Not finding the rhythm to defend his Tokyo Games javelin gold at the storied Stade de France colosseum, Neeraj Chopra was angry. In a rare first, he would be seen cursing. His flaming eyes during the final certainly needed a fire-hazard warning.
India’s most-decorated individual Olympian-ever wasn’t the affable boy with an angelic smile who makes mothers wince when he tumbles to the ground after completing his throws. But after the stadium light dimmed, well after it was decided that he had finished second to Pakistan’s Arshad Nadeem, the rage vanished somewhere in the Paris night. He was disappointed but he was anything but a sore, annoyed loser. He was laconic, and like always, self-deprecating. Neeraj was respectful towards Nadeem but didn’t try too hard to be normal and told the world that he was ‘happy for him’. He even didn’t overdo the Indo-Pak friendly neighbour thing.
Neeraj is an OG, he doesn’t try to be what he isn’t. Olympic medals haven’t given him airs, accents or attitude. But then there are several Neerajs within him, each different from the other. It’s the perfect departmentalisation of his emotions and the tight leash over his mind that goes a long way in shaping Neeraj into a champion athlete.
Many professional sports persons have perfected the art of being cold-hearted at their workplace and warm away from it. Two-times unified world heavyweight champion Anthony Joshua is one of them. He too has a few Joshuas inside him.
Known for his peachy punches – his straight right is blessed with the magical powers to make opponents see stars – the British boxer is unapologetically brutal in the ring. After he takes his gloves off, he becomes a sensitive family man and a philanthropist. Raised in a big Nigerian extended family with many uncles, aunts and cousins – just like Neeraj – the big man has a throaty laugh. He firmly believes in having no enemies and being good to everyone. Joshua also speaks well.
In the long-running iconic BBC podcast, Desert Island Disc, the boxing great, very early in the show, sweeps the listeners with his wit and charm. The interviewer asks the obvious question: You love knocking out your opponents and have no remorse. It looks so at odds with the person sitting across from me. Can you explain the contradiction?
Joshua’s answer makes one understand those on the Paris podium, men and women like Neeraj better. “Like you see a lion on some social media (clip) and they are showing affection (to their cubs) … and you think ‘Oh, it’s so amazing, I would like to give one of those a cuddle’,” he says as a prelude to the answer. “And then you put a gazelle in front of that lion and you see his pupils widen and his focus and attention .. That’s like me. I love company, I love to talk to people … but when it is time to eat …”,”. His voice trails off as he leaves out the gory details of the chase, catch and the kill.
Josuha’s lion story explains Neeraj’s first switch. The second transformation – Angry Neeraj to Pragmatic Neeraj – can be understood by the end of the day quotes. While the reporters attempt to ask him about the loss to a Pakistan thrower or failure to cross 90 metres; the man who listens to each question carefully and answers them thoughtfully speaks about a concept that explains why the top-seeds don’t win every tournament.
Like in life, sports have too many moving parts. But there are those perfect days when everything falls in place and a beautiful harmony prevails. There are few everyday parallels to understand this concept. Commuters marvel at the coincidence of walking on the platform to welcome an empty local train ambling in, shopkeepers thank their stars for a morning that brings in unfussy big-spenders and students can’t hide their glee on finding that last-minute revised question is on the exam sheet. It’s what they remember as ‘their day’.
In sports, most champion athletes accept the sovereignty of ‘the day’. They are hard on themselves and are firm believers in the maxim ‘you don’t win the silver, you lose the gold’ but their resolve to win does have a tiny rider. They know if their rival has ‘their day’ no force can stop them. Travis Head in the World Cup final at the biggest cricket stadium in the world and Arshad Nadeem at Paris’s theatre of dreams.
The Pakistan strong man would amble in like a pace bowler in the third session after a long spell and hurl the javelin. Like a perfect swing of a renowned golfer or batsman in great touch, he would launch the javelin at the right pace and angle. 92.97 metres would flash on the screen and all the throwers in the arena would be hit by the ‘it’s his day’ thunderbolt. All was not lost but deep inside there might have been a sense of resignation. But the committed competitor in them would not allow them to give up.
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While there was poise in Nadeem’s stride, the rest of the field was in a state of panic. They would try to fight the odds, they would dig deep inside but that would amount to trying way too hard – never ever a great idea in crunch situations. Even on a day that wasn’t his, Neeraj would secure his season’s best of 89.45 metres, the best amongst all to respond to the 92+ throw. “Today was Arshad’s day. I gave my best,” he would say.
And just after that another Neeraj would emerge. “I still have a lot of throws in me. The loss here would inspire me to work harder and throw further,” the Avenger Neeraj would say.
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