Walsh’s win one to smile about

He [Walsh] knows he's not curing incurable diseases.

OPINION: Nice guys do finish first. And Tom Walsh has the beaming smile to prove it.

Champion bloke. World champion shot putter. It has a beautiful ring to it, doesn’t it?

First Peter Burling. Now this fellow. Down to earth might just be the new seething intensity. Long may it continue.

Let’s face it, New Zealanders love our sports people to win on the global stage, like Walsh was able to at in London in a dramatic world championships shot put final yesterday when he had to survive twin post-event protests to secure an historic gold medal.

But the ultimate trifecta is achieved when they can do so with some requisite Kiwi toughness and as truly likeable characters, which are boxes the powerhouse from South Canterbury ticks off.

Walsh strained his groin the day before qualifying in London, and had to compete in less than pristine condition. He did not utter a word about it till all was said and done, and simply refused to let it be an excuse for failure.

Nature’s gentleman, and a killer mindset? That’s impressive.

Then there was the post-event furore around the protests from the American camp over nothrows by eventual silver medallist Joe Kovacs and surprisingly off-key favourite Ryan Crouser. They cast a cloud over Walsh’s victory, and detracted from his special moment.

That would have unsettled a less balanced personality. Not Walsh. ‘‘If it’s a fair throw, it’s a fair throw ... I tried my hardest,’’ he told one reporter while awaiting the decision.

New Zealanders should be puffing our chests out with pride over this fellow. He really is a throwback ... an anachronism. He is as dedicated to his craft as you need to be to succeed in the modern sporting environment, but also determined to stay true to himself in doing so.

Remember this is a guy who up until last year, when he started raking in the coin to reflect his special ability to throw the 7.2kg silver sphere inordinate distances, happily mixed work as a builder with that as a shot putter.

The foundations he was laying in the gym were nothing to the ones he was putting down on the site. He loved doing it, too, because he felt it gave him a nice life balance, and the hard work didn’t do him any harm physically either.

It’s almost a throwback to the days when the best All Blacks were hardened farmers who regarded 80 minutes of test rugby as a walk in the park compared to a standard morning’s work on their patch of land.

Walsh loves what he does, and is happy to tell people about it. He doesn’t complicate or over-state his skills. He doesn’t descend the cone of silence any time he gets near a competition. He doesn’t play games with the media. He takes calls. And he loves to chat.

He knows he’s not curing incurable diseases, or splitting any atoms. He’s just pleased that his country is interested in what he does, and happy to enlighten them on the peculiarities of what he does.

Not many, if any, high-level Kiwi sports people possess the character, humour, conviviality and honesty of this 25-year-old from Christchurch, by way of Timaru.

He tells it as it is in language that can be understood, with lashings of humour. He’s refreshing, and entertaining.

When I tried to get him to speak before London on what a mountain he had to climb in trying to defeat the seemingly invincible Crouser and dangerous Kovacs, who between them owned the year’s 10 best throws, he didn’t want to know of such negativity.

Instead he carefully explained exactly why he believed he could win. It wasn’t puff. It wasn’t delusion. The events of Monday morning showed it was calculated determination to learn the mistakes of the past, and secure a different outcome.

Last year Walsh got it wrong in Rio, and picked up a bronze medal that he enjoyed, but could so easily have been a different colour.

This time he has that precious golden metal hanging around his neck. What’s not to like?