Where were you when Wayde shook the world?
WHERE were you? When historic events are recalled, it is human nature to ponder just where they were at that precise moment. I am still not certain quite how the whereabouts of others enhances the richness of the moment, but it is a question often asked.
So, on the 14th of August, 2016, I remember precisely where I was when Wayde van Niekerk turned athletics upside-down, and smashed the 400m world record in Rio. Stadio Olimpico, fifth floor, with slightly sticky toes after dropping a beverage in disbelief over what had just transpired over the last 43 seconds. 43.03, to be precise. The moment is crystal clear because the beverage had been bought by Zayn Nabbi, a former colleague who is now working for CNN. He had just been musing about the fairy tale that Luvo Manyonga had written with his silver medal leap, and he also expressed his excitement about seeing Usain Bolt run his final 100m race on the biggest stage.
That was the drawcard, or so they said. Little did we know that the baby born 29 weeks early would again spring a surprise at 24, rewriting the world’s headlines. That day also fell on the opening day of the English Premier League, a fact that we had almost overlooked, given that the Olympics has a magical way of rendering everything outside its walls irrelevant for a month or so.
That opening weekend had the Arsenal-Liverpool clash as its plum offering, and a Danish reporter on the media bus to the stadium kept us up to date with the crazy events in London. Liverpool, 4-3 winners away from home, in a game that sounded like it was a kamikaze boxing match.
Little did we know that, across the football-mad city of Rio, Van Niekerk was screaming at the TV screen in the athletes’ village, willing his Reds on, in the company of Akani Simbine. Some athletes meditate before a big race. Some nap, or read, or listen to their favourite music. Not our Wayde, who preferred going through the emotional ringer of a Liverpool match to ready his nerves for the biggest night of his life.
Each to their brilliant own.
Van Niekerk had appeared calm and quietly confident when he spoke to us about the 400m, in the lead-up to the final. But, speak to him about his other sporting love, Liverpool, and he would become animated, certain that this was their year.
He didn’t even bite the bait when I cheekily noted that Anfield hadn’t celebrated a league title since before he was born.
“This is a special season, bra. It’s our time. Just watch,” he maintained, with the eternal hope of a Liverpudlian.
When we caught up with him after his heroics in the Stadio Olimpico, after Michael Johnson had interviewed him, long after Usain Bolt had congratulated him in front of the world, Van Niekerk was reminded of that Liverpool game.
“Ya! Wow, we won! What a game,” he exclaimed, momentarily forgetting his own feats.
Perhaps that is Van Niekerk’s greatest trait; his humility.
Yes, he is confident, and well aware he has God-speed coursing through his slight frame. But, he doesn’t thump his chest in a manner that brings added attention to it.
In an age where every one-game cameo thinks they have made it, Van Niekerk goes against the grain. He is reserved, bashful, almost to a fault. Why wouldn’t you whoop, and scream, and tell the world how great you were, having touched immortality and broken a mark that even the great Bolt decided against going for?
It is just not in his nature. As he sat in the presser, alongside LaShawn Merritt and Kirani James, it was telling that both his rivals were so fulsome in their praise and awe of his performance.
Athletics, particularly sprints, thrives on a bit of needle between competitors, but no one had a bad word to say about Van Niekerk.
It is in that spirit that he was the unanimous winner of the Male Athlete of the Games award. One race, one lap around the blue tartan surface, left such an indelible mark, that he usurped the feats of men who left Rio with two, three and even more medals.
He shows up, laces up, and then cleans up. It occurred to us all in the early hours of that Monday morning that Van Niekerk had also changed our plans. We had spoken of the thrill of seeing Bolt’s final 100m dash live, but not one of us did.
As soon as he crossed the line and was welcomed with ‘WR’ on the clock, we ran down five flights of stairs, sticky toes and all, determined to secure a prime spot for the interview. Belatedly, we caught it on one of the screens inside the media zone, in the bowels of the Stadio Olimpico. There was no volume, but a stadium roaring its approval was enough, anyway.
That was the pulling power of ‘The Dreamer’ that night, a magnetism that he will carry over the next few years, too.
I have covered thrilling rugby Test matches, nail-biting cricket finishes, and the 2010 Fifa World Cup, but that night was a privilege.
No single sporting moment I have witnessed has struck a chord quite as beautifully violent a blow on my consciousness as Wayde van Niekerk did on 14 August, 2016. He dropped the world’s jaw that night, and some are still picking theirs up, because the numbers defy logic, especially from lane eight.
He is the drawcard now, and the riches, the watches, the cars, the stoves and the relentless attention that will follow are all a by-product of his success.
It matters not a jot that Van Niekerk didn’t secure the IAAF Athlete of the Year on Friday night. Bolt already passed on the hypothetical Olympic torch to him in Rio. And, if Van Niekerk’s star continues to rise at the rampant rate of the past 18 months, it is a matter of time before he adds a few to the burgeoning collection, anyway.
And, come 2020, it seems certain that the softly-spoken, Liverpool-mad track superstar will provide us with a fresh, ‘where were you’ moment in Tokyo.