So many of our great and famous moments in sport revolve around records being broken – I see you Aaron Judge – inspirational come-from-behind victories, or underdogs in some kind of Cinderella story scenario. Sport is, after all, about competition, about being a little bit faster, a little bit stronger, than the person next to you.
Except sometimes, it’s not about those things.
Last week, while Yankee fans watched their team with bated breath in hopes of seeing Judge knock down Roger Maris’s American League home run record, Jim Redmond, 81 years old, died.
Jim Redmond took his place in the sport history books, becoming an icon – the epitome, even – of how to parent an athlete, during a semifinal of the men’s 400-meters at the Barcelona Olympics in 1992. His son, Derek, having run the fastest time in his prelim and having won his quarterfinal, looked terrific heading into the back straight of the semi, but pulled up just before the 200-meter mark, grabbing his right leg and falling to his knees.
There was no doubt for anyone who knew anything about running: he pulled his hamstring.
Derek Redmond’s road to Barcelona was paved with multiple surgeries and painful comebacks. In 1988, he tore his Achilles just minutes before his start; four months before the Opening Ceremony in Barcelona, he had Achilles surgery once again.
But Olympic glory was not to be his. Crouched on the track in pain that day, Derek Redmond made a decision as his competitors flew by and finished the race.
He, too, he decided, would finish the race.
In footage that makes me cry every single time I watch it – and I truly cannot count how many times I have watched Derek Redmond’s final Olympic race – we see Redmond begin to hobble his way around the rest of the track, hopping and skipping, flapping his arms for balance, a look of pain shredding his face.
But then, a surprise: Jim Redmond joined his son on the track.
I’ve worked eight Olympic Games, and I say with some bit of authority that Olympic security is no joke, particularly at the venues. I cannot imagine what kind of battle Jim Redmond waged to get to his son that day, but he was determined, he later recalled, to get Derek to sit down, to prevent further injury.
That, of course, was not Derek’s plan. So, his father adjusted his agenda, as parents often do, waving off the officials and their walkie talkies that started to swarm around them, his white Nike hat blasting the famous JUST DO IT slogan. He put his arms around his son and they made their way toward the finish line.
Bearing witness to what can only be described as one of the great acts of love in sport, the stadium rose to its collective feet, some 65,000 strong as Derek somewhat collapsed onto his dad’s shoulder, screaming and weeping in frustration, but careful to stay in his respective lane.
Jim Redmond didn’t care about the officials or the cameras that emerged in his path. He had this. He had his son. And while a DNF accompanied Derek’s name on the official results, we all won that day, taking in the sight of Derek and Jim Redmond finishing what they had started, together.
Sport, of course, is different from play because of its competitive context: a leisurely jog does not have the same meaning, the same parameters, as an Olympic semifinal. What it meant for Derek to finish is something only he really can ever define. Good sportsmanship includes, of course, a commitment to fairness and to equity, but it also includes a will to win. If an athlete shows up, they are there to do their level best. For Derek Redmond that day, his best meant just crossing the line, showing all of us that sport is never a zero-sum game in which only the winner gets something; that it isn’t always about the outcome.
“The important thing in the Olympic Games is not winning but taking part,” said modern Olympic founder Pierre de Coubertin. “The important thing in life is not the triumph, but the struggle.”
Jim and Derek Redmond personified the Olympic creed that day in Barcelona. So, in memory of Jim Redmond, go take a look at the footage. I dare you to keep your eyes dry.
Amy Bass is professor of sport studies and chair of the division of social science and communication at Manhattanville College. Bass is the author of ONE GOAL: A COACH, A TEAM, AND THE GAME THAT BROUGHT A DIVDED TOWN TOGETHER, among other titles. In 2012, she won an Emmy for her work with NBC Olympic Sports on the London Olympic Games.
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