‘So how does that affect Goldengirl?’ asked Armitage. ‘Her figure looked okay to me.’
‘I’m telling you this is a commercial sell like any other,’ said Valenti. ‘Package your product right, and you turn a profit.’
‘Possibly,’ said Serafin, with an embarrassed cough. ‘I don’t think we should necessarily put it in those terms, but the principle is broadly true.’
‘All right,’ said Dryden, ‘let’s stay with skating, because that’s where the biggest money has been made by American girls. I can tell you another story about the Ice Follies. In 1968 they signed up Peggy Fleming, the darling of the Grenoble Olympics. She became a legend in the merchandising business, a TV personality with a name that was selling everything from pantyhose to refrigerators ten years after the Olympics. Now, by 1972, another girl was coming up for the Olympics: Janet Lynn. She was actually the favorite for the title Trixie Schuba won. Unhappily, she took a tumble in the free skating and only made the bronze. But Janet had a lot going for her. She was pretty and she pleased the crowds. That’s star quality. Ice Follies gave her a one-and-a-half-million-dollar contract. It made her the highest paid woman athlete in the world. Everyone said they had another Peggy Fleming.’
‘Okay, so what went wrong?’ asked Valenti.
‘Janet didn’t draw the audiences like Peggy. She didn’t fit the golden-girl image so well. It’s difficult to pin it down, but for one thing she was deeply religious. It was said she made herself unpopular with the other girls in the ice show by preaching at them between numbers. For another thing, she had a spell of poor health—’
‘Save it,’ drawled Valenti. ‘We get the drift. But that’s one out of how many?’
‘More than you’d think,’ Dryden answered. ‘A girl puts years of dedication and personal sacrifice into winning a gold medal. This may surprise you, but some of them have difficulty adapting to a different way of life, even when that means a huge financial step-up. A few actually turn the big money down to devote themselves to some fresh cause. Jeannette Altwegg worked with orphans. Tenley Albright took up surgery. Janet Lynn often said she would be happier as a missionary. I think you ought to be aware that there can be problems of adjustment.’
Serafin had remained silent while the dialogue had developed between Dryden and Valenti. Now he broke in with a quick laugh that seemed to originate high in his palate. ‘Mr. Dryden, excuse my mirth. I do assure you we are not investing $500,000 on this project in total ignorance. Of course there could be personality problems, but a little intelligent planning can go a long way to overcome them. Goldengirl is most unlikely to make the injudicious gesture you describe, though we are aware of the possibility. It is one of many psychological syndromes that could arise in a project as ambitious as this. Believe me, we are working on them, and with expert advice.’
‘We hired a shrink,’ Valenti explained.
‘Indeed,’ Serafin went on, ignoring this, ‘the contribution of psychology is quite fundamental to our planning. Although my own experience is all in the field of physiology, I do not underrate the influence of the brain on physical performance. Despite all one hears about football players “psyching up” before a match, the psychology of athletics is little understood. A neglected area. You will sometimes find one chapter in a training manual devoted to jargon about motivation and mental attitudes, but the advice is about as relevant to modern track and field as cold baths and regular walks. The truth is that we are in the television age. Track, like every other sport, is so contrived that the competition is intense, the difference between winner and loser minimal. Without the uncertainty, there would be no drama, no audience participation.’
‘No televised track, no sponsors, no sport,’ chanted Dryden. ‘So far I’m with you.’
‘Therefore everything is arranged to ensure that no competitor secures a large advantage over his rivals,’ Serafin continued. ‘As soon as anyone breaks a record, his technique is filmed and analysed by coaches the world over, his training methods are published in the technical journals, he tours the world demonstrating his form. Soon, of course, one of his imitators defeats him. The smaller the margin of victory, the better. There are electronic timers, photo-finish cameras, and TV playbacks to allocate the glory.’
‘Isn’t this technology, rather than psychology?’ queried Dryden.
‘The upshot is psychological,’ answered Serafin. ‘You see, it leads to a plateau of achievement. Athletes’ aspirations are actually limited by the process. They lack the vision to innovate, and it is easy to understand why, when there is so much pressure to conform. They are inhibited by what they read, what their coaches tell them and what their fellow athletes do.’
‘If it’s based on the best knowledge available, how can that be bad?’ asked Dryden.
‘I’ll give you an illustration,’ said Serafin. ‘I am sure you remember the impact made by the Kenyan athletes, Keino, Temu and the others, in the sixties. They really fired the public imagination, didn’t they? I wish I had a dollar for every dissertation I have read on the emergence of the African distance runner. Yet actually it started about ten years earlier, with two athletes whose names nobody remembers now, but whose achievement was in some ways more remarkable than all the gold medals won by Keino and his generation. I think it was in 1954 that Kenya decided to send two Kisii tribesmen to Vancouver to run the distance events in the British Commonwealth Games. Up to that time they had always confined their participation to the so-called explosive events: the sprints and jumps. It was widely believed that black athletes were physiologically unable to compete with whites over long distances. Well, these two changed all that. On the way to Vancouver they broke their flight in London and competed in the British Championships. The British at that time were among the strongest distance-running nations in the world, but that didn’t daunt the Kenyans. The first of them, Chepkwony, running barefoot, set the pace from the start in the six miles, and refused to be overtaken until midway through, when he had to stop for the excusable reason that he had dislocated his knee. That was no discouragement to his countryman Maiyoro in the three miles. He set off in precisely the same style, but faster, so fast that he soon held a fifty-yard lead over some of the world’s finest distance runners. Everyone assumed he would collapse after a few laps, but he didn’t. It took a new world record to beat him.’
‘What happened in Vancouver?’ Armitage asked.
‘They both ran creditably, but allowed others to dictate the tactics. Maiyoro finished fourth in his event, Chepkwony seventh. The point of real significance is that they had arrived on the international scene without any preconceptions about top-class distance running. They simply ran to win, at whatever pace was necessary to keep their chances alive. And they matched the world’s elite, athletes brought to a peak of fitness by years of expert coaching, intensive training and regular competition. When, inevitably, they were pressed for the secret of their training, they confounded everyone by stating that they ran only three days a week, and then just three-to-five miles. Compare that with the 100 miles a week almost obligatory among European and American distance runners!’