Britain let Curry’s golden legacy go to waste
Figure-skater ushered in era of great success on the ice – but there will be no sign of it in South Korea, writes Jim White
Never before had anyone addressed the ice with such balance, such control, such elegance
It seems totally implausible now, but 42 years ago this month, 20million Britons hunkered down in front of their television sets to watch a slim, slight lad from Birmingham perform at the Winter Olympics. And they were not disappointed.
In Innsbruck in February 1976, John Curry produced one of the finest moments of British Olympic history, a display of skill, power and total domination right up there with Mo Farah, Daley Thompson, Bradley Wiggins and the Rio hockey team.
From the moment Curry took to the rink for the final of the men’s figure skating, as he spun and swooshed, twisted and turned, a strange sound was audible above his soundtrack score of Ludwig Minkus’s ballet Don Quixote.
It was the noise of jaws hitting the floor. None of the judges watching the action unfold had seen anything like it. Never before had anyone addressed the ice with such balance, such control, such elegance. Transfixed and spellbound, the judges awarded Curry 105.9 points out of a possible 108, still the highest recorded in the history of men’s figure skating. It was the closest thing anyone had seen to faultlessness on ice. The gold medal was a formality.
There is a timely reminder of Curry’s genius in a new featurelength documentary directed by James Erskine, which is released in cinemas this month. The Ice King is based on Alone, Bill Jones’s superb biography of Curry, a man whose post-olympic life was pockmarked with loneliness and disappointment, ending brutally early when he died of an Aids-related condition in 1994, aged just 44.
But whatever happened subsequently, just to watch him skate again in the film is to be transported. Absorbing the full glory of his six-minute performance, entranced by its spellbinding grace and athleticism, is to wonder why his name is so rarely mentioned in the roll-call of British sporting greats.
Maybe because his was a judged discipline, perhaps because as a pursuit it was closer to art than sport, Curry’s triumph has been allowed to fade in our collective memory.
But what he did was more than significant. With his victory, he ushered in eight years of British domination of Olympic figure skating. After Curry headed to the United States to perform in touring ice shows, his former rival Robin Cousins stepped up to win gold in 1980. Then, in 1984, in Sarajevo, Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean drew an audience back home even more sizeable than Curry’s – 23.9million, the third-biggest gathering for a sporting event in British television history watched them Bolero their way to glory.
For a brief moment, thanks to Curry’s initial impetus, this appeared to be a sport destined to occupy the mainstream. Thousands were inspired to take it up. This should have been the start of perpetual growth.
But quite monumental mismanagement allowed the opportunity to slip away. There was no back-up, no ambition, no plan. As missed chances go, not even Raheem Sterling can touch it.
So, instead, as we watch the action from South Korea unfold, we will be hoping for medal success in skeleton bob and speed skating, curling and snowboarding, sports benefiting from sizeable Lottery funding.
Figure skating, meanwhile, is these days largely reckoned a comedy turn on Sunday night television, inhabited by Z-list celebrities providing Youtube lols as they tumble and fall. Make no mistake, that Curry’s legacy has been allowed to waste away is one of the great tragedies of our sporting heritage.