I remember the first thing I ever read by Steve Friedman—a GQ piece about attending wellness retreats. Jeez, that must’ve been 10, 12 years ago. It was snort-out-loud funny, and I thought I had the guy pegged: funny writer. I read every story of his I found.
But while there are moments of comedy in his new book, The Agony of Victory: When Winning Isn’t Enough (Arcade Publishing, $26), what’s on far greater display is his eye for a story within the amazing mania, heartbreaking failure or extreme behavior of the athletes he’s drawn to.
I clipped and saved a lot of these stories as they appeared in numerous magazines, from Esquire to Bicycling; and because the Internet erases the barrier between writer and fan, Friedman and I eventually became e-pals. (Disclosure: My winsome blurb is on the book’s back cover.) So I asked him a few questions.
What drew you to these stories?
A few things. First, in almost all cases, when I heard about these men and women, I thought, “What great narratives!” The leading scorer in college basketball, arrested for shoplifting some candy bars and a stick of deodorant, after not working for two years and living with his mother? The beginning and end of a fantastic story were right there. I just had to find the middle. The fastest sprinter in cycling, stripped of his titles by an idiotic governing body, falls into near poverty, tries to kill himself, then decides to mount an impossible comeback? Same thing. So the raw material appealed to my instincts as a storyteller. Having great narratives to work with makes writing so much more rewarding.
Second, I’ve always been a sucker for underdog and comeback stories. I love redemption. I remember crying when Kirk Gibson hit the home run in the World Series on his bad knee. And I don’t think Ali was ever greater than when, against all odds, he knocked out Foreman. Comebacks and the mysteries behind them make for moving—I won’t say art, though it’s probably true. But at least great entertainment. Look at E.T. I mean, c’mon, who wasn’t sobbing their eyes out when the alien came back to life?
Finally, I’ve always been drawn to people who suffer. I find them interesting and sympathetic. Probably because I tend toward melancholy myself.
Did you find a personality trait common to many of these athletes?
For a lot of them (though not all), there’s a sense of some fundamental inadequacy, a feeling that if I just ride a little faster, or pedal a little farther, if I just bowl a little better, I’ll be more whole, more happy. The irony, of course, is that the happiest men and women in the bunch are the ones who realize that serenity and joy aren’t to be found in external rewards, but that they lie within. Kind of the great existential mystery.
Is their mania contagious—did you ever find yourself taking on a little of an athlete’s mind-set?
Sure. The greatest high school distance runner in U.S. history (now a middle-aged man) was telling me how we limit ourselves, that once we break through the prisons we’ve constructed out of our fears, we can achieve anything, and I’m thinking, “Yeah! I’m going to get back home and write harder, and longer, and better!” And then he started talking about how in 1937 a guy in Ohio stayed airborne for 30 seconds by flapping his arms, and that was evidence of the great untapped potential of mankind, and that kind of mitigated my brief and newfound great work ethic. But others have inspired me with their steadiness and their courage. A runner who survived the attacks of 9/11 by literally putting one foot in front of the other, one day at a time. An Orthodox Jewish boxer who manages to pray every day while he’s knocking people unconscious. My dad, who put some of his dreams aside to help others, and who I write about in the last chapter, detailing his cheerful and doomed attempts to make me a golfer. While I hope I didn’t take on some of the more pathological aspects of some of the more troubled people I write about, I also hope just a little of the admirable grit and courage that every one of them showed might have rubbed off, if even just a tiny bit.
Weirdest thing that happened to you while reporting these stories?
Too many to choose from. The unemployed basketball player hearing voices at lunch. Almost hallucinating about banana pudding at 11,000 feet in a chilly rain, as I watched ultramarathoners stumble over a mountain pass. Sitting in a hotel lobby in Hawaii, listening to the story about the arm-flapping guy. Oh, and being moved to tears by a pro bowler singing “Mac the Knife” during the Karaoke Night of a Professional Bowling Tournament in Tucson. He was really good.