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Tuesday, September 19
Bela again in gymnastics spotlight
By Nancy Armour
Associated Press
SYDNEY, Australia -- Among the magnets, pictures and other
knickknacks in Bela Karolyi's kitchen is a little board that reads,
"Everybody is entitled to my opinion."
|  | | Bela Karolyi knows his Americans have to improve from their qualifying-round performance. |
It's supposed to be funny, not carry some deep, hidden meaning.
But it's so fitting for the man who has single-handedly shaped U.S.
gymnastics for two decades.
With his booming voice, a way with words that can only be
described as "Bela-speak" and a knack for drawing the spotlight
to him like a magnet, he's become almost bigger than the sport.
"He has the record and you know it," said Kerri Strug, one of
Karolyi's nine Olympic gold medalists. "He's trained so many
Olympians, so many world champions. What he does works."
The biggest test of his career could come Tuesday in the women's
team finals. With Karolyi watching from the stands during the
preliminaries, the U.S. women looked uninspired, barely making it
to the finals.
To have any chance at a medal, Karolyi must work some of his
greatest magic and find a way to give the women the fire they so
desperately need. There are some whispers he may even come back to
the floor for the finals.
"We need to be ignited," he said. "I would grab them by the
shoulders. I wish I could grab them on the shoulders right on the
floor."
This role of Svengali was never part of Karolyi's grand plan.
Growing up in Romania, he wanted to be a teacher in a small town,
the one who brought joy to the "little kiddos."
For a time, he was. After graduating, he married his college
sweetheart, Martha, and moved back to Transylvania to teach
elementary school.
Looking for a way to keep his students warm and entertained
during the winter, Karolyi dragged out some old mats and taught
them gymnastics. Soon they were putting on exhibitions for the
residents, who'd been hardened by the cruel weather and tough life
in a coal-mining town.
"Some of them were crying. They're saying, `Bela, I never
thought my children could do that!"' Karolyi recalled. "It was so
incredible. It brought them out of their shells."
A few years later, the Romanian government put him in charge of
the national team. Women's gymnastics in those days, the early
1970s, were done by elegant ladies. Not young girls, ladies.
But Karolyi changed all that. At the Montreal Olympics, only one
of the Romanians was older than 14.
Montreal, of course, is where the world discovered Karolyi.
While a sprite named Nadia Comaneci tumbled her way into the
world's hearts, scoring the first perfect 10 in Olympic history,
there was Karolyi, wrapping her in one of his trademark bear hugs.
Four years later, he was in disgrace. He criticized the judging
at the 1980 Moscow Olympics -- it cost Comaneci a second all-around
gold -- and faced the possibility of jail.
"Suddenly, from a position where we've been praised and
considered the foremost athletes in the country, I was
stigmatized," he said. "I thought they could put me away for
political misconduct."
In March 1981, he was told to take the Romanians to New York for
an exhibition tour. While he was there, he heard of a report on his
"transgressions," and that he'd be punished as soon as he
returned to Romania.
He and Martha sat up the entire night talking, finally deciding
they had to defect. It was the most difficult decision they ever
made, because their 6-year-old daughter, Andrea, was still in
Romania.
Speaking no English, the Karolyis made their way to California,
where Bela did menial jobs while Martha stayed home and learned
English from television.
"That first year and a half was the most frustrating of my
life," he said. "You always play on 'why:' `Why am I here? I
don't know anyone here. It's not my life. It's not my country.' It
just eats you up."
A few months later, he was working on a painting crew when he
spotted Bart Conner at the Los Angeles airport. Conner put him in
touch with his coach, Paul Ziert, who helped Karolyi get his first
coaching job in the United States.
Three years later, Mary Lou Retton became the first -- and, so
far, only -- American to win the Olympic all-around.
Karolyi became the country's premier coach, and girls from
across the country flocked to his Houston gym. But as his resume
grew, so did the criticism. He was a harsh taskmaster, calling his
gymnasts names, taunting them for their weight and pushing them to
their limits.
And those bear hugs that looked so sweet?
"A lot of those big bear hugs came with the whisper of `not so
good,' in our ears," Retton wrote in her recent book.
For all his failings, though, Karolyi got results. He's coached
28 Olympians, 15 world champions and six national champs. When he
was the Olympic coach in 1992, the United States won its first
medal in eight years.
"There were definitely times I didn't agree with him," said
Strug, whose vault on a badly injured ankle sealed the 1996 gold
medal. "There were definitely times I was crying and wanted to go
home. But I always knew he had my best interests at heart.
"He has so much power and he instills so much discipline," she
added. "In the gym it's never good enough and I think that's what
makes you succeed. You go to a competition and it's easy."
Karolyi retired after the 1996 Olympics, swearing that, this
time, he was really done. But when the United States finished dead
last in the medals round at last fall's world championships, USA
Gymnastics president Bob Colarossi flew to Karolyi's ranch and
coaxed him out of retirement once again.
This time, he's responsible for the whole team. As the national
team coordinator, it's his job to get the athletes in physical
shape and instill that fire that is so uniquely Bela.
"It's not by accident that Bela is who he is and has
accomplished what he has," said Kathy Kelly, the U.S. women's
program director. "It's by very, very hard work and that's what he
instills in all of us. Work."
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U.S. women stumble in gymnastic preliminaries
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