couldn’t believe that i had not heard / read of michael christian martinez before sochi 2014.  my bad?  and/or media’s?  whatever, that was quite a two-night high, watching this 17-year old competing with the world’s best and being dazzled by his talent and passion and tenacity.

on facebook it was good that above the babel of high hopes for a gold (sana matisod ang japan at canada, haha), there was the voice of prof. neil garcia, once a rollerskater and skateboarder himself, who has been following the olympic event “since forever,” and who placed it all in perspective in this thread of observations.

J. Neil C. Garcia

just to make the cut for the free skate–that’s achievement enough (his real olympics will be in 2018, when he will hopefully have a quad or quads, and his other triples will be more secure, his line more graceful and powerful).

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but what an olympics this has been! first, there was that obviously scripted but still shocking withdrawal by plushenko (that had the bulk of the audience–russians, naturally–heading for the exit); then there was jeremy abbott’s horrendous fall (that visibly knocked the wind out of him) and grim determination to finish his skate anyway (reassembling his program from scratch, almost, well enough to still rack up some points); then there was yuzuru’s incredible score, followed closely enough by patrick’s (and the two of them are way out ahead of the rest of the finalists); then there was the almost pitifully empty arena (less than a quarter of the seats were occupied); then there were all these botched quads, popped triples, and falls, all resulting in unseemly and unbecomingly low scores for most of the competitors… the pertinent ‘first’ of course is the entry and qualification of our own lone teenage olympian, who has certainly done us all proud. a memorable evening it has been, after all. here’s to a respectable and clean free skate for mcm tomorrow!

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mcm himself admitted in the post-skate interview that his combination jumps are his waterloo. without them naman, he can’t go very far in the free skate. if i were him, i’d go for a double (rather than a triple) toe tacked at the end of a triple lutz and a triple loop and that second triple axel. pwede na yun. don’t na try for a triple triple. basta clean, para memorable na rin. and his ina bauer, which is great, along with the biellmann: female moves, and among the guys only he can do them–he should highlight them as transitions.

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he doesn’t have the mature line and edges yet. clearly visible, this youthfulness, when seen side by side the higher-scoring skaters that came after him. he’ll gain all of that with more training. i really hope he gets a sponsor–maybe some rich tycoon, fil or filam–who will put him up in michigan or somewhere else in the us, and basically allow him the opportunity to get better at his craft.

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his nebelhorn and earlier competitions saw him holding his positions longer. it’s the nerves–they obviously got to him, even if only a little.

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who wrote this report? several triple axles? he did just one triple aXEL; a downgraded triple lutz combo (ended up doubling the toe loop), a triple loop and a cantilever (a kind of inside-edge spread eagle, with knees bent, back leaning). his best (because unique elements) were in the transitions (the ina bauer, for example) and the spins (the i-spin and the biellmann). hay. it’s time we brush up on the elements of this very complicated sport.

yes, and it’s time that government and the tycoons give the young man all the support he clearly deserves.  we have in michael a national treasure, so young and already skating, strutting, on the world stage, doing the nation proud.  and those 10 minutes when he was number one of six, that was a glimpse of gold that augurs great for his future.

THE WOUNDED DANCER
By Kwame Dawes
For skater Michael Christian Martinez of the Philippines

We skaters arrive wounded, limping, the aches—
beneath the skin you will see the terrible
brutality of what we must do to our bodies.

Ice, we know, is cold, a sharp pain of brittle
light—but ice is hard, it will not give,
it bites back, before melting sardonically.

I leap, torque and flow, my mind whispers,
flight is lifting the weight of the world,
And there are no white rose petals to land upon.

Here in these humid islands, the mall owner
is kind to build a rink, but he thinks the ice is smooth
as glass, slick, even. He would not know

the bubbles and fissures of the uneasy ice,
the physics of crystals, and the way the ankles
twist and contort to hold a smooth line—

come closer, turn off the muzak, listen
to the crunch and yelp of the ice breaking
away against the steel’s bite, and hear the pop

of my bones and the wheeze of all tendons
before the leap—hear the deep grunt
of anticipation as I lift, the body already

alert to the blow of my landing—and only
for that small moment, of clothes flapping,
in the miracle of the second turn; only

then, when the dizzying of lights spinning,
colors hurled at me, in the second of lift
and the yank downwards, only then

can you call my body smiling—then comes
the brute ache, of landing, splintering ice,
ankle howling, such painful, painful beauty.