A Sport Without Underdogs

Growing up, I loved to watch Olympic coverage on T.V., especially the track and field events where sometimes a 'nobody' from a little known country might sprint out of obscurity on her own two feet and topple a field of preferred athletes. I savored these come-from-behind scenarios, and cherished them more if the runner had overcome major life challenges to get there. You know, like poverty or broken limbs or genocide, that sort of stuff.

So much thrill and excitement followed these races. Sports announcers went wild into their microphones, newspapers clamored for the story, television news would broadcast the footage over and over in slow motion. And in mere seconds, a single moment in sports was carved in history. A previously unknown athlete with no Nike sponsorships or other endorsements had written her ticket to the top of her sport. I remember walking away from the television with a warm glow of inspiration inside my chest as if I, too, could someday blast out of a rural town in Vermont into the history books.

It's curious now to find myself in the world of dressage-- a sport with no underdogs. During primetime coverage of this past month's dressage World Cup in Las Vegas, I reflected on how anti-climactic these big events can be when there are positively no come-from-behind moments in the sport, or unlikely candidates competing alongside the 'big names'. I mean, who has ever seen a Welsh Cob at the Olympics? Or a rider from Belarus on the medal podium? When has a Bashkir Curly horse ever shown up in a Grand Prix test? Now, that would be cool.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not denouncing modern Grand Prix dressage competitors who have worked long and hard to claim their accomplishments. I'm just saying that if every now and then a Shetland pony actually ended up on the winner's podium, dressage competitions would be a lot more... well, exciting. We'd get announcers yelping into their microphones rather than droning in hushed librarian-like tones. We'd have spectators showing up in dozens, wondering which underdog might make a run on the first place ribbon-- the Appaloosa, the Arabian cross, or the Fjord pony. We'd finally get some news coverage and little boys and girls saying they wanted to grow up to be dressage riders. Wouldn't this be different? If nothing else, it would definitely change the landscape of modern competitions.

As is, the only time I find myself saying "Holy cow! How about that?" is while watching an upper level stallion blow up in the warm-up arena, clearing out other horses and riders like bowling pins, rather than when an unlikely candidate turns in an impressive performance and WINS. The only 'excitement' or unpredictability comes when high winds pick up and horses start losing their marbles. The only spectators that come to endure the hermetic silence at dressage venues are family members who have been threatened/cajoled/arm-twisted to be there. Wouldn't it be refreshing to have them come willingly because there were some storylines to follow (like the Chincoteague pony that used to live in the wild and is now going head to head with the top-ranked dressage horse/rider in this country?)

By its nature, dressage is a sport for all. It was developed to improve the training and performance of any horse, regardless of breed, talent, or Olympic potential. And for that reason, riders of all abilities and financial means undertake it as a hobby in this country, many of them with lofty competitive aims. The caveat, though, is that in theory a horse need not have Olympic potential to participate in dressage. When it actually comes to the Olympics or World Cup, though, you darn better get the right horse. I might be unpopular for saying it, but in dressage, someone who rides a $10,000 Welsh-Arab cross is very simply never going to pull off a feat like the relatively unknown runner Wilma Rudolph in the 1960 Rome Olympics, sprinting on a sprained ankle to become the first American woman to win 3 gold medals in a single Olympics. Rudolph had overcome a premature birth, polio, scarlet fever, whooping cough, and measles.

During last summer's Olympics, I watched with glee as a 16-year old member of the Brazilian dressage team competed aboard her plump Lusitano stallion-- a total oddball for such levels of this sport. Maybe I hoped for the equestrian version of Rudolph. Luiza Tavares de Almeida performed nearly flawlessly. I held my breath, sort of like you would for a girl of modest means from one of those Balkan countries doing her floor routine in gymnastics. The Brazilian gal turned in an incredible ride, her perfectly obedient steed huffing and puffing his way through the test. I couldn't wait to see her score, hoping she'd make the cut for final rounds.

It was one of the lowest scores I've ever seen in an Olympics. And, see, that's my point. How exciting would it have been if this gal stood a real chance of scoring well and getting into the top ranks. How many dressage announcers would have jumped out of their chairs? Darn it, dressage might have even made it into mainstream news for a moment or two. Other riders with plump unfavored breeds of horses might show up at competitions and that would be... well, fun.

Ever since my 8th grade English report on Wilma Rudolph, I've always had a picture of her with me, either taped to a wall or close at hand someplace. Strategically squinting my eyes regarding reality, I just can't let go of this notion that sports should be a place for everyone. Dressage included. Maybe one day in my lifetime, things will change drastically and our sport, too, will suddenly have underdogs! And story lines! And hype from sports announcers! Just to be prepared, I'm in the market for an Olympic caliber Chincoteague-Bashkir Curly cross. One with really bizarre markings would be preferred. And one that can do an excellent victory lap