Good Sportsmanship

This being the weekend of HPCX, the 'cross race put together by the Rutgers team, I was going to be spending a lot of time at Thompson Park. By coincidence, my cousin Sol informed me that he'd be racing at Thompson Park on Saturday morning.

So on Saturday morning, before anyone else from the team had arrived, I stood with my Aunt and egged him on while my Uncle roamed the course. Sol has a classic runner's build, and his economy of motion improves every time I watch him run. (He's going to write a smart-ass comment in response to that last sentence, but I don't care.) It was fun to cheer for him, really a rare treat.

As I understand it, Sol had his best race of the year. Not his best ever, but his time was the fastest this season, and he finished just behind competitors that had previously been putting significant time into him. Not that I cared; I was just glad for the opportunity to holler.

That said, what a boring course. Essentially, a lap and a half of a giant rectangle. One slight downhill, followed by a slight climb. I'm not saying that cross country should mimic parcours, but what's the harm in a little variety?

The HPCX course, on the other hand, was fantastic. As King Hermes intended, a real roller-coaster (after the first kilometer of muddy climbing, that is). As demanding of the reflexes as it was of the fitness. Well done, Mark and Rob and Your Majesty.

On Saturday morning, I had met up with Sol and his teammate soon after the race. The teammate, whose name I've forgotten but whom I shall henceforth refer to as Quintus (in honor of Ben), had fallen during the race. Nothing serious, but he'd slipped and hit the ground. A competitor stopped and helped him to his feet. Granted, Quintus hadn't been racing for the win, nor anything close to it. That wasn't the point.

Quintus was perceptive enough to appreciate this out loud. "That's real sportsmanship, I think". True enough, Quintus.

The best show of sportsmanship I saw all weekend came after the Men's Elite race. There had been some argy-bargy with a few hundred meters to go, peaking with one's hip being whacked by the other. As the two crossed the line, they came to a stop and faced each other. They were shouting, apparently on the verge of actually fist-fighting.

The following is from a letter I wrote to Richard Sachs (of the Richard Sachs team):

---

When a fight was about to break out just after the Men's Elite race at HPCX, everyone in the Rutgers camp was looking on in shock. In fact, from what I saw, everybody in the general area, racers and spectators, were frozen in shock.

The one person who wasn't frozen was a Richard Sachs guy. I think it was Matt, but I don't know for sure. Matt, or maybe Justin, rode in between the two guys as they squared off, and just like that, the
confrontation was over.

It was a really classy move that Matt, or maybe Justin, made, and it certainly reflected well on the character of the team as a whole. It's something that I think you, the team manager/owner/head-honcho, should be told about.

---

Wade told me about the letter he'd written to Amaroso's after the Amaroso's racer decked Jenks, and about how the Aquafina team had disbanded after word of one guy's inappropriate emails got back to management. It strikes me that it is as important to notify team management when you see something praiseworthy happen as when you see the bad. ATMO.

My shorts are longer than Sol's
but tighter
My race was eerily similar to Sol's, except with more turns and mud and hurdles and hills and fun. It was the result that was similar, I guess. Not my best race ever, but certainly my best this season, and I finished just behind Jim and Andy, who'd previously been leaving me in their dust.

As far as sportsmanship is concerned, maybe I didn't do so great. Not that I was obnoxious... it's just that I felt that my competitors needed to be informed of my opinions during crucial segments of the race. Like when a Carnegie Mellon kid tried to pass on the inside during a tight corner and only managed to ram into my side, I wondered aloud "Really? You're trying to pass me here? Really?" and then rode away.

Or when the CRCA guy remounted next to me after running the switchbacks I'd ridden. He'd passed me on foot, but his remount cost him momentum, and I moved to pass him. Neither of his feet found the pedals, and he drifted downhill towards me, running me into a stake and forcing me to a dead stop. I voiced my displeasure - not obnoxiously, but perhaps not in the manner of a saint either.

"Left side. Left side. LEFT SIDE. DUDE. DUDE!! DUDE!!! ... dude"