The Oldfield Spin

DON’T CRY FOR ME, ARGENTINA OR VENEZUELA OR SANTIAGO!

Posted on January 9, 2012 by BrianOldfield.com

When they decided not to pay us, I wanted to demonstrate, but we were in Chile. President Pinochet was still in power. You just don’t demonstrate when the big, mean dog has his paws on the power buttons.

Chilean jails are not as nice as the hotel we were staying in. I didn‘t want to end up in a windowless cell in Santiago. No one might ever hear from you again, although I have to say that some of my associates would have been happy if that had occurred.

It was a track and field tour of Latin America in 1981. I was associated with a club called the Philadelphia Pioneers, a group formed to compete against other clubs, including such organizations as the Pacific Coast Club, the New York Athletic Club, and the University of Chicago Track Club. We had already been to Venezuela, Trinidad, Tobago, Argentina and Brazil. I was so hung over I think flies were buzzing me. Chile, fortunately, was the last stop.

I had started out fatigued because to prepare for Latin America I went on a two week binge in Galveston, one in which I was arrested for wearing tennis shoes. Well, it was a case of disorderly conduct and misdemeanor battery, but it started over the tennis shoes I was wearing when I tried to get into a cowboy bar. The dress code wouldn’t allow tennis shoes. One thing led to another. Cops chased me, pulled out guns and took me into custody. But that’s another story.

By the time I got to South America, I had regained some of my balance and energy. I was still throwing 70 feet and there wasn’t anyone in South America who could compete against that. Al Oerter was with us, too, four time Olympic medalist in the discus, so we could put on a good show. He was 10 years older than me and could out throw me in the discus. He was throwing 200 feet in the tour, sometimes 203, and I was throwing 190 or so. But then, I hadn’t practiced for the discus. I just showed up.

We finished competing in Chile, which was a cake walk like the other Latin countries, and we partied all night to prepare for our departure in the morning. Some of the guys were crushing up Ritalin. It’s an amphetamine in addition to being a medication for attention deficit disorder. You can buy that stuff over the counter down in Latin America and so guys were snorting it, along with smoking hashish, and drinking refreshments. I think cognac was one.

We were pretty hungry after our victory celebration so we planned on going to breakfast at the hotel. Our stay was to be paid for by the sponsors of the track meet. We also were to be paid some per diem money and some prize money. Basically it was three hots and a cot. But it turned out that was the cake we didn’t get at the end of the walk.

When we went to breakfast in the hotel, the waiter said we couldn’t have breakfast unless we paid for it ourselves. Well, I thought, that wasn’t going to fly. It was an insult piled on top of my hangover. I was going to do something.

I began throwing bread rolls at the waiter. I’m a thrower, after all, and couldn‘t stop throwing. He was lucky I didn’t throw silverware. And compared to tossing the shot, a muffin was nothing. My track buddies were giggling and saying things like, “You go, Brian.”

The waiter fetched the hotel manager. He confronted us, or me, since I was the only one pitching strikes at the waiter. He yelled that the hotel wasn’t going to give us breakfast. A female employee behind the counter giggled, I remember.

He commanded me to follow him to the lobby. I did. I really wasn’t belligerent or threatening. I was just having fun in my own dumb ass way. The hotel manager picked up an ashtray in the lobby because I think I intimidated him. My hands went up and I stepped forward. It had only been a couple of years since I sparred with Mohammed Ali. It wasn’t anything that Cassius Clay wouldn’t have done and the manager had been the first aggressor, but I didn’t hit him. He ran behind the front desk and called police.

Meanwhile, at the breakfast table, I heard one of my teammates say, “Come on, let’s get out of here.” We went upstairs and got our bags and went down to another room. I think it was Larry Jesse’s quarters. Eventually we had to go downstairs to have lunch and check out. We had vouchers for that. Our flight was at 6 p.m. so we had time to kill.

We were eating beans, rice and sausage when a bunch of guys in suits came up to the table and handed me a note in Spanish. I said, “I don’t read Spanish.” Someone interpreted it for me. The note said, “Please come with us” or words to that effect. They were polite.

I started eating faster because I knew it might be a while before I got any food again. They started asking me things like, “Have you been doing drugs?”

I answered “No, I’m an athlete. Of course not.” I kept eating. One of the guys pulled his coat open and flashed his pistola. They don’t flash no stinking badges in Latin America. I began eating faster. They consulted amongst themselves for a while. Finally I finished, stood up and went with them. One of my teammates’ father was an ambassador in Europe and had connections. He made a phone call.

The policia didn’t handcuff me but they put me in a car and started driving. I said I wanted to go to the U.S. Embassy and they drove me there. I certainly didn’t want them to take me to policia headquarters for questioning.

At the embassy, I met with U.S. officials and was questioned by officials. The U.S. Ambassador may have been there, as I recall. I was pretty well known back then, an international celebrity, so I had a little clout. I wasn’t like your basic American hippie hanging out in a flophouse, smoking hashish. No, I stayed in actual hotels.

In the end, they escorted me to the airport and made sure I got on an earlier flight out of the country. The ambassador also was there. He wanted to make sure I left peacefully.

I guess I overstayed my welcome. It takes extra effort to get thrown out of a country. It’s something of which I remain quite proud.

By Brian Oldfield and George Houde

The Latin America Tour; Bored and broke, but we had batteries

Posted on December 12, 2011 by BrianOldfield.com

I was in Santiago, Chile, doing a tour of South America as a born-again amateur and an athletic revolutionary. I wanted to spread the word of the heavy metal gospel and continue my free-wheeling, free-throwing lifestyle.

Unfortunately, I ended up getting expelled from the continent, for which I am grateful. Had I been stayed longer, I might have ended up against a wall staring at a firing squad. Or down the barrel of a pistola held by an angry husband or father.

Santiago was a charming city with little fortress homes, fleets of Mercedes public buses and little Catholic girls and boys in their uniforms everywhere. The tour had started in Trinidad, went to Venezuela, then to Brazil, and on to Chile, which was the last stop.

It was an eye opening trip for me. I hadn’t really seen slums where people lived in cardboard and plastic shacks built into the sides of hills, unless you count the homeless guys camped out on Lower Wacker Drive in Chicago.

I was associated with a track and field club called the Philadelphia Pioneers, a group formed to compete against other clubs, including such organizations as the Pacific Coast Club, the New York Athletic Club, and the University of Chicago Track Club, my all-time favorite. Back then, there was a lot more attention paid to track and field because of the big boom in citizen running and races and the legendary fame of such athletes as Frank Shorter, Steve Prefontaine, Jim Ryun and, of course, myself.

Even the shot-put became a popular event due to television coverage of the Olympics and other sporting events. The coverage spotlighted most of the speed and power events, the endurance events, and the swimming events. Everybody wanted to run, jump, swim or throw. People still do, but the Baby Boom generation seemed to make it more popular just through sheer numbers. Everybody started buying running shoes, even if they didn’t run.

It was 1981, and by then I had competed in the Munich Olympics, become a professional track and field celebrity, set a world record, been banned from the Olympics and amateur competition, declared war on the U.S. Olympic Committee and then re-admitted to amateur competition by a federal court decision. It was a wild ride.

The year before I was ready to go and throw in Moscow for the Olympic Games, but that turned out to be the year of humiliation as President Carter withdrew the U.S. team because of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan.

I was 36 and still competing when the track and field tour to the southern latitudes came up. I didn‘t want to miss it. I had been in Leningrad for a meet with a lot of my American comrades and thought a stop in Rio de Janeiro would be in order. I came home, bought a new summer wardrobe, and headed toward the border.

It was summer in South America, winter up north, so it was a good place to spend a month. On this particular trip I fell in with the Pioneers, many of them fellow hooligans to whom I could relate. It was a good club. Track clubs were a way for amateur athletes to compete, get their expenses paid and receive a little per diem.

A lot of people were getting free shoes, equipment and accessories from various companies under the table and it was the beginning of club sponsorship by shoe and sportswear companies. I wasn’t a member of the Pioneers. I was a solo artist, and had gotten an invitation to make the tour, along with such luminaries as Carl Lewis, hurdler Charles Foster, pole vaulter Larry Jesse and others.

As amateurs, there was no paycheck, but we received money to live on and a little extra spending cash. Few of us had money of any significance. Few of us came from affluent families. But we got a couple of bucks for showing up and wowing the fans. It was a type of indentured servitude, except that we could always walk away.

Of course, if I walked away I would have to get a job. You know what getting a job means to me. I’ve had jobs and I think they are very over-rated unless you’re making six or seven figures and have a car and a chauffer.

I recall that the tour was sponsored by the Brunswick Corp. which at that time was known mostly for its bowling equipment and pool tables. Somehow the company Hottentots wanted to branch out into track and field. That was fine with me. I would have even bowled for them if they wanted, as long as they paid my airfare, hotel bill and expense money, plus a little extra to buy cigarettes or whatever.

On this trip, I hung out with Larry Jesse, who held the U.S. record in the pole vault at the time. I had met him in El Paso when I lived there. He was one of those people who taught me how to be an airline pirate, mixing and matching airline tickets. Back then it was all on paper with carbon copies, sort of fill in the blank tickets. He could scam his way onto a flight as if he were that guy in “Catch Me If You Can.”

Larry knew all the meet promoters and all the scams to work on tour. He would take several poles, lose them and collect the insurance. That sort of thing.

At these meets we would compete against local clubs and their best Olympic-caliber athletes. It was not particularly challenging for us. I think it was difficult for gifted young athletes in those countries to break out. Many of the local clubs were sponsored by police or military agencies and those were the people who had the money and the power. They brought in their own kids, or their friend’s kids, and didn’t go searching through the slums for kids who had potential.

We went to Argentina, where we did the tango in the dance clubs. Brazil was great. I seemed to attract women there, and had a great time. I recall that the meet was packed with spectators. It was like New Year’s Eve in Times Square. Track and field was very popular in Brazil.

Then we went to Santiago. Santiago was part Third World, part New World. At the airport, people had chickens in cages as carry-on luggage. There were llamas everywhere. And we ran into Gypsies.

We were staying at a hotel, a stone’s throw away from an old abandoned building. It was an old wreck of a place. So from our room, we started flinging batteries at the windows, just because it was a challenge. And perhaps we were a little bored. I think they were D size batteries from our boom box radios.

We had to throw through the open window of our room without smashing our knuckles against the frame. There were five of us. Larry Jesse was one. Another guy was a high jumper whose father was an ambassador somewhere; and there were two quarter-milers from the relay team. I won’t name them because the quarter-milers found the Gypsies who sold them the hashish.

I guess that might have had something to do with the battery toss. I don’t know. There we were, grown men, Olympians, throwing batteries at this building just to watch the windows break. Believe me, it wasn’t that easy, hitting those windows. It was at least 100 yards, maybe more. It took an Olympic effort, but in the end, I think I won. No, I’m sure of it.

There is a theory that humanoids started walking upright so we could throw things at our enemies, at our prey and at windows. The battery incident is proof of that. We, as humans, like to throw stuff.

But that’s not how I got kicked out of Chile. I’ll explain that in my next blog.

By Brian Oldfield and George Houde

Posted in Excerpts from "The Rebel Who Muscled In", International Competition, Throwing History | 1 Comment

The Speed of Light And the Lightness Of Throwing

Posted on October 30, 2011 by BrianOldfield.com

This new theory about the speed of light is disturbing. We have been used to thinking of the speed of light as Einstein defined it — nothing goes faster than 186,000 miles per second, give or take a few parsecs.

If the new theory proves true, they will have to re-think and re-calculate a lot of things: the relationship of time and space; how light works; how time flies; how the universe works; how long you must cook a frozen pizza.

It seems impossible that something can go faster than the speed of light, a velocity which we cannot really imagine. But it could happen. I came close to the speed of light a few times running out of certain bedrooms and bars, but I could never quite get to that level.

What does this have to do with throwing? Everything. For instance, it seems impossible that somebody will throw 80 feet, but it could happen. I’ve done close to it in warm-ups. Sometime in the near future, a thrower will get everything aligned, the axis will be just right, the conditions will be perfect, the rotation will provide acceleration, the trajectory perfect. The cannonball will be launched into orbit.

The whole light speed theory just proves my point that just when you think you’ve reached your best, there is still a way to throw farther, run faster, jump higher. We can be faster than we think we can. We can throw farther than we think we can. We can achieve what we think we can’t.

I challenge you to test this theory. You’ll need a few things.

One, develop your sixth sense. That’s the sense of knowing. Knowing what? Knowing you can achieve what you thought you couldn’t. Knowing yourself. Knowing your weaknesses. Knowing where you are vulnerable to flaws.

Weaknesses are not just a matter of strength. The five senses are involved. Watching the world championships this year, I noticed that some of the throwers close their eyes at the release. You never want to close your eyes at any point in your throw. It is difficult to find out exactly where you are in such an explosive and instantaneous event as the shot-put, and closing the eyes does not help.

You must watch the shot leave your hand. This is commonly known as hand-eye coordination and throwers must have it in order to place the shot through the designated attack point, or the AP. This is the imaginary point in the sky that throwers must try to attack with the shot for optimum effect. It varies from thrower to thrower, depending on size, strength, speed and whether he or she spent the previous night at the bar lifting pints.

You have to find your own AP and make an imaginary map of it to keep tucked somewhere inside your thrower’s brain.

You have to know where you are going to release — where your trajectory will start – and attack that point. The more you keep your eyes open, the more information you will receive. The more information you receive, the more accurate you will be.

You have to study the things you don’t know. You look in the shadows, in the corners, in the slight movement. One of the most important things I ever did was watch the shot leave my hand. One time in Portland, I was in first place and my arch-rival Randy Matson was in second.

Matson was throwing off his chest and I told him throw it over his eyes so he could watch it leave his hand. And he did. He watched his hand go up and the shot leaving his hand. He sawed me off and I thought, “Oldfield, you just talk too much.”

Watch with both eyes, so your head doesn’t turn away. Your left side has to be firm, and you have to keep your chin forward. Don’t flinch or crib away from the throw.

And I will say it here again and not for the last time. Running is important. There is nothing that can’t be enhanced by running faster. Running and breathing put us in touch with the universe. Then we can consider the Big Bang theory and all of its implications. I don’t mean jogging 9 minute miles for an hour. Sprinting is more important. Power running for form. Because in the ring, you have to get from point A to point B as fast as you can, at something approaching the speed of light. We need to feel fast. And we need to feel light on our feet.

There are two kinds of people – those who think they can’t and those who think they can. And they’re both right.

And about that Big Bang Theory, it was in Dallas and, well, I think the theory held up pretty well.

One last thing. All you disciples out there, write me. I need help to get to Valhalla in a Viking ship. I’ll take my time, so we’ll just forget about the speed of light.

By Brian Oldfield with George Houde

Posted in Excerpts from "The Rebel Who Muscled In", Throwing History | 1 Comment

THE VALHALLA DIMENSION

Posted on September 28, 2011 by BrianOldfield.com

Newton was right. Gravity sucks.

Then Einstein figured out that energy is matter and matter is energy and that gravity bends light and somehow they are all related through electromagnetism and the strong and weak nuclear forces. I guess that could be the unified theory of how the universe works.

This reminder of physics and quantum mechanics is important, because as throwers we need a unified theory. We need to know something of rocket science — velocity, vector, and altitude. As throwers, we live in the very physical realm where the laws that govern the universe govern us and the space-time continuum becomes the thrower’s circle. For us, the universe shrinks down to that seven foot ring, like a black hole that can swallow you up and crush you, or propel into a new dimension where champions are created — the Valhalla dimension.

All throwers get to that circle, the gravity of the sport drawing us in. Not all of us get to that dimension, however. To get there, all you have to do is figure out how best we can light the rocket, blast off, and get our Sputnik on the right trajectory so it lands somewhere out there past our imagination.

Einstein’s theories defined gravity. My theories defied gravity. I defied it for as long as I could. It was time well spent. You can defy it in your own individual and eccentric way if you choose, just as long as you try to defy.

The genius of Einstein was the that he had the mental force to make a universe of mistakes and keep going, eventually coming up with the best theory. Same with throwing. You lift and lift, you throw and throw, you pick apart the particles of your throw, parse the form, the speed, the motion, and try to freeze frame it. Then we learn from our mistakes if we can detect them.

Let’s call them rotational variances in space-time. Those little wobbles that are hard to detect, like the wobble in the orbit of Neptune, say.

What we strive for is rotational invariance in space-time. If this sounds like cosmic blather, that’s okay. The cosmos is right here in front of our faces and the rules apply.

But let’s come back from our orbit around the galaxy for a more practical application. Take a partially deflated basketball and place it on your head. Then do your rotational throw, nice and slow. Then do it again and again and again until the basketball stays put and doesn’t move. It becomes the axis of your rotation. Eventually replace the basketball with a Frisbee for a better challenge. Or a small flying saucer.

Controlling the head during the throw is important. If you start shaking your head all around, the basketball or the Frisbee is going to fall off into the black hole. This is a drill that you can practice almost anywhere at any time. It’s the Esparza drill, named after an old student. I had a kid who was terrible at this drill, but he went home and practiced for a year. When he came back to throwing camp, he could do 137 rotations without a hitch. He eventually got a full ride to Penn State as a thrower.

The Esparza Drill is a good way to get the variance out of your space-time continuum.

I bring this up because I watched the world championships. Some throwers closed their eyes and just blasted away. Some of them threw from the middle of the circle, using footwork that started off wrong. Then they over rotated and their head fell away from the release, when they should have been looking up, watching the shot — the Sputnik — leave the fingertips. The rotational variance did a lot of throwers in and the Germans beat us. And a glider beat the rotational throwers. Kudos to the linear technique. Their rocket science was better that day.

Work on your own theory. Work on the Esparza drill. Work on your own unified theory until there is no rotational variance, until there is no wiggle room.

by Brian Oldfield with George Houde

Posted in Excerpts from "The Rebel Who Muscled In" | 1 Comment

YOU TAKE THE HIGH ROAD AND I’LL TAKE MY ROAD PART 2

Posted on August 19, 2011 by BrianOldfield.com

The Highland Games were a saving grace for me during my exile from the world of sanctioned amateur athletics. I had been banished because I wanted to make a couple of bucks from throwing the shot. Imagine an American athlete wanting money to perform! The sporting authorities were shocked. I felt like Oliver asking for more porridge.

I also smoked, wore Speedo briefs, and spoke my irreverent mind. These were all strictly verboten if you wanted to compete for the AAU, TAC, NCAA or the USOC. But the Highland Games were my cup of tea. I felt a kinship with them. In another age, I might have been a bodyguard for the king and queen. Or the chieftain of a Highland Clan.

Then again, I might have been a rebel leader, fighting to oust a decadent, corrupt and unjust monarch, freeing the people from the yoke of tyranny. This I actually tried to do in various lawsuits against the United States Olympic Committee, a revolt that, in the end, indeed produced a revolution and opened the gates for professionals in the Olympics.

But I digress. Back to the Highland Games, which are prehistoric in origin, but were eventually refined and developed as modern contests during the Victorian era. They have always attracted the strongest and biggest people and now include women’s events. It’s about time. They can look good in kilts, too, something they could not even wear in the Victorian era.

In 1975 I was really strong and could toss stuff around with the best of them, so I seemed to be a natural for the Highland Games. Bill Bangert, the former champion thrower, introduced me to the games and then introduced me to George Clark, a Scotsman who was like the Johnny Weissmuller of Scotland.

I have to add a sad note here that Bangert, an amazing guy who was a great shot-putter, a boxer and an opera singer, died in July at the age of 87. He competed well into his advanced age and was an unforgettable character.

When Clark invited me to go to the Scottish Royal Highland Games in Scotland, I went. It was a beautiful place and it was a great time because we would get involved in this upstairs-downstairs action, with pints of beer and three fingers of Scotch whiskey at a setting. He was an older gentleman and we would stay at these bed-and-breakfast castles usually owned or managed by ladies, whom he often entertained. That was the upstairs part. I was the downstairs man, involved with the bar maids, chamber maids, waitresses and others. I found that a lot of the Scottish people have a certain heathen quality, including the women, something I greatly admire. I mean that in the most positive sense.

The actual games were great, too. The royal games are the real deal and are attended by Great Britain’s Royal Family — the Queen Mother, the King Father, the Prince Son and so on down the line until you get to the Duke of Earl. I figured I wanted to land that job as a palace guard until I saw the Queen Mother. That changed my mind.

The Highland Games allowed me to escape my athletic exile in the U.S. After the disintegration of the International Track Association, the professional track and field organization which paid us unhandsomely to compete, the U.S. Olympic Committee declared me persona non grata because it considered me a professional. I couldn’t even compete in all-comers meets. I remember one official said, “You’ll compete over my dead body.” I looked him in the eye and told him, “Don’t tempt me.”

The Highland Games welcomed me with open arms, no matter what the venue. My exile was a period in which I not only wore kilts and ate haggis, but boxed with Muhammad Ali, performed on ABC’s Superstars, entered the World’s Strongest Man contest and lived life rather large. As far as Ali goes, I didn’t think his sting was so big, but that’s another story.

I won the U.S. championship at the Highland Games in Santa Rosa in 1977. I did the caber toss, the 56 pound weight for distance and for height, and the 28 pound weight for distance.

Since then, the Highland Games have taken root in the U.S. and there are dozens of them ranging from Hawaii to Rhode Island to Mississippi, where, rather than haggis, they serve grits. California has 17 festivals alone.

Throwers get paid big money to go compete in the royal games in Scotland now. I have heard some get as much as $60,000. I only got beer and haggis. Don’t get me wrong, it was good beer and haggis, but a pile of cash would have made them even better. That and a bunch of pictures of the Queen suitable for framing.

I did very well in Scotland, too, setting some records. The last games I competed in were in Santa Rosa in 1985 and I tore the bicep in my right arm throwing the 56 pound weight for distance. I was winding up and a photographer crept too close and I pulled the weight in. I knew it was my last throw, however, so I let it fly and tore the muscle from its attachment.

I thought my throwing was over. But I iced it up and the next day I came back and threw the 56 pound weight for height. Left handed.

I went on to the 1986 Highland Games in Tempe, Ariz., and set a world record for height with the 56 pound weight with my left arm. I didn’t have to buy any beer or haggis that day.

I would like to dedicate that throw posthumously to Bill Bangert, the wild man who could throw with the best of them and who started me on the path to the Highland Games when I was but a wee laddie.

by Brian Oldfield with George Houde

Posted in Excerpts from "The Rebel Who Muscled In", Highland Games | Leave a comment

YOU TAKE THE HIGH ROAD AND I’LL TAKE MY ROAD

Posted on July 19, 2011 by BrianOldfield.com

I became an honorary Scotsman when I was invited to the Highland Games in bonnie Scotland, where throwing heavy objects is a national passion.

This came about after an International Track Association trip to Edinborough where I threw 73-1 and set the European record in the shot-put at the time, which would be in the last century, 1975 to be exact. It was a sensational moment. At least I thought it was sensational. I believe it was the great beer they have there that gave me the strength, courage and vision to throw against the best throwers of the day. That and the promised paycheck from the ITA, the professional touring track and field association of which I was a star performer.

I was living on the West Coast and was in and out of Los Angeles a lot because the ITA office was on Wilshire Boulevard. I was trying to make money, make connections and live life large. I am not sure how it came about, but I met Bill Bangert, a visually impaired athlete who set a world record shot-put for visually impaired athletes in the early 1950s. Bangert sought me out, as I recall, to compete in the Highland Games, he being a stout supporter and competitor in them.

Bangert was an amazing guy, about the same size as I was — 6-5 and 265 to 280, and had been a champion shot-putter and discus thrower in the 1940s and went blind due to a degenerative eye disease. He also was an operatic baritone and obtained a glee club scholarship to Purdue University in his final year of college, transferring from the University of Missouri. He sang his way to his degree. After an operation, he regained vision in his right eye.

Bangert eventually became mayor of Champ, Missouri, a town he founded, and was active in politics. In 1971, at the age of 48, he won a gallon of whiskey from the lord mayor of Aberdeen, Scotland. He did this by carrying the famous “Dinnie Stones” across the River Dee and back again. Named after the legendary Scottish strongman Donald Dinnie, the two stones weighed 778 pounds together. Bangert carried them across the 17-foot bridge and back, the first time someone had done it since Dinnie in 1851.

Bangert said at the time that it proved he was the strongest mayor in the world. He also said some of the Scots didn’t appreciate the fact that he had accomplished the feat. “I thought there was going to be a fight,” he told a reporter on his return with the jug of Scotch whiskey, which back then was allowable as carry-on baggage.

Bangert thought I might be interested in the Highland Games that were coming up in Long Beach. We went to a park to see if I had an ability for it. He had me do the stone throw with the 28 and 56 pound weights for distance and also the 56 pound for height. The weights go all the way down to a stone, which is 14 pounds. There is also the hammer throw in 16 and 22 pound weights. There is also the caber toss, using a long wood pole to approximate the throwing of a log across a stream, which in the old days had to be done in order to cross the moat and sack the castle.

I could tell right away I had a knack for it. It was a fun, free-wheeling competition with a variety of events and you could use some creativity. And you could wear a kilt and look like a right Scotsman, which appealed to me somehow. I always felt I had been some sort of palace guard back in the days of William Wallace, and before that a barbarian in the days of Stonehenge. I may have even sacked a few castles. I certainly hope so.

So there I was, being coached by a blind guy. There is something very Zen about that. Sometimes you can see more when you can’t see. I used to practice in the dark and try to feel the arc of the shot and hear the thump of the landing, rather than just looking for it. It develops your awareness ability, tunes you in to the flow of the throw. We all have three eyes — the two on your face and the one in your mind. Developing the mind’s eye is just as important as your sight.

This is how I set a record in the 56 pound weight for height at the 1986 Highland Games in Tempe, Ariz. I simply closed my eyes.

There’ll be more on the Highland Games in my next blog, including an account of my search for the Loch Ness monster. It took place at a pub in Edinborough.

by Brian Oldfield with George Houde

Posted in Excerpts from "The Rebel Who Muscled In", Highland Games | 3 Comments

The Rotational Revolution

Posted on June 16, 2011 by BrianOldfield.com

It has been a great spring for my disciples. They proved the revolution is complete and the future has arrived. I mean the revolution of the rotational throw and the overthrow of the glide technique.

I cite as an example the young athletes who threw shot in the Illinois boys state high school championships recently.

Rotational throwing was the clear choice for all Classes, 1A, 2A and 3A. The ratio may have been nearly 10 to 1.

For me to have this kind of impact with young people and to be remembered as a coach and mentor is an honor for me. I’m still leaving my mark on the world. And now, my disciples will leave theirs.

The top three high school shot-putters in Division 3A were part of my throwing brigade. I either coached them or helped their coach coach them. Two of them are twin brothers at Lake Park High School, Jermaine and Jeremy Kline. Jermaine took first with a throw of 66-05.75, a state record and Jeremy threw 61-09.5, taking third.

In between them was Igor Liokumovich, of Deerfield High School, with a throw of 62-00.25.

Those three guys also took the top three places in the discus. Jermaine first with 188-01, Jeremy second at 185-10, and Igor third with 181-10. The wind came from the left so it cut down on the distances, because Jermaine has thrown over 200 feet.

Igor is going to Harvard and probably will become some sort of genius. Jermaine and Jeremy are going to the University of South Carolina where they will do well, I‘m sure.

I have to mention Brian Bobek, a senior from Fremd High School in Palatine, and Owen Saldana, a senior from Waubonsie Valley in Aurora. Brian took fourth in shot-put with a throw of 61-05.50 and Owen fourth in the discus at 179-0. I consulted with Brian’s coach on throwing and he has been to our coaching clinics. I am in regular contact with Owen’s coach and have been for years.

So the rotation revolution is continuing and I want to take some credit for it. Though I did not invent the rotational shot-put throw, I like to think I put it in the limelight, gave it grit, gave it some respect. They laughed when I threw the shot with it until it hit them in their imagination. They laughed when I sat down to play the piano, until I picked it up and threw it at them.

Sing it with me: Somewhere over the rainbow, throw so high, somewhere over the rainbow, why or why can’t I? I wish I may I wish I might throw that shot right out of sight.

I showed the world in 1974 that the rotational throw was the path to the future. I worked on it for two years before using it in competition. I was in El Paso when I took my last six throws with the spin and they were all about 72 feet.

It is almost all we teach throwers at the John Powell Throwing Camps, in which I play the role of shot-put coach, or shot-put ogre as some think. This is the only place where a shot-putter can get coached by a 75 foot thrower, namely me.

Powell and I have been holding these camps for 25 years and we have had a lot of student athletes who have done very well in competitions at state, national and international levels.

Powell is an Olympic medalist and former national champion in the discus. Together we have coached thousands of throwers and many of them have been able to get athletic scholarships, one of the other primary reasons why throwing is a great sport.

We even have the 72-year-old state discus champion from Wyoming and the 13-year-old female middle school discus champion from Illinois. They both throw about 110 feet. So we take all people into the camps, young, old, even ogre types like me.

For those who can’t quite grasp the rotation, there is the Oldfield Shuffle, in which you take two fast steps backward, turn the feet and throw. I stole the two-step from George Woods, the silver medalist who used it and did quite well. I think he called it the Chicago Shuffle.

The spin is complicated, it is complex, and takes a lot of coordination. So if you can’t boogey, you throw the backward two-step. The first time I used it, I threw 69-6. And that was a piano.

By Brian Oldfield with George Houde

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STAY HUNGRY, KEEP TRAINING AND GO INTO BATTLE SMILING

Posted on May 31, 2011 by BrianOldfield.com

If I didn’t vomit before an important throwing meet, I would get extra nervous and think there was something wrong with me.

I would get so wound up before meets I would have to spew. It became a ritual and the more I spewed, the better I threw.

It was like getting into the warrior mode. The ancient Roman warriors would cut their hair short and they would fast because they believed a hungry warrior is the best warrior.

So I guess vomiting was a form of fasting for me. It would get me into battle mode. I always felt like it was a battle out there on the field with all of the other throwers, all of those Alpha types who wanted to rip your head off and throw that.

So I came to rely on the regurgitation to get me in the mode. It helped make me feel light and fast and edgy. That’s when I would feel, “I’m ready now. Ready to throw.”

Also, my breath could blister paint and make people flee. That was enjoyable.

I bring this up to illuminate how deeply emotional I was about throwing and how it was not only a physical event filled with fire and desire, but a metaphysical event that we don‘t entirely understand. We just know that for some of us it taps into our fourth dimension, that place where the spirit drives us to become more than we thought possible.

You can will yourself to improve, if you have a pathway with heart, as I did. But as you continue, the path gets narrower until it is only a thin line and it becomes more difficult to stay on. I know. I’ve walked that line and so must you, if you want to get to Valhalla.

I want to preach here a little on what I call the “Wiffle Ball” practice. It’s like playing baseball using the plastic bat and plastic ball with holes in it. The point of it is to simulate what happens during a game without needing a big field. In my Wiffle practice, I would use shots of various weights and set up scenarios that I might encounter at the big meet. It was a rehearsal. I would tell myself things like, “Now you have to throw just a little that-away because there is a breeze coming from the left.”

Or, “I’m going to have to slow down this rotation a bit to get the timing right.“ Or speed up the rotation to get the timing.

All life is a play and we must rehearse our roles, especially throwers. I never used a 16 pound shot to practice, except when I was on the road. At home I would use a variety of weights – 20, 19, 15, 14, 13, down to 8 pounds. This technique expands your scope. It’s like stretching your imagination.

I once threw a 35 pound shot 35 feet. That’s like throwing a 16 pounder 70 feet. The idea being that if you stretch your imagination, you can enlarge your field of dreams.

Another technique is to throw with a partner. You use an 18 pound shot and the partner throws with a lighter shot. Then you switch. You can make it a competition. If you have a training partner who can’t throw as far, you give yourself a handicap. He or she gets the light shot. You take the heavy shot. You let them throw farther. It builds them up, gives them confidence, makes them better throwers. And when they get better, you get better.

Throwing takes hours and hours of lonely training, years of study, practice and competition, weight lifting, running, swimming. And you must train your smile, too. When you compete, you want to have a smile on your face. Or at least a face that’s grimace-free. It’s the effortless face, part of the effortless throw. Smile and think about how light the shot feels.

It’s easy to over-train though. The secret is to know when to let up. A lot of guys would lift weights up to the day before a meet. I would hear them say things like, “Got my personal best lift yesterday.” Then they would fall short in the throws because they left their best stuff in the gym.

I have an example from ancient history. In 1972, I was competing at the national championships in Spokane, Wash. Randy Matson took top honors with a throw of 69-6. I came in third. Reporters asked him what he was going to do to prepare for the Olympic trials that were coming up in Eugene, Ore. He said he was going to go home and do more weight lifting.

I remember smiling and thinking to myself, “Get yourself nice and tight. Just keep lifting and be a two dimensional thrower. Me, I’m going to stay loose.”

I went down to Portland, Ore., and did a meet with my buddies from the University of Chicago Track Club against the Pacific Coast Track Club. While Matson was in the gym cranking up the weights, I was out there throwing and staying loose, doing back flips and goofing around, keeping a smile on my face.

I was still feeding the muscles, but I was also feeding the psyche, enjoying the moment, which is what throwing is about, after all. It was two weeks before the Olympic trials.

Then at the trials, I simply let it all hang out and won a spot on the team, beating out Matson the gold medalist from 1968. I credit my philosophy of maintaining an equilibrium between strength, flexibility and balance for the victory.

I threw up before the competition, of course. Stay hungry, my friends.

By Brian Oldfield with George Houde

Posted in Excerpts from "The Rebel Who Muscled In", Throwing History | Leave a comment

Getting Ready for the Championships

Posted on May 7, 2011 by BrianOldfield.com

It’s spring and throwers should be training hard for their meets. The championships are just around the corner. Throwers will be kissing their lucky totems, girding their loins and pumping iron like maniacs.

It will be the strongest of the strong that ascend to the podium under the formula: citius, fortius, altius. That’s faster, stronger, and higher, the old Olympic credo.

There’s nothing wrong with having a lucky charm or two and preparing mentally and physically for the contests. But a word of warning from Brian the Wise: Don’t over-wrought yourself.

True, it is time to reduce reps and lift heavy for that ultimate throw that will get you into the finals. But it’s also time for doing those 50 or 100 yard sprints and 25 laps in the pool. It’s time to bring out the finesse in your athlete, not just the musclehead. It’s time to work on the nuances.

One of the problems with throwers is that we spend a lot of time building up our strength, trying to pack all of our power into a one-second throw of a heavy shot, discus, hammer or javelin. The preparation is long and difficult and the actual event is brief. We get all wound up, wired up, tightened up. That’s when the effortless throw is out of reach.

What is needed is elegance, balance, tempo. The antidote for tightness of being? Let the nothingness into your shots, as they say in golf. Easy to say, difficult to do. Stay loose to throw with juice, is what I say.

We want to incorporate spatial abilities, grace and power which will transform your throwing into the art form it should be. I note that Rudolf Supko, a throwing coach in Australia, says that a feel for rhythm and some musical ability or dancing skills can help your throwing. That’s how grace, elegance and flexibility can be worked into your
come in.

Weightlifting is only part of becoming the thrower you want to be. The thing I found out is that your own strength can inhibit you. I threw against people who were stronger than me, but I could out throw them. It is not only strength, but it is how much you can accelerate your strength.

A good example is Udo Beyer who had a standing throw of 72-2 feet and a dynamic throw of 74-4. He was almost as strong in his standing throw as he was in his dynamic throw, which was a glide. So he didn’t add much to his throw by moving through the ring.

My best standing throw was 65 feet. But I could add 10 feet to that with my dynamic throw. This means I was faster at the release. Conclusion: I had more acceleration over a longer period of time and more bang for the buck.

Beyer got stronger and bigger faster than any thrower I ever knew. But his athletic ability didn’t increase exponentially with his strength.

Olympian George Woods had a formula that said for every 20 pounds you added to the bench press you could throw a foot further. It worked for Woods, he won two silver medals. I found that I could increase my throw a foot for every 15 additional pounds on the overhead push press, where you drive up on your toes at the end.

This is somewhat like rocket science: angle of release plus speed of release plus thrust equal trajectory and distance. The laws of physics apply everywhere.

I like Supko’s thoughts about music and dancing and I interpret them as a call to be light on your feet. When you are light on your feet, you can cover X distance faster, thus your acceleration through the ring is greater. Besides, dancing is good for you in general. I always loved to dance and once was part owner of a disco joint in California. But that’s another story.

My recommendations to let the nothingness into your shots:

Swim – I always swam whenever I could. It’s soothing and loosens you up.

Run – Sprints for foot speed. I found that sprints helped my footwork, not to mention overall feelings of well-being caused by endorphin release.

Golf – Practice your swing. This is a good way to loosen your shoulders. I compare the
effortless throw we strive for to the effortless golf swing that the great golfers have.

Yoga – Great for flexibility and balance. Get a guru.

Gymnastics – Chin-ups for strength and endurance, hand stand push-ups for overhead
strength.

Dance – I would try some ballroom dancing as well as the latest night club styles.

You never know. You might make it to “Dancing with the Stars.” I know I would have.

Brian Oldfield with George Houde

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FEAR AND LOATHING IN L.A. PART 2

Posted on March 19, 2011 by BrianOldfield.com

Revenge is a dish they say is best served up cold, but it was hot in Los Angeles in the summer of 1984 and you could almost smell the asphalt melting.

I was out for payback in the City of Angels against my arch-nemesis, the United States Olympic Committee. I had been locked in battle with the USOC over my amateur status for years and the committee wanted me to fade into the sunset with the rest of the aging Olympians who had rebelled against its athletic tyranny.

The committee members didn’t want to see my beautiful mug anywhere around the Olympics in LA. I was the bad boy they hated. But I didn’t hate the committee members. I just despised their rulings that kept me out of the Games even after I had won the hearts and minds of nearly everyone else.

A newspaper columnist wrote that the things the USOC had to fear that year was a terrorist attack on the games, traffic congestion, the Soviet Union, and me. I was happy to be on the short list, even if I was the unholy infidel, ranked right up there with the Evil Empire of the Soviet Union, which empire boycotted the LA games because the US had boycotted the Moscow games in 1980.

The committee even had their four star general call me up in LA. “Couldn’t you just leave town and stop scaring the children?” is basically what he asked me, or words to that effect, anyway.

“I’m as American as anybody else, with a God-given right to compete and pursue the happiness of the throwing sports,” is what I told him. Or words to that effect.

A short recap is in order. In 1972 I got on the dishonor roll of the USOC after I was caught on film smoking a cigarette at the Olympic trials. The photo made the papers and put me on the map. I made the team, headed for Munich, then almost got kicked off it for going AWOL at training camp in Oslo. The things we do for women.

In 1973 I joined the professional International Track Association. After that, the USOC ruled that I was no longer an amateur, but a professional athlete and therefore unworthy of competing for my country at the Olympics.

In 1976, I was still throwing for the ITA, but it went defunct that year. The Montreal Olympics was coming up. I was ineligible as a professional, of course. It sounds totally inane now, being ineligible because you make a living from your sport and somehow that makes you impure and unworthy, but that’s the way it was.

I was still in ABC’s Superstars, which was a reality show for famous athletes competing against each other in various events. It was only four days out of the entire year, so it wasn‘t a long term deal. But the Superstars show got me to Montreal after sportscaster Keith Jackson of ABC asked me to be a commentator for the games. I happily accepted. I was on national television. I was wined and dined. And I still was a thorn in the foot of the Olympic committee.

By 1980, my dream of going to the Olympics was still alive. After a court battle with the USOC, a federal judge ruled that I, along with my ITA pals, could compete. Then President Carter cancelled American participation in the Moscow games. But at least I was back in the land of eligibility for amateur games. So I thought.

In 1984, I was still dreaming the big dream. I had won the Gran Prix, a series of competitions sponsored by The Athletic Congress to showcase track and field athletes. It showed them I still was one of the best athletes in the country and I was almost 40.

I was throwing really well. I dominated my event in the series, including the greatest meet in the history of the shot-put up to that time. There were five throwers who could heave a 16-pound shot more than 70 feet. That had never happened before.

Besides me, there was Mike Carter, a silver medalist, Dave Laut, a fourth place Olympian, NCAA champion John Brenner, and Michael Lehman. We were throwing like there was no tomorrow and they had me until I launched one 72 feet 9.25 inches. That broke them.

With my success in the Gran Prix, I signaled my intention to go to the Olympic trials in LA. The USOC filed a motion to stop me. I went to court. I had beat the USOC in court several times already, so I thought I would get a hall pass. Then the lawyers for the USOC asked for a continuance to prepare their case. The judge granted one until Aug. 26. That happened to be the day of closing ceremonies for the Olympics.

Screwed again.

I wasn’t done yet, however. Don Franken, a talent agent, called. He had a part for me in a television commercial for Kodak film. Franken’s specialty was working with high profile athletes and he signed me on.

Kodak was the official film that year of the US Track and Field Team. The idea of the commercial was to show athletes competing in events while wearing red tank tops with “USA” on them. The outfits made it appear as if you were on the Olympic team.

It was a one minute spot that would run during the Olympic trials and then the Olympics on network television. They used other athletes as well as actors. I was on screen for several seconds, warming up, throwing and, at the end, raising my hands in triumph, a hallelujah salute.

My big, smiling mug was right there for the whole nation to see on prime time television with a big USA on my chest. I think I made $10,000 from it, but the money was incidental to me. I got more visibility as a shot-putter from that commercial than any other thrower in history.

I only wish I could have thumbed my nose at the USOC at the end because you can still find that commercial on YouTube.