like the better team." The sad settling for silver went right up until the last lap, with Lezak still way back. With forty meters to go, Hicks says: "The United States trying to hang on for silver..."

And then...

Then, the greatest finish to any race in Olympic history. Watch it again on YouTube. It holds up. Still gives you chills. Wherever you're from, I imagine it will be giving swim fans chills for the next century. It's swimming's version of the Shot Heard Round the World.

These things don't happen twice. Especially when the odds are even longer four years later. The French were very very good in Beijing, the deserved favorite. In London, the Aussies will be better.

But as they say at the track: That's why they run the race.

Just don't bet on it.

Exhausted Eloquence

Coughlin to Franklin, passing the post-race torch...  How many times have you cringed? You've just watched a great one, a record breaking display of toughness and talent. The swimmers climb from the pool and then Dan Hicks sends it down to Andrea Kremer. A word from our champion...

It's so painful sometimes. As awe-inspiring as they can be in the water, the post-race interviews can be hard to watch. So often it's a panting cliché-fest, punctuated by a flood of 'like' and 'um' and utterly empty expressions of joy. It is what it is (to follow with another cliché), and it's not like we're watching them for their eloquence. We're watching because of what they do in the water. It's not entirely fair to expect that brilliance to extend on deck in front of a microphone. But that doesn't make it any less embarrassing.

Now cut to a just turned 17-year-old, braces fresh off, pressure of the world on her broad shoulders. She should be a giggling, shrugging, she's-just-young mess in those interviews. Yet, 17-year-old Missy Franklin has emerged as the most eloquent swimmer on the U.S. Olympic Team. Her responses to post-race questions don't seem real. They're so pitch perfect it's like they were scripted.

Tonight she became an Olympian for the first time. That seems strange, considering she's already the most hyped female swimmer in America. But until she touched the wall first in the 100 backstroke (less than 20 minutes after swimming her 200 free semi-final), Missy Franklin could not yet call herself an Olympian. That should all be a bit overwhelming for the girl. You wouldn't know it when she was put on the spot, panting post-race, by Andrea Kremer.

There was appreciation; there were complete sentences; there was pure joy; and there was the humble payoff to her inspiration, Natalie Coughlin, the woman she had just officially surpassed as the new face of the American women's Team.

Coughlin is having a rough meet thus far in Omaha. Still seeking an Olympic berth, it now seems likely that she will be appearing in London only as a member of the women's 4 x 100 free relay. (She might be off her game, but there's no way she's not in the top six in the 100 free...) This will put her in the role of elder stateswoman who's mostly off stage, there to offer sage wisdom. She could not have a more worthy successor.

I don't mean in the water. Sure, Coughlin and Franklin share many similarities in the pool. They're both all-time backstrokers who can also swim almost anything else. (But breaststroke!) They're a pair physical geniuses, coaches' dreams who make it look easy. But they might have even more in common out of the water.

Ever since she burst on the scene as a teen phenom herself, Coughlin has stood out for her eloquence. Clearly smarter than the average (Cal) Bear, her post-race interviews were always a pleasure. She just had it, an intuitive sense of the sound-byte. In her interviews with Andrea and others, she actually said something. It was never empty jock-speech drivel, which is mostly what these interviews are all about.

Now enter Missy Franklin. No agent, still an amateur, so one has to figure she's never had much media training. She just gets it. Or maybe she doesn't. Maybe Frankin's astonishing eloquence in these interviews is simply due to the fact that she's being genuine. She's grateful, she's good, and she's thrilled to be in this position. End of story. How hard is that to express?

Actually, very. I've been paid to write the words for smart men and women as they stand in front of the camera. It's not that these commentators can't think or speak for themselves, it's just that they can often use a hand. An expert behind the curtain to serve up the sharp lines and the exhaustive research. Speaking on live TV in front of millions of people is no easy thing. Especially when your heart is pumping 180 beats a minute and your family is crying and your friends are hugging and a broadcast network is positioning you as a face of its billion dollar investment...

Maybe Missy Franklin is aware of all this, or maybe she's still too young to really grasp what's swirling all around her. No matter. When she exits the pool, there is no better representative of this sport. Tonight, right after she spoke to Andrea Kremer, I texted a friend in the NBC production truck. I wrote: "I could not sit down and script better quotes from Franklin." He just texted me back.

He wrote: "She's a superstar in every sense."

Shelf Life of a Rivalry

The "story" of Hansen vs. Kitajima...  The king was there looking on. He was sitting smiling in the cheap seats, wearing a mesh hat with a sequined #1 emblazoned on the front. Rest assured, he was neither impressed nor threatened. Kosuke Kitajima was there, most likely, to support his training partner at USC. The one who finished second tonight - Eric Shanteau. The guy who won the race was a vanquished rival, a proud memory. All apologies for pissing on an admirable comeback and a nice London storyline, but the so-called rivalry between Brendan Hansen and Kosuke Kitajima ended long ago.

NBC does not want to hear this, and neither does Hansen. But it's true.

Facts:

1. Kosuke Kitajima is the greatest breaststroker who's ever lived. In a few weeks in London, he will likely complete swimming's version of the Triple Double. That is, double breaststroke gold at three straight Olympics.

2. Brenden Hansen is one of the best breaststrokers ever. A former world record holder with four Olympic medals - a silver and bronze individually and a couple of medley relay golds. He's in the conversation with the great ones, but he's a big notch below his one-time nemesis.

3. From 2004 - 2007, these two had an incredible rivalry. Kitajima took him at the Games in Athens; Hansen claimed the world titles a year later in Montreal. Hansen got the best of him again in 2007, in the 100 breast at the Worlds in Melbourne.

4. In 2008, Kitajima ended this rivalry for good. He defended both breaststroke Olympic titles. Hansen finished 4th in the 100, and did not make the Team in the 200.

Which brings us to a curious statement made by Hansen in his post-race interview with NBC's Andrea Kremer... When asked what Kitajima should think about this race in Omaha, Hansen replied rather defiantly: "Now he knows how hard it is to make the U.S. Olympic team."

Ok... Fair enough. It's beyond dispute that Team USA is the single hardest Olympic team to make on the planet, in any sport. Most of the time. Except, for example, in the case of the men's breaststroke events, where it's actually harder to make the Japanese team these days.

Take a look at the current world rankings. The top two ranked men in the world are both Japanese right now. Kitajima is back ranked number one, as is his custom in Olympic years. Who's next? Ryo Tateishi, with a time of 59.60. Eight one-hundredths faster than Hansen's winning time tonight, and half a second faster than the time Shanteau needed to grab the second spot on the US team. Put another way: If Hansen was Japanese, his comeback would not have resulted in a return to the Games.

This is not meant to criticize a rare successful comeback. Lord knows, there are plenty of unsuccessful comebacks to poke fun at these days... (21st place, Ed Moses? Really?) No, Hansen deserves a bow of respect for what he's done. He's back in the medal hunt after walking away and drying off completely for a few years. Plenty of retired egos think that's easy. The bodies scattered by the side of the comeback trail this year prove that it's anything but.

Still, in the rush to sell every developing Story of these coming Games, let's be honest. By definition, a rivalry means a competition between perceived equals. There's no equality here. Kitajima ended that discussion four years ago.

That is, until Brendan Hansen proves all the haters wrong - and wins that long deferred gold on July 29th in London.

Kingdom of Troy

One coach, four of six Olympians on Day One...  How'd your crew swim today? A few best times maybe, did they handle the Trials pressure? If it could have been better, maybe you should take some notes from this man...

On night one of the U.S. Trials, Gregg Troy's Gators owned Omaha. There were six Olympic spots available. Coach Troy produced four of them. A rather impressive .666 batting average. Even the devil bows in respect.

To recap:

- Ryan Lochte controls the 400 IM from the first stroke of butterfly. I have never watched a more sound defeat of Michael Phelps. It's never happened, ever really. And that's with huge props to Phelps tonight. The guy swam a 4:07, and he'll be the first to admit that he did it on one year of training. 2009, '10, and most of '11 were really a wash for him. It's a testament to his other-worldly abilities that the guy can go that time with the work he's put in over the last four years. But Lochte has earned every step of his ascendance. He really swam a 4:05 tonight. Under the flags, he looked like Usain Bolt finishing the 100 meters in Beijing, without the showboating. Lochte just shut it down. Phelps' world record is under watch in London.

- In the men's 400 free, Peter Vanderkaay had to have a disastrous swim not to make the Team. He was the top seed by three seconds. In the end, he had to fight for it. To his side in lane three, Charlie Houchin gave him everything he could handle over 350 meters, but over in lane five, Vanderkaay's Florida training partner Conor Dwyer was just biding his time. As they turned for home, Dwyer flipped in third, yet it was clear he was already on the Team. Watch enough races and last lap momentum becomes clear as can be. In the end, it was a couple of Coach Troy's boys - PVK and Dwyer. The times were less than impressive, but who cares, sometimes it's all about the race.

- The women's 400 IM was pretty easy to handicap. Forget about the small little yards pool, where lots of good swimmers can look great with big walls. Elizabeth Beisel isn't like that. This year at the women's NCAA's she placed a distant third in her signature event. No matter. She's the defending world champion in the big pool where it matters, and tonight she showed why. With a backbreaking backstroke leg, Beisel ended the race at the halfway mark. Cal's Caitlin Leverenz, who'd beaten her by a second and a half at NCAA's, grabbed the second Olympic berth. Chalk up spot number four for Coach Troy.

How does this happen? How does one coach guide two-thirds of Olympians onto the Team in these two events - the 400 IM and the 400 Free? First thing you should remember - it's impossible to fake these particular races. There are plenty of races that can be faked with sheer talent, as much as I hate that awful T-word... But the 400s? Those are truth in eight beautiful brutal laps.

Coach Troy believes in that Truth. That's why his swimmers swim like such shit in-season. Did you watch Lochte at those Grand Prix meets this spring? His sponsors did, and they were worried. He looked like a tired, beaten dog. And he was. This spring, Elizabeth Beisel wasn't anywhere close to the best swimmer in the NCAA. Now she's making a case for the best swimmer on earth, in the sport's ultimate all-around event. Weeks ago, I heard talk that Vanderkaay was cooked, that he wouldn't even make the Team. Heard talk that Dwyer's best days were behind him, that he was a short course guy, and what a shame that his best events happened to match up with Lochte's.

Now those four are Olympians. Why is that? Because their coach doesn't take his eye off the prize. This isn't just some clichéd sports talk. It takes true balls not to care about all those steps in between. Steps where plenty of folks are watching and judging and wondering why your athletes are swimming so damn slow... What kind of confidence does that require? To keep the course, and know your crew will peak when it's truly time?

I'm biased, this was my Coach too, back in the day. I had a lot of them, more than a few were also Olympic coaches with plenty of champions to their credit, but only one deserves the capital C.

Seven more days in Omaha... Who's taking notes?

The Week Before

Dealing with doubt and dread on Trials Eve... It's quiet. Almost too quiet, right coaches? When you're laying there late at night, sleep a lost notion, rehearsing events you can't control... Have you prepared them perfectly?

And how about you, swimmers? Have you mastered the Power of Intention? Have you put in the work, day in, day out, and put yourself in that Zen zone of No Regrets? Or do you hear that haunting voice at your back? The voice of doubt that creeps in and won't let go...

This is the bad time. The time of dread and demons. Six days until the reckoning for every American swimmer with an Olympic dream. No matter how well prepared and mentally mighty you may be, the week before is brutal. Your taper is drawing to a close, the training is done, you just want to board that plane and get it on. But first, some dark nights of the soul.

I remember the soundtrack to my own dark nights, sixteen years ago. I can't remember what I was listening to sixteen hours ago, but I can remember with dark clarity listening to a brooding Lou Reed album called "Set the Twilight Reeling" in the days before the '96 Canadian Trials. With song titles like "Finish Line" and "Hang On to Your Emotions", it suited my self-important, self-imposed pressurized state. Embarrassing to recall how much it felt like a matter of death and life. Trials would be either an execution or an elevation. There was no in between.

Some perspective would help. Like the kind found by Eric Shanteau, who truly felt the weight of the world on his shoulders four years ago, in the lead up to the 2008 Trials. In addition to all the usual Will-I-Make-It? baggage carried by every competitor, Shanteau was also carrying around a cruel, and still secret, diagnosis of testicular cancer. Somehow the guy performed like a Jedi in Omaha and made the Team in the 200 breast. Take that Big C. When he disclosed his diagnosis days after the Trials, he instantly became a Story. Up there on the press podiums with Phelps and Coughlin, getting calls from Lance, well wishes flooding his Inbox from strangers across the country.

ESPN.com recently caught up with him and discussed his last four cancer-free years. In the story, Shanteau shared the void he felt after the Games, when all the attention vanished and he was left alone with a body that was "obviously capable of growing cancerous tumors." Then his outlook changed. As he returned to the water, he started thrashing his best times, appearing on international podiums, elevating his game to gold medal contention.

Compared to cancer, all pressure is relative. Safe to say Shanteau is sleeping soundly this week.

But what about Ryan Lochte? Are all those sex symbol, Vogue cover, better-than-Phelps expectations getting to him? His week in Omaha is not exactly an open road to Games glory. In more than one of his prime events, he's going to have to be sharp as hell just to get his hand on the wall first or second. If Phelps swims the 400 IM (which now appears to be likely), making the Team in this event might be harder than winning gold in London. With all respect to Hungary's Lazlo Cseh, the three best 400 IM'ers on earth right now are Americans. Meaning, the U.S. entry in London could be Tyler Clary and Michael Phelps. That would be a hell of a start to the week for the now face of the sport. I don't see that happening, the smart money has Lochte touching the wall first, but that scenario is less than a long shot.

What about the 200 free? Of course he'll be on the relay, but is a top two finish a lock? And to really raise the doomsday scenario, what about the 200 back? Sure, Lochte is the defending Olympic champ and remains the favorite for gold, but Clary is looming, and so is young Ryan Murphy of Bolles. It's worth noting that Murphy beat Lochte head-to-head in Gainesville this month. While little can be read into Lochte's untapered swims, word is that he took that race much more seriously than most, competing in Speedo's full Fastskin "system."

How's he sleeping this week? Is the voice of doubt starting to whisper? Unlikely. If Lochte's public persona is to be believed, and it certainly seems genuine, he seems like the last guy to battle any demons of dread.

Maybe that's because he's always grasped what Shanteau had to learn in the hardest way possible: That this is all just a sport and a pastime. Something that's supposed to be fun. And what's more fun than chasing a dream?

Good luck in Omaha, everyone.

The Character Clause

Codes of Conduct and Olympians Behaving Badly... It was a hot spring night by the beach. A couple of newly minted American Olympic swimmers were blowing off some steam. Scratch that cliché - they were getting shit faced. They were pounding Coors Light cans in the parking lot, before they intended to charge into a divey bar called Pete's and pound many more. They were a few feet from the sand in Neptune Beach, Florida, and about twenty-five minutes away from the Bolles School in Jacksonville, where they'd trained for the previous year to become members of Team USA.

With a few ounces left in the last can, some cops took notice. Interrupted their staggering entry into the bar. One Olympian bolted, the other stood his ground; their non-Olympian friends swayed nearby. The one who stayed was less than respectful to the curious cops. The dreaded Do-You-Know-Who-I-Am? may have been uttered... This never ends well. In this case it resulted in an arrest. And then it got worse.

The swimmer's bitter long time rival learned of this incident soon after. The rival had placed fourth at the U.S. Olympic Trials a few weeks earlier. The arrested swimmer in question placed 2nd. The swimmer who had placed third immediately retired after the race. Meaning that the bitter 4th place rival was now an alternate on the U.S. Team. And he intended on getting back to the Games by any means necessary. He was determined to remove his rival and take his spot.

In this case, that meant raising the Character Clause - that shades of grey code of conduct that Olympians from every nation are frequently forced to sign after making the Team. Basically, it means: Don't bring shame on yourself or your nation. Or we reserve the right to throw you off the Team.

This shockingly spiteful scenario went all the way to court. The drunken swimmer outside the bar was allowed to stay a member of Team USA. The bitter rival retired shortly thereafter. Here are their names: Drunken Olympian - Greg Burgess, winner of the Olympic silver medal in the 200 IM at the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona. Bitter rival - Ron Karnaugh, former American record-holder in the 200 IM.

At the time, I was roommates with Burgess. I had a front row seat to this ridiculous debacle.

I share this story now, after all these years, because yet again the Character Clause has reared its judgey head in the lead up to another Games. In this case, surrounding the gun-toting, bar-fighting, journalist-threatening Aussie macho tool Nick D'Arcy. You might remember him from a previous post - The Price of Momentary Madness. In that story, I described the time D'Arcy assaulted fellow swimmer Simon Cowley, messed him up in a brutal life-shattering way, and then spent the next three years apologizing, declaring bankruptcy, and trying to get back on the Aussie team.

Well, D'Arcy's back now, and he's back in trouble. This time for posting pics of himself, along with fellow Olympian Kendrick Monk, toting an assortment of assault weapons in a California gun shop. Take a LOOK. That's D'Arcy on the left, looking like a pretty boy wanna-be gangster. Clearly, there's no comparing actual assault with an ill-advised photo op. Yet the Australian Olympic Committee frowned on it enough to declare that both D'Arcy and Monk must leave the Olympic Village immediately after they finish competing in London.

To steal a line from Gary Hall, Jr., Nick D'Arcy is as sharp as a marble. It's almost comical what a horrendous example he is for the Aussie Olympic team. I say 'almost' because there's nothing actually comical about the damage he inflicted on Cowley. But what's funny (in a depressing sort of way) is that he truly doesn't get it. When questioned recently by a journalist about the Cowley saga at a meet in Irvine, CA, D'Arcy replied with a sneer: "Careful." As in: "Watch what you're saying punk, or I'll fuck you up." ie: the exact same response that got him in all the trouble in the first place.

Now, there's no comparing this clueless sad sack with the momentarily lapse of drunkenness by Greg Burgess. It's worth noting that Burgess went on to become a proud and decorated member of the U.S. Marine Corps. No telling what D'Arcy will go on to do, but whatever the over / under is, I'm betting the under. These two have almost nothing in common.

However, they do have something vital in common: They are both world class swimmers capable of standing on an Olympic podium. Burgess raced to silver in the 200 IM back in Barcelona; the smart money is on D'Arcy to win silver too, behind Phelps in the 200 fly in London. So, the question is: Does a lapse in character forfeit you from competing at the Games? Where is that line drawn? With the law, or with something more essential, more Olympian?

This is part of what gives the Games its aura - Olympians are hoisted up on a pedestal high above that of other professional athletes. The expectation of admirable character among Olympic athletes is part of what sells the Games. (Never mind how disingenuous it is in countless cases...)

It's what makes Michael Phelps taking a hit from a bong a story. That's no more a story than a college freshman having his first shot of tequila. It's amusing that the moralists try to make it anything more.

But where to draw the line? Drinking outside bars, smoking pot, posing with unloaded guns - that, sad to say, describes a large swath of American men. Guys who don't get suspended from their jobs because of the ways they might misbehave in their off-hours...

Lumping Greg Burgess and Michael Phelps into a category with Nick D'Arcy is unfair. And that's the point. The "character clause" that hovers over Olympians is utterly arbitrary. It's a false ever-shifting sense of enforced morality based on something that the Games never were. (NOTE: This is entirely separate from cheating. There are Drugs, as in the kind used to gain an unfair, immoral edge, and then there are drugs - the kinds used to, well, mess you up in let-loose ways...)

World class athletes misbehave. Probably more than the rest of us, given their resources and get-out-of-jail-free cards.

But how does that relate to what they do in the water?

The NCAA is Un-American

And that's a good thing. The issue of foreign Olympians training at U.S. colleges...  That headline is not meant to inflame. It's just a fact. In many quarters, calling someone "un-American" is akin to hate speech. In this case, in reference to an athletic institution based in the United States, it's simply the way it is. See, for decades now, the NCAA has been the principle development system of the world's greatest Olympic athletes. Many of those athletes carry American passports and go for gold under the Stars & Stripes; many more do not.

This upsets some folks. Well meaning Americans who seem to be believe that it's the duty of American universities to prepare only American athletes for the Olympics. Never mind the fact that the USOC does not give a single penny to these colleges to fund that perceived duty. So, apparently it's just supposed to come from some vague altruistic notions of nationalism?

Yesterday, the Wall Street Journal got in on the debate - with a grossly jingoistic piece entitled Schools That Train the Enemy. (Nice to see Rupert Murdoch's always classy fingerprints on his illustrious paper...) The language in the piece makes the skin crawl. In addition to the "enemy" in the headline, there's a sidebar called "Rating the Traitors" (an honor won by Auburn), and words like "damage" and "threat" sprinkled throughout the piece. Fair and balanced, indeed.

Clearly I take exception. And unlike the Journal, I'll make no pretense of any objectivity. My bias is huge. I was the "enemy." I received all the spoils and expertise of NCAA swimming, and then I went off and competed for Canada at the Olympics. My business partner found his way from Germany to Cal Berkeley, where he was the captain of the Golden Bears his senior year, and was a member of their U.S. Open record-breaking 4 x 100 free relay back in 2000. Suppose he's the enemy too. A couple of damaging threats who now own a school that teaches thousands of mostly American children how to swim...

For the two of us, and a great many of our friends, the NCAA was un-American in the best possible way.

But I guess all that big picture context is besides the point. The question remains - should American coaches at American colleges be preparing top foreign athletes to compete against Americans at the Olympics? Is there an inherent conflict of interest there?

First, some facts and figures: In 2008, USA Swimming did a study on the number of foreign swimmers competing at the top level of the NCAA. At the 2008 men's and women's Division I NCAA champs, they found that 48 different countries were represented. The Olympic Games could not top that level of international participation until 1936 - when 49 countries competed at the Berlin Games. This means that our current NCAA Swimming championships are a bigger international event than the first eight Olympics.

Hans Chrunak, the former head coach of the Swedish national team from 1991 to 2000, was once asked who was the biggest sponsor of Swedish swimming. Chrunak thought for a moment, then replied matter-of-factly: "That would be the NCAA." An unlikely reply perhaps. One would expect an apparel company, or perhaps a petroleum company like Phillips 66. But no, for the Swedes, their biggest benefactor was the NCAA. When Chrunak made that statement a few years back, there were 51 Swedish swimmers competing in the NCAA. Now, not every one of those 51 were receiving full scholarships, and not all went on to make the Swedish Olympic Team, but consider the resources and the finances that the NCAA was devoting to these 51 Swedes. Even if each one was receiving a partial scholarship worth $10,000 a year, that's still a half million dollar investment each year in Sweden's swimming program.

One can see how that might rub certain Go U-S-A'ers the wrong way. Should those scholarships and those dollars have been spent on American kids? Well, if those Americans were better qualified, yes. If not, then absolutely not. (How do you feel about affirmative action? What's your stance on isolationism? How do you define your patriotism? This particular issue can quickly slip and slide onto bigger pastures...)

The greatest coaches in the U.S. are often divided on this delicate question. On one hand, you have Texas' Eddie Reese and Stanford's (now retired) Skip Kenney. These two elder statesmen are widely regarded as coaches who've seldom been interested in international swimmers at their schools. That's not to say it was a hard and fast rule for these men. I can rattle off a number of Canadian swimmers who competed for the Cardinal. And Israeli breaststroker Imri Ganiel (1:00.9 in the 100) just recently signed at Texas. Just two examples, plenty more, yet these two perennial powers have mostly been stocked with US swimmers through the years.

Contrast that with the longtime leaders of Auburn and Florida. As the head coach of Auburn from 1990 to 2007, David Marsh took the Tigers to prominence by focusing more on top foreign swimmers than anyone else. Sprint kings Freddy Bousquet and Cesar Cielo, to name the two most obvious. Meanwhile, Florida head coach Gregg Troy quite literally made his coaching name by developing international talent. At the Bolles School, where he coached for twenty years, he guided world beating talents like Surinam's Anthony Nesty and Spain's Martin Zubero, Olympic champions in 1988 and 1992, respectively. Add these guys to the Journal's "enemy" list too... (More bias, I was one of Coach Troy's "international" swimmers at Bolles. At the 1996 Games, we had 18 different countries represented in Atlanta. Two Thai friends and I made t-shirts that proudly proclaimed "Bolles Nation.")

Fast forward to today: Gregg Troy is the head coach of the U.S. men's Olympic swim team. Dave Marsh is now the CEO and Head Elite Coach of SwimMAC - a United States Olympic Committee Center of Excellence. So, is it fair to say that these two world class coaches may have improved their craft working with all those world class foreign talents? So much so that these two are now charged with developing and leading Team USA on the biggest stage possible.

The career arcs of Marsh and Troy reveal something frequently missed when folks make their isolationist arguments in favor of keeping foreign swimmers out of the NCAA. Both coaches and swimmers improve thanks to that international presence. Want to be the best? Put yourself around the best possible talent. American swimmers are better thanks to the presence of foreign athletes side by side in their lanes at college. And American coaches are better too, when given the opportunity to work with top talent from a wide range of diverse backgrounds. How could that not help a team improve in every way?

So, here's to the enemies. The foreigners, the ones who cross oceans and borders and arrive at American colleges determined to improve themselves... By doing so, they also improve all those young entitled American kids around them.

No thanks necessary.

Joy in Mudville

Todd Schmitz and the Art of Play It's Sunday morning. You're 16-years-old. You're in incredible shape, you swim over twenty miles a week after all, but right now all you want to do is sleep. When you decide to wake - late - you just want to relax, waste away the day on Facebook, far from the pool. Who can blame you?

Some coaches understand this basic need for balance and step-away sanity. Others don't. There's a school of thought that says young swimmers should be in the water everyday. Seven days a week, 365 days a year, for years on end. Physically speaking, there is a lot to be said for this. It works. Constant contact with the water, never losing the feel for your strokes, ever, not for one day throughout your teenage years... This path produces champions. Long term sanity not included.

Todd Schmitz, aka Missy Franklin's coach, is firmly in the first camp. He wants his swimmers to step away. Often for entire weekends. What they might lose in feel will be make up for in fun. Because, come Monday, his kids will want to be back at the pool. You can't tell me that's the case for those kids who were forced to swim a few grand on Sunday.

This week the Wall Street Journal ran a terrific profile on Schmitz. It's say-no-more headline: How Not to Ruin a Swimming Prodigy. The piece reveals a supremely grateful coach. A guy who recognizes that all top coaches, at their inception, have to be insanely lucky. In Schmitz's case, he was fortunate enough to find 7-year-old Missy Franklin in his Starfish group during his first ever coaching job. He's not the first coach to find himself in the right place at the right time with the right swimmer, and while that might make plenty of other coaches crazed with jealousy, he deserves huge props for not screwing it up. Which is all too easy to do... Just take a look at the National Age Group records for 10 & Unders -- how many found themselves in Missy Franklin's position seven years later?

The Colorado Stars are like a lot of clubs teams across the States. It's a rag tag operation that jumps from pool to pool wherever the team can reserve practice time. Fact is, it's a stepping stone job. A team where an up and coming coach produces some big talent, gets named to a few national teams, and then rides his phenom's wave to a more high profile position... Except, it seems Schmitz isn't interested in taking that next leap to the so-called big time. He seems more interested in having a good time with the group he's got. How refreshing is that?

In that Journal story, the reporter writes: "Even when it comes to improving form—something other coaches regard as a strict science—Schmitz believes in the art of play."

Yes, the Art of Play -- perhaps the most powerful concept in all of education today. This is something that's being studied with all seriousness by child psychologists these days. The findings are in the process of turning early education on its head. For this reason: Playing works better than working.

In the recent best-selling book "Imagine, How Creativity Works", author Jonah Lehrer writes about a study of four-year-olds divided into two groups for a year of education and observation. One group was given a classroom full of "unstructured play" - that is, plenty of time to explore on their own, follow their own imaginations, and have fun with the way they chose to learn. The other group was given a more traditional classroom experience full of phonetics and memorization, you know, the usual ways of "learning" found in most schools. After a few months, the researchers did some preliminary tests to see how these two groups were learning. Here's what they found: the first group, the one given all that unstructured play was uncomfortably far ahead of the 'traditional' group in every measure of intelligence and learning. Uncomfortable because the educators found it unethical to continue the study -- because of the disservice they were doing to the latter group.

That study was with a group of preschoolers. While it's undeniable that kids need more structure as they enter grade school and beyond, the power of play can't just be tossed aside like an outgrown pair of old shoes. Teenagers need it too. Especially ultra-dedicated teenage athletes who already spend a huge portion of their lives staring at a black line at the bottom of a swimming pool.

Because, when you step up to the plate, with all the pressure in the world on those young shoulders, there needs to be joy. Without it, what's the point?

So Long Skippy

Big coaching gigs up for grabs... Stanford men, Michigan women, who's next? Your coach may be eyeing the exit. It's not that he doesn't care about you. It's not that Olympic Trials - and your taper - aren't the most important looming priority. It's just that this is his career. And some big fat opportunities are dangling out there. They're the white whales of the coaching profession. Forgive him if he's been going a little Ahab lately...

This month two of the most successful coaches in NCAA history stepped down simultaneously. On May 16, Stanford men's Skip Kenney and Michigan women's Jim Richardson announced their respective retirements. Both careers feature a feast of achievements. The CV for Richardson: 2-time NCAA Coach of the Year; 14 Big Ten titles; 162 All-Americans. The CV for Kenney: 7 NCAA team titles; 6-time Coach of the Year; 72 NCAA champions; 23 Olympians; and the most disgusting (for non-Stanford Pac-12'ers) stat of all: 31 straight Pac 10 / 12 titles.

Love 'em or hate 'em, these two are Hall of Famers who helped change countless lives. A mighty bow is due to both men. But almost immediately after their announcements, the conversation was not about their past careers, but about who would take over these oh-so coveted positions. Will it go to a young up and comer, a la Dave Durden at Cal? Or will it be awarded to a man or woman of equal stature, who might have an eye on more prestigious pastures?

When a friend emailed me about Skip Kenney stepping down, his next line was: "Is Dave Marsh going to take over?"

Suppose that's as good a bet as any. Particularly considering Stanford's perception of itself. As opposed to their cross bay rivals, one just can't see the position going to a young coach still making his bones at a step-below program. After all, there's a smug cloud that permanently hangs over the Farm. That three-decade flawless conference streak is not going to be entrusted to just anyone...

As for the Michigan gig, the campus might lack the balmy weather of Palo Alto, but if there's a cooler college town than Ann Arbor please let me know. It sounds like the perfect place for a coach to raise a family, with a reasonable standard of living and a well funded and ever supportive athletic department. (Just a guess, but a fine 3-bedroom home in Ann Arbor might be just a bit less than in Palo Alto, home to hoards of garden variety tech billionaires...)

The Stanford and Michigan jobs were just the latest on the coaching carousel, of course. Tennessee and Alabama came before that. I've heard nothing but glowing things about Matt Kredich at Tennessee, who ascended from women's coach to take over the combined program for the Volunteers. So, that program appears to be in winning hands. As for the Alabama job, another Hall of Famer has returned to the collegiate ranks -- Crimson Tide alum and longtime USA Swimming National Team Director, Dennis Pursley. Joining him will be fellow 'Bama alum and world class coach, Jonty Skinner. A guy who's coached 17 Olympic champions, and used to be a world record holder himself. After well over a decade of being dominated by their hated rival, Auburn, I would not want to be in Brett Hawke's shoes right now... Recruiting in the South just got a lot harder for the Tigers.

When major coaching positions change hands, recruiting becomes a whole new ball game. And not necessarily in the ways you might suspect... When a legend steps down, the assumption might be that his particular school is now less of a draw. In fact, the reverse is true in some cases. For instance, I know of one supremely coveted recruit next year who became a lot more interested in Stanford when he heard the news about Kenney. That's not meant to knock a man on his way out, it's simply a fact. The swimming world witnessed this at Cal. There are few coaches on earth worthy of more respect than Nort Thorton, but when he let go of the reins, those Bears raced to the front of the pack under Durden's new command.

With Berkeley's recent success as a template, if I were the AD at Stanford or Michigan, I'd be taking a hard look at those young coaches at second tier swim schools. The ones perhaps mentored by a Marsh or a Troy as a graduate assistant, ones who learned from the greats, spent a few years leading slightly lesser talents, who are now ready for the big time.

Does that sound like your coach? Are you that coach?

If so, time to buy a new suit. Good luck on your interviews...

For Love and Hate

Coughlin and Phelps - A Contrast in Outlooks It gets old. It does for everyone. The mornings, rising before dawn isn't fun, never is. Being sore all the time for years on end, I don't miss that. The ever-present pressure, the cloud that follows you, forever questioning your every move, whether this decision or that will help you be at your best. One can understand the longing to escape.

It's a seldom reported side to the supposed glory of the Games: Many athletes, the ones nearing the end, just can't wait to get away.

That's why you hear the stories of swimmers who retire and choose to stay dry - for years. Those swimmed-out souls whose only contact with water is the shower after they've swum their final race... It seems Michael Phelps is among this disgruntled group.

Today on ESPN.com, Rick Reilly wrote a piece that led off like this: "Michael Phelps can't wait for these coming Olympics -- to end."

It went on to detail how much Phelps truly dislikes the water, how for all his world travels, he hasn't seen much of anything, how he just wants to get out of the pool and on to the golf course. Take a look. Reilly was sympathetic to Michael's "plight", even if he clearly doesn't get it. For those that do, the empathy might be a little harder to come by. On the one hand, there's burnout. Fair enough, every swimmer can relate. But on the other there's perspective. Like the kind expressed by Natalie Coughlin...

Right next to that Phelps piece, ESPN.com ran a story entitled "Coughlin's run a bit under radar." It revealed a very different mindset, from a swimmer who's been there every step of the way with Phelps; their careers have unfolded almost exactly in parallel. For the last decade, Natalie Coughlin has been America's premier female swimmer. While her aquatic achievements aren't quite Phelpsian (no one's are), she has steadily compiled one of the greatest careers in Olympic history. Indeed, if she has another standout Games in London, Coughlin will go down as the most decorated female athlete in U.S. Olympic history. She has eleven medals now, just one behind Jenny Thompson. If she wins two in London, she'll be second in total medals only to Phelps, and first among all U.S. women in any sport.

While their careers have followed the same current, it's clear that their present outlooks could not be more different. Phelps told Rick Reilly that he's so sick of the water that when he goes to the beach, he doesn't even want to get in. Consider that for a second. It's more than a little depressing to read that the greatest swimmer in the history of the world hates to be in water. So much so that the thought of diving through the waves on a hot summer's day repels him.

Now contrast that with Coughlin's comments about her career as a swimmer. A click away on ESPN today, here's what she had to say: "I love the entire process. I love the day-to-day. As much as I hate being tired all the time, I love pushing myself in training and I love being outdoors. As I get older, I realize more and more of my friends have to sit in an office, in a cubicle. I get to watch the sun rise, I get to travel the world and take care of my body and that's my job. That's really cool. That alone keeps me going."

As I was saying, there's burnout, and then there's perspective. It might suck to wake up at 5am most days, it might be a bummer to fly across the world all the time and see very little, but does it suck as much as being chained to a cubicle? Earning enough to be well ensconced in the 1% while getting paid to swim?

This is not meant to bash Phelps's current outlook. Beyond the endless training, the guy has had to shoulder the weight of the sport for years now. That's a hell of a burden. Plenty of folks will say: 'well, then why didn't he just retire after Beijing and be done with it?' Like it was that easy... That wasn't an option. Not for a guy who's spoken so much of wanting to 'change the sport', of wanting to elevate it and bring it to the masses.

Those are the words of an ambassador. By definition: "a person who acts as a representative or promoter of a specified activity."

It might take some dry years away, but here's hoping the love will return someday. Because, as Natalie Coughlin still appreciates, that specified activity is a very beautiful thing indeed.

The Devil's New Muse

Ryan Lochte on cover of Vogue... Joins elite company of all-time bachelors

How's this for a relay of ladies men? Leading off, Mr. George Clooney; next up, some ugly guy named Richard Gere; taking the third spot, the ever humble Lebron James; and swimming the anchor leg... it's none other than Ryan Lochte. There you have it: the only four men ever to grace the cover of Vogue.

As Casanova coronations go, this is a pretty ridiculous crew. The Lochte cover hits newsstands this week. Take a look at it right HERE. Flanked by gorgeous goalie, Hope Solo, on the left, and Serena Williams on the right, Lochte is now front and center on the fashion bible. As they said about Bogart, Sinatra, Bond, and of course, Austin Powers: Women want him, men want to be him. Not bad for a swimmer with just one individual Olympic gold to his name. So far, at least...

Vogue's supreme ruler /editor (and alleged Prada-wearing Devil) Anna Wintour has long had a thing for ultra-fit athletes. For years, her male muse has been Roger Federer. But Federer's always been the faithful married gent, the unflappable family man who could get any lady out there, but would rather chill out in private with Mirka and his girls. Lochte and his fellow Vogue coverboys are clearly cut from a different clothe.

Perhaps you've heard stories?

I might have heard a few, but why spread dirty details that I can't substantiate? That would be gossip, and that's more fun in bars than blogs.

Late night tales aside, this is big news for the entire sport. A swimmer on the cover of Vogue, joining a trio of absolute icons.

Damn right.

The Void

Junior Seau,Waterman Instead of going for a surf, he chose a shotgun to the chest.

A man of renowned positivity, a legend who never forgot his roots, one of the all-time greats, on and off the field... When Junior Seau killed himself last week, it shook the NFL to its core. It's a dark cliché, but Seau was truly the last guy you'd ever think would do this. It's no exaggeration to say he may have been the single most respected football player of his generation. He was 43.

In its probing cover story on the tragedy this week, Sports Illustrated reported another side of Seau, far from the gridiron. It appears that this larger-than-life Samoan was every bit the surfer as he was a linebacker. His place in Oceanside, CA was right on the sand and most mornings he would grab his long board and paddle out into the always good San Diego surf. His first words upon announcing his retirement three years ago: "I'm gonna go surf."

For Seau, the sea was the place he felt most at peace. It was water therapy of the highest order, and after two decades playing a brutal sport he loved, he desperately needed the peace and solitude that only the water can provide. It wasn't enough.

In the immediate aftermath of his death, the narrative became clear: this was a story about the brain damage suffered by football players. Endless hits to the head causes a condition known as CTE - Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy. A grim disorder that can lead to depression and, darkest of all in Seau's case, cause a deterioration of impulse control. His suicide appears to have been a clear case of a desperate impulse he couldn't control. The day before he died, Seau was laughing with friends, inviting folks to a Kentucky Derby party at his popular restaurant. This was not a guy at the end of his rope.

This was a guy with demons, who needed a good long surf session. Everyday before, that had been enough. On the morning of May 2nd, it wasn't.

It's hoped that Seau's brain and the effects of CTE will be studied in extreme detail. The NFL has a public health crisis on its hands. And all of us who watch the game and worship the big hits and the play-through-pain culture should probably take a step back and reconsider just what you're cheering.

But let's set that aside for a moment, because there's another story here, one that relates to every athlete in every sport. Seau was so respected because he was the ultimate Player. He was as authentic as it comes. His work ethic, his commitment to the game, his ability to rise to every challenge - he was a coach's dream, an athlete's athlete. Combine those qualities with his profound bond with the water, and you have a man that every swimmer should want to honor.

He was also a man afflicted with the Void. When he was no longer Junior Seau the Linebacker, who was he? He likely didn't know, couldn't know. He is not alone in this. When you're done with your sport - or when it's done with you - how will you define your identity?

On 60 Minutes last Sunday, Michael Phelps insisted that when he retires, "I'm done." No comebacks, no looking back. These comments were the ones immediately picked up - and questioned - by other journalists in response to the piece. Many doubted him. Some pointed out that he also said the same thing about the 400 IM four years ago after his "last" one in Beijing. A guy's entitled to change his mind. Because as nice as freedom sounds when you're still locked in the shackles of your sport, that freedom can gradually turn to chaos.

Suicide, of course, is the darkest most chaotic state of all. When a loss of identity is merged with clear game-induced brain damage, one can see how desperation can spiral. But there are legions of ex athletes out there all suffering from the Void. Most will never dream of turning a gun on themselves. Yet their depression, their loss of identity, can still be crippling.

Junior Seau knew where he could find peace with that - in the water. He managed to paddle out on countless mornings and find solace.

Until even the waves weren't enough...

Gentlemen & Natives

Exploring the Origins of the Strokes... Breaststroke came first. At least according to the conquerors, who decide such things. When the first books were written, when the first aquatic feats were recorded, this was the stroke that meant "swimming." It was the stroke of gentlemen and ladies - slow and in control, with the swimmer's head out of the water, in full survey of his watery domain. When crossing wine dark bodies of water, you didn't want your face in. Goggles were still many centuries away.

It's the stroke that Matthew Webb used when he became the first man to cross the English Channel in 1875. It's the stroke that early swimming promoter, Ben Franklin, used when he considered launching a swim school in London instead of helping to launch a nation across the pond. (True story...)

But history isn't fact, it's just subjective hindsight, and the history of swimming is no different. As the gentlemen of the Renaissance were slowly developing swimming as a sport, another stroke was being practiced - a good deal faster - by swimmers whose histories do not fill Western history books. I'm referring to the "native" races on far flung continents - the ones who first figured out that freestyle was the fastest way to move through the water. Presumably, wet hair did not bother them quite as much as the prim practitioners in Europe.

In a fantastic new book called "Swim, Why We Love the Water", author Lynn Sherr provides a fascinating history of our sport, tracing the roots of swimming farther back than humanity itself to our present day obsessions with this strange underwater art. I read it with a pen last week and my jealousy mounted with every turn of the page. I wish I'd written it. One month after its release, I'll confidently call it the best book on swimming ever written. (This, despite three unfortunate fact-checking errors in its section on present-day Olympians...) Sherr is interested in the act and the art of swimming itself; the elite competitive side is just one element of her book, but in its less than 200 pages, there's an endless encyclopedia of stories worth expanding upon.

Like this one: Back in 1844, a Canadian entrepreneur named Arthur Rankin invited a group of Ojibwa Indians to London, as guests of the British Swimming Society. On an April day at the High Holborn baths, the Society staged a match race between their Indian guests. (Please forgive the use of the word "Indian" instead of Native Americans in this context; the politically correct term was not yet coined...) Over a 40-meter course, the aptly named Flying Gull defeated his closest competitor named Tobacco. Sherr quotes a London Times sports reporter at the time: "They lash the water violently with their arms, like the sails of a windmill, and beat downwards with their feet..." Aka, early freestyle.

The first Modern Olympics were still 52 years away, but the foundation was set. The two core strokes were in place. One, the practice of proper society, the other, the form of the natives out on the world's frontiers. It's notable that Sherr finds evidence that this early freestyle was not just practiced by the Native Americans; it was also the chosen stroke of indigenous peoples of South America and the South Pacific. Freestyle, it seems, was the way forward for those free of society's structures.

And what about the other two, the backstroke and the butterfly? Mere mutants, born from their respective parents. Backstroke, after all, is not much more than straight-armed freestyle rolled over. And butterfly was birthed by innovative breaststrokers seeking an edge. For evidence, check out this old clip of the 200 breast final at the 1948 Olympics in London. (Be patient, the race itself is about two minutes in...) They're swimming with butterfly arms and a still-morphing breast-into-dolphin kick. Eight years later, the butterfly was its own event at the 1956 Olympics. And thus, the individual medley came to be too...

Every swim fan on earth will be watching the Games in London this summer, and by this point we've all taken the established strokes for granted. Four disciplines, three relays, 13 individual races for gold. But as a Faulkner-quoting friend said earlier today: "The past isn't dead. It isn't even past." Worth remembering the next time you watch this ever-evolving sport on the big Olympic stage...

Because when tattoo-covered Tony Ervin steps on the blocks in London, I know I'll be thinking of Flying Gull, another free-flying American native who sprinted to glory in front of the gentlemen.

The Seaweed Streak

In Praise of Murray Rose, Australia's Original Thorpedo... 1939 - 2012, RIP "Wow, he was handsome," said my wife, taking a long look at a long ago cover of Sports Illustrated.

It was hard to disagree. The guy looked like a sun-baked superhero. See for yourself, right HERE: Rose as SI cover boy back on August 14, 1961, over half a century ago. Back then, Murray Rose was the greatest distance swimmer in history, the winner of four Olympic gold medals, a sporting icon Down Under whose fame at home was said to exceed Mickey Mantle's in the States.

Rose died last Sunday, April 15, of leukemia. He was 73. Over the last few days, I've been reading his many obits. (Here's a nice one in the New York Times.) The man had a story to tell, a life worth remembering...

First, his Olympic record: In 1956, at the Melbourne Olympics, 17-year-old Rose won gold in the 400, the 1500, and as a member of the Aussie's winning 4 x 200 free relay. Four years later, now the team captain of the USC Trojans, Rose returned to the Games in Rome, where he defended his Olympic crown in the 400 free, added a silver in the mile, and a bronze on the 4 x 200 relay. It's said that he would have added three more medals in those same events at the 1964 Olympics in Tokyo, but by that time, Rose was immersed in a Hollywood acting career.

Aside from those outsized Olympic achievements, Murray Rose had another claim to fame: his diet. See, Rose was a vegan, a proponent of raw foods and only organically grown fruits and vegetables. Goes without saying, he was a few decades ahead of the foodie curve. He dined on seaweed and sunflower seeds and produce grown out back where he could see it pulled from the earth. In the late 50's after he'd exploded to prominence, his vegetarianism was the subject of countless articles. Indeed, he may have been the sporting world's first celebrity to promote natural foods. But unlike so many of today's fanatical holier-than-thou eaters, Rose was adamant about never pushing his dietary agenda on others. According to SI, he also had a "corresponding resentment of having others' opinions forced on him." In short, he made his own decisions and lived by his own set of values.

In that same SI story way back when, they called him "an Englishman by birth, an Australian by law, and an American by preference." Some background: Rose was born at the dawn of World War II in Scotland. His parents wanted to emigrate to the States, but they had some difficulties with immigration. Instead, they made their way to Australia, moving young Murray out of harm's way as the war intensified in Europe. The family settled within spitting distance of the Pacific, in an apartment overlooking Sydney harbor. Rose spent every day of his childhood with his toes in the water. He was "discovered" by a local swim coach when he was just 5-years-old. A dozen years later, he was the world's greatest swimmer - and the biggest star in his land, when Australia hosted the 1956 Melbourne Games.

Then, he was off to USC, leading his parents' long deferred American dream. His father, now a prominent advertising executive in Sydney, took a job in New York, while Murray settled into L.A. life as a Trojan. He swam for a young then-unproven coach named Peter Daland; Rose was soon elected SC's team captain.

By all accounts, Murray was a supremely humble, honest soul. He had some decent success in Hollywood, with a few roles opposite stars of the day like Rock Hudson and Tab Hunter, but once admitted he lacked the passion to truly commit to acting. He never had that problem with swimming. In the pool, his commitment was complete.

Rose was known for his ability always to win the close one. He was a pure racer, a guy who lived to be tested in head-to-head competition. 43 years ago, Sports Illustrated produced one of the all-time great quotes from any Olympian, when they asked Rose about his ruthless racing instincts. Said Rose: "If you are racing a man the object is to break him. You can break the other man's confidence by doing certain things. The big thing is to make him feel you are controlling the race."

Safe to say Michael Phelps, and every other champion who's come since, has shared that assassin's sentiment. But Murray Rose wasn't like the others. He had a perspective that transcended time and glory. Here were his parting words to Sports Illustrated back in that 1961 cover story:

"If you can concentrate so that time is meaningless, a race will give you complete pleasure and you will feel no pain."

Olympic Citizen

Two Passports, One Dream...

Where are you from?

A simple question, often the first you're asked as you're getting to know someone. It's the fastest way a stranger can zero in on you, start to form your shape in his head. Once you've got that information, you can zoom forth with the bold strokes figured out. Always hated that question.

Mostly because I don't have a good answer. When smiling strangers ask me that question, I stammer and generally come off sketchy as hell. "I was, uh, born in Montreal, but um, grew up around the States." Pause. I add: "But I've been in New York a long time." Cue uncomfortably smiling stranger to change the subject.

This should not be a difficult question, but it's become one for me because of the Olympics. It's not a complicated story:

I was born in Montreal, Canada, spent my first few years there, American expat parents moved back, decided to raise the family in the States. Became a swimmer. Got good enough to think Olympics. In the lead up to the Games, I faced facts: In the country where I was raised and educated, I was the 5th best in the country in my best event. In the country of my birth, I was the 2nd best. I played the odds, and went with country I hadn't lived in since I was a kid. Patriotic pride did not weigh into this decision, on either side. Olympic ambition did.

I want to be an Olympian. More than I want to be an American. More than I want to be a Canadian. I pledge more allegiance to a flag of five interlinked rings. More than anything else, I want to be a part of that moveable four-year feast of competitive utopia. I'm not alone in this. In fact, I'm a part of a unique population of Olympic nation hoppers.

We're those dual citizens who make pragmatic choices of nationality in order to pursue a dream that can't be contained by borders.

First, a distinction: This does not include athletes whose citizenship was purchased by a Middle East nation (Say, Qatar), competitors who sell their passports and agree to compete for a small rich nation interested in using the Olympics as a marketing campaign, using foreign athletes as well paid pawns in a misguided game. We're not that cynical.

But we are opportunists. That part's impossible to deny. Due to circumstances of family and birth, we have straddled borders of citizenship and self-identity all our lives. With more than one passport to choose from, we can make athletic career choices that others can't. Is that fair? Is it fair to be born and raised by the ocean in Southern California, within ten miles of a dozen world-class coaches? At a certain point, no matter how hard you might have worked, you begin to realize the incredible amount of luck involved. Sure, there's insane sacrifice and endless training, but at its root, your Olympic potential came down to your parents and your environment, well before you showed even a glimmer of talent in your first summer league successes.

You either seized those opportunities, or you didn't.

This mindset does not always sit well with those whose notions of nationality are set in stone. For these masses, nationality is the definition of identity itself. Forget where their ancestors came from way back when, they are Americans first, last, and always. Or Chinese, or German, or Australian. Who you are means where you are from, right?

A few months before my own Olympic Trials, back in the winter of 1995, I was living with a proud American Olympian, a guy who would subsequently go on to join the Marines. He thought I was borderline traitorous. I once overheard him drunkenly tell a buddy that "Casey can't be Canadian. He barely watches hockey!" Half-bright stereotypes aside, it wasn't the only time I heard such sentiments.

On the pool deck at the Olympics in Atlanta, a friend from a small South American nation joked that I didn't deserve to be there, since I "wasn't really Canadian." My imagined response: "Fuck you, you don't appreciate this at all. If you did, you would have made it to a morning practice every once in awhile. Don't talk to me about deserving anything." My actual response: Nervous chuckle and a "whatever, dude."

These might sound like old raw wounds that never healed. And maybe they are. But every four years in the spring time, those old memories resurface with every country's Olympic Trials. There are always athletes out there, like me, who choose to represent one nation over another in pursuit of Olympic ambition. It's never a comfortable choice. You hear whispers even when they're not there. You become overly prideful of the country you chose, overly critical of the country you didn't. This does not make you more of one and less of another; it's just a knee-jerk effort to fit in.

There's a common line you hear from first generation or multiracial folks when you ask them "what side" they identify with more. Invariably, they'll say they feel more like one when they're with the other. Meaning, a child of biracial parents (like say Tiger Woods) will probably say he feels more black when among Asians. And more Asian when among blacks. You're always Other, always not quite from the same place as your peers. I can relate. When I visit Canada nowadays, I feel uncomfortably American. But when I'm among American swimmers, especially around the Olympics, I'm aggressively and proudly all Canadian. The truth is, neither flag feels like it fits quite right.

The Olympic flag, on the other hand? Isn't that what it's all about? A world united, linked together in common cause? That was Pierre de Coubertin's ideal all along: "The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not winning but taking part; the essential thing in life is not conquering but fighting well." That's from the guy who founded these Modern Games... It's a hard line to square with the unfortunate obsession on medal counts among the world's superpowers.

But the Olympics have always walked a fine line between corruption and purity. On one hand, you have the rampant ugly nationalism, the cheating; on the other you have the Opening Ceremony, and the Olympic Village. I'll embrace the latter, and deal with the former, even as the dark side sometimes threatens to overwhelm all those good Village vibes...

Speaking of villages, if you live in New York City long enough, and you realize you're surrounded by folks who never quite felt comfortable with where they were from. Or at least never wanted it to define their identity... There's solidarity in those shifting allegiances. We're all here in pursuit of something personal and ambitious. We're also a cab ride away from Ellis Island. Not too many better reminders in the world that your precious citizenship can be subject to change. New Yorkers have always known in their bones that where you're from doesn't mean much.

What counts is where you're going.

The Majors No More

The NCAA Championships used to be loaded with Olympic medalists... No longer. "It used to be the major leagues," said the well-placed source. "Now it's become AAA."

The well-placed source did not wish to be named. Didn't want to come across as criticizing the accomplishments of the latest crop of NCAA champs. Fair enough. But this was less a criticism than an observation of fact.

Take a look at the results. Scroll through the names of the winners. Do you see the names of any likely Olympic champions among them? Any that will appear on any podiums in London?

Well, maybe a few. Two big exceptions here, both on the women's side: Florida's Elizabeth Beisel and USC's Katinka Hosszu. Beisel is the defending world champion in the women's 400 IM; Hungary's Hosszu may be the swimmer to beat in London in the same race. She won the women's NCAA title in the 400 IM in an astonishing 3:56.54. Those two are my picks to go 1-2 in London. But beyond those two swimmers, in that one event, who else is there?

Cal's Caitlin Leverenz has to make the list. She's clearly swimming with a crazy new confidence nowadays - as evidenced by her latest performance at the Indy Grand Prix. She'll likely join Beisel as the other American entry in the 400 IM, but her medal chances are probably better in the 200 IM...

Among the men, you'd be hard-pressed to find a single guy from NCAA's who's likely to medal in London.

Texas' Jimmy Feigen might be there as a member of the U.S. 4 x 100 free relay. Maybe, in the prelims possibly. Tom Shields could drop a big time long-course 100 fly any day now, and find himself in the London final with a great shot at a medal. But first he's got to make the Team. Same goes for Arizona's insane freshman Kevin Cordes. If you go 51.32 at 18-years-old, you've got to figure a huge drop is on the way in the big pool. But again, he's gotta make the Team first - and he's got just a few old guard Olympic medalists standing in his way. (Among those three, I'll take Cordes as the best shot; think he goes 59-low at Trials, with a big shot at the London podium...)

Missing anyone? Please let me know if I am. Stanford's Chad La Tourette will very likely make the U.S. team in the mile, but it would take quite a drop to be anywhere near the medal mix in London.

When did this happen? When did the NCAA Championships - long considered the fastest short course meet on the planet - become a minor league competition? Sure, they're still fast as hell, and this takes absolutely nothing away from the excitement of the meet, but the fact remains: the stars of the Olympic Games are no longer competing at NCAA's.

Think back to another time when this was a very different environment. In 1996, Tom Dolan was widely considered the best all-around swimmer on the planet. He was a junior at Michigan. His meet the year before, at the 1995 NCAA Champs, is still the best all-around collegiate performance in history. In 2000, Erik Vendt and Anthony Ervin were mere kids in the Pac-10 when they went to Sydney and took home silver and gold, respectively. In 2004, Ryan Lochte collected his first Olympic medals in Athens; then he went back to Florida and dominated the 2005 NCAA champs.

The list goes on... But times have changed.

Now the very best stick around and turn pro after their college days are done. The average age of Olympic champions seems to get older with every Olympiad. This is a trend that's not going to reverse itself anytime soon. Indeed, Lochte has made clear that he has every intention of continuing on until Rio. And despite his protests to the contrary, I'll put money on Phelps being there in Rio too. Maybe this superstar pair won't be loading up on a million events at this advanced age, but they'll still be taking up a few relay spots, at very least.

There's one girl who could make a mockery of all this talk in a hurry. That would be Missy Franklin. If she continues to refuse the ever-escalating stacks of money being thrown her way, continues to put off turning pro, she could be the greatest all-around female swimmer on earth straight through her four years in the NCAA, at whatever lucky school wins her services. Though, there has to be a limit to how much money you can leave sitting on the table... (Another bet: Franklin sticks with her convictions and goes off to school, then turns pro after a year or two in the NCAA. Cashes in before Rio, but still gets to have the whole college "experience"...)

Of course, if the NCAA had any common sense at all, this wouldn't even be a decision for phenoms like Franklin. This behind-the-times organization could simply get with the program - that is, the Olympic program. The Games long ago admitted to the central fallacy of amateurism. And the Olympics are much better for it.

The NCAA would be too...

Heartbreak on the Way Home

Solidarity for Canada's Stefan Hirniak... "What can you say?" asked my friend Adam. "It's beyond words."

I didn't have an answer. Still don't. Not really sure why I'm even writing this. All I know is that I don't think I've ever felt for a fellow swimmer - a guy I've never met - more in my life. And Adam and I both know that a fellow Canadian 200 flyer could really use some support right about now. His name is Stefan Hirniak. Last night at the Canadian Olympic Trials, he missed making the Team over the final 25 meters of the race, fading to finish 4th. The exact same thing happened to him four years ago, at the Trials for Beijing. Both times he was a favorite to make it. Both times it came down to that final 50, heading for home.

The Adam I'm referring to is Adam Sioui - the guy who won the 200 fly at Canadian Trials back in 2008. The same event I won, in the same pool in Montreal, twelve years before that, in 1996. 200 flyers tend to be a certain tribe of swimmer, same as the quirky breaststrokers or the masochistic milers. Not sure what adjective you stick in front of the flyers, but you know the type. When you represent the same country, swimming the same event, over a few generations of National Teams, you tend to look out for the guys who come next. Hirniak came next.

He was faster than Sioui or I. He's the Canadian Record Holder in fact, with a lifetime best of 1:57.01. A time recorded back in 2010, without the benefit of the Suits, I might add.

Heartbreak is part of the Olympic Trials. In any country, any sport. When you get down to it, it's what gives these pressure-drenched events their beauty. So few go home with glowing hearts, their goals fulfilled. Most limp back to their home pools with dashed Olympic dreams. But few experience heartbreak on the scale of Hirniak.

It's something you don't get over anytime soon. But there is a bright light at the end of this dark tunnel...

I told my partner Lars about what happened to Hirniak last night in Montreal. His response was thoughtful, and not what you'd expect to hear right after this level of disappointment: "Well, if he's able to look at it the right way, it will probably make him more successful in his life after swimming," said Lars.

Come again? Isn't the cliché supposed to be how becoming an Olympian makes everything after that much easier? How that great sporting success informs your later professional career, injecting you with a level of special Games-anointed confidence? Well, not exactly, not for everyone.

Lars proceeded to point out a laundry list of former Olympic champions (who shall remain nameless...) whose lives effectively stopped right after their mighty moment of glory. In the true, tragic "To An Athlete Dying Young" way... (If you don't know A.E. Housman's classic poem, please read it now, right HERE.) That success becomes a high water mark that can never be duplicated, so the rest of days become a rather sad dull buzz kill, with the volume turned way down.

But to miss it? To get so very close, not once but twice? To have the wall within sight like that...

That's not something you wish upon anyone. But I'll tell you what it is: This is someone you want to hire once those psychic wounds have had some time to heal. It's someone I'd bet large sums of money on succeeding - once that new path is taken.

I know Stefan Hirniak doesn't want to hear it right now. Would you? But this isn't some look-at-the-bright-side spin to a Trials Heartbreak. This is actually the case. Life extends a whole hell of a lot longer than a few cruel moments in a swimming pool in your 20's. And when those moments don't pan out as planned, well, those are often the men and women who stay hungry for life.

Who go on to truly great things, far beyond mere Games...

The Golden Years

A Dynasty is Born at Cal  The hills are alive with the sound of... Durden? Did the boys of Berkeley really just win NCAA's for the second year in a row? After losing an irreplaceable graduating class, led by none other that Nathan Adrian, and replacing that crew with bunch of no-name freshmen? Yeah well, they're no-names no more. Those Diaper Dandies (cheers, Dicky V) just won the big one for the Bears. And that means the dawn of a dynasty in the Berkeley Hills...

Meanwhile, one week earlier, Teri McKeever led her legion of Lady Bears to yet another title at the women's NCAA's. That makes three national championships in the last four years for the ladies. Or, if you're counting combined, this means that Cal has won five of the last eight national NCAA team titles available over the last Olympiad.

How did this happen? Wasn't Stanford supposed to be the spot where hot shot recruits flocked in the Bay Area? No longer. There's been a changing of the guard, and it looks like it's just getting started.

Admittedly, I've got some pro-Bears bias in this regard. While I didn't go to Berkeley, my wife and my business partner are both Cal alums. Meaning, the two people I communicate with more than anyone else are Go Bears to the core. If my schools (USC and SMU) aren't winning, I'm cheering for Cal, because of them. But who needs a bias? You could look at this as objectively as a sober judge and still come out pulling for the Bears. There's a lot to like.

Among the Cal women, you have - not sure there's any argument here - the greatest woman swim coach in history. This summer, Teri McKeever will be the first female head coach of the women's U.S. Olympic Swim Team. That's sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? The first ever, in 2012? But it's true. The first time a woman's had this top spot. Obviously, she's more than earned it.

Among the men, you have Dave Durden. The guy's 36 years old; he just won his second straight NCAA championship. When he was hired by Cal five years ago, succeeding the legendary Nort Thornton, the decision was met with random shrugs. Apparently, Durden blew everyone away when he interviewed for the job. But this is a gig that's supposed to go to a proven commodity. Swim coaching jobs just don't get much better. It's a destination job, reserved for coaches who've already been around a few Olympic blocks. Durden wasn't that. He was coming from the University of Maryland, not exactly a swimming powerhouse. (In fact, not a swimming house at all anymore, as the program got the axe just a few months ago...) But before Maryland, Durden had apprenticed at Auburn - at the Dave Marsh School of Higher Coaching. He clearly studied hard.

No one's shrugging anymore.

I hate to jinx Coach Durden, and as his profile grows there will inevitably be grumbles, but I have never heard a bad word uttered about the guy. This is more than unusual, it's something that doesn't exist among high profile coaches. Everyone has enemies at that level. I consider Florida's Gregg Troy to be the best swim coach alive on earth, but not everyone agrees with me. In fact, I know a few old swimmers who might disagree with that opinion rather vehemently. But with Durden, all you seem to hear is sunshine. How it's all about the team with him, how he gets everyone to buy in to a bigger mission. How he's "so Zen."

I'm not sure what that even means, but I wish it was something said about me. Don't we all.

Meanwhile, at the rival across town, there seems to be a program with its priorities bizarrely out of whack. Over at Stanford, it seems to be all about the Streak. That is, its mind-boggling streak of consecutive Pac-10 / 12 titles. It's been 31 straight years now. Stanford has not lost a men's conference swimming title under Skip Kenney since 1981. That's insane. (If you swam at another Pac-10 / 12 school, it's also infuriating, but that's another story...) Yet as impressive as that streak might be, it's pretty clear that, for the last two years at least, it's being extended at the expense of a much bigger prize. Sure, the Cardinal won again at the conference meet last month. But where were they this past weekend? A distant third place. 109 points behind their biggest rival when it mattered most...

Over at Berkeley, there's no confusing the priorities. These young men and women are buying in for a pair of coaches who are fast defining the state of their art.

Here's hoping those Berkeley Hills are hosting some raucous swimmer parties right about now... And here's betting that this time next year, Cal is going to win it all again.