As little fair play in ancient sport

In the wake of the Olympic doping scandals, it is worth noting that the first sporting event recorded in Western literature was marred by accusations of unfair advantage and performance enhancement.

I refer to Homer’s Iliad, which is usually dated to 750 BC, shortly after the traditional start of the Olympic Games in 776 BC. Near the end of this poem, the Greek hero Achilles holds funeral games to honour a beloved comrade, including many contests that were also staples of the ancient Olympics, such as chariot-racing, boxing, wrestling, and foot-racing.

The same gods and goddesses who have been busy meddling in the Trojan War now intervene personally to tip the scales within the less deadly arena of sport.

The divine skulduggery begins with the chariot race, when the god Apollo knocks the whip out of Diomedes’ hand to prevent him from overtaking the frontrunner, Eumelus. Athena, who favours Diomedes, is outraged, and she not only restores the whip to her prote´ ge´ and inspires an extra burst of speed in his horses but, for good measure, crashes Eumelus’ chariot, ensuring the ‘‘gold medal’’ (an expensive slave-woman and cauldron) for Diomedes.

Athena reappears during the footrace, in response to a fervent prayer from her special favourite Odysseus, who is stuck in second place behind Ajax. First, she gives Odysseus a much-needed supernatural boost and then she seals his win by tripping up Ajax in a pile of manure.

These divine ‘‘dirty tricks’’ do not go unnoticed by the participants or spectators. As judge, Achilles declares that Eumelus, the most talented charioteer, deserves better than his wretched last-place finish and decides to award him second prize as consolation.

However, considerations of unfair disadvantage do not invalidate the results. When Antilochus, the actual secondplace finisher in the chariot race, hears that Achilles plans to bestow his ‘‘silver medal’’ on poor Eumelus instead, he argues that Eumelus has no legitimate grounds for complaint: ‘‘He should have prayed to the immortal gods: that’s why he came in last.’’

Eumelus had as much freedom to seek divine favour as any of the other contestants, and it’s his own fault if he didn’t take advantage of the opportunity by prayer; Achilles agrees, restoring the original order of prizes. As for Ajax, the Greeks only laugh at his dung-smeared appearance and sour grapes. Athena’s darling Odysseus remains the victor.

The important point here is that sporting contests, from the games of Achilles all the way to the modern Olympics, profess to measure the abilities of individuals matched evenly and fairly against one another. But is human life ever truly a ‘‘level playing field’’?

First, consider the genetic lottery of athletic talent. The gods may aid you now in a footrace, but they also benefited (or handicapped) you at your birth, with your share of natural endowments.

Next, we have sheer, dumb luck. Although the gods can grant strength and ability, they can also, at whim, cause even the best athlete to drop his whip or fall flat on his face, just as some Australians were recently asking whether their Olympians in Rio might be ‘‘cursed’’.

Of course, cheating by mortals was always frowned upon. Antilochus ends up forfeiting his second prize anyway as a result of a dangerous, sneaky manoeuvre on the racecourse. But the story of Achilles’ games suggests that the ancient Greeks would probably not have banned performanceenhancing drugs from their Olympics, as long as all athletes had equal right of access to them, like prayer to the gods.

After all, divine ‘‘performance enhancement’’ in the Homeric world is just that: it doesn’t magically transform cowards into mighty warriors or weaklings into champion wrestlers, but rather enhances the natural heroic qualities that were already present from birth (likewise by divine gift).

Dr Jonathan Tracy is a lecturer in Classical Studies at Massey University.