The 42 Editor’s note: This article by Gavin Cooney forms part of The 42′s subscriber-only coverage of the Paris 2024 Olympics, with unique insights and fresh perspectives on the biggest stories every single day. If you’d enjoy more great sportswriting like this, you can sign up here for a free one-month trial to The 42.
THE REVELATION OF the night was perhaps less the gold medal or the Olympic Record but that Daniel Wiffen was nervous.
The man who once went to a sports psychologist to be told he didn’t need a sports psychologist woke up this morning feeling a tiny pinprick of doubt.
“I know that I seem very confident on the outside” he said, “but there’s always a little percentage of you thinking, ‘Can I do this?’”
800 metres is not quite his favourite distance. No, that’s the 1500m. For any other swimmer, the longer the exposure to Daniel Wiffen, the greater the pain.
But the 800m? Perhaps it wasn’t quite long enough. Perhaps one, two, or even three of the world’s best swimmers were sufficiently fortified to survive seven-odd minutes looking directly into the sun.
But Wiffen tackled his nerves as best he could. He went to work. He went for a quick session in the pool and told John Rudd of Swim Ireland that he wanted to hit 1:02. He clocked 1:01.01.
“It’s done,” Wiffen told Rudd. “We’ve won.”
Wiffen was last to swagger out for the race, status earned by going fastest in the heats. He was also given the central lane four, from which he could keep a darting eye on his two main rivals, America’s Bobby Finke and Italy’s Gregorio Paltrinieri.
Look at the casual swing of those long, limby arms: it’s hard to believe the force with which they pull him through the water. They could haul down statues.
But it seems not all the nerves were gone. He said afterwards that his first 300 metres were “absolutely terrible. My stroke was all over the place.”
To the rest of us it looked like a standard teeth-clenched tussle for an Olympic gold medal.
As he did in Wiffen’s semi-final, Australia’s Elijah Winnington went out fast, and lead for the first half of the race. Wiffen found his rhythm at the 300m mark, and Winnington would soon vacate the premises. He ceased being relevant from 400 metres. He allegedly finished last.
Now was time for Wiffen to worry about Finke and Paltrinieri to his immediate left in lane three.
“My goal was to keep building, keep building, keep building.”
But he couldn’t shake Palrinieri.
The splits were winnowing with every fifty metres.
Wiffen’s 0.47 second lead at 500 metres became 0.06. Then 0.01. Then they jacknifed. Wiffen was second, 0.57 seconds behind. It got worse. With 100 metres to go, he trailed by 0.78 seconds.
But then came the recovery. Paltrinieri had made his investment in a subprime mortgage, because soon he was about to be bankrupt. He led Wiffen by a tenth of a second as they hit the wall for the final 50 metres, but then the Italian fell. He managed to hold on for a bronze medal.
But the final boss wasn’t done.
“I was literally looking at Bobby Finke. That’s all I was doing. I was like, ‘this guy comes about the fastest, well, not the fastest any more.”
Wiffen’s glance at Finke cost him what he described as a “lopey stroke”, but he quickly ratcheted it tight. Sprint.
“I was dying last 20 metres and I’m not sure if you saw that. Because my arms were in so much pain.
“But I knew that the crowd was gonna carry me in, and that’s exactly what happened.”
He hit the wall in 7:38.19, a new Olympic record. The Olympic record he promised on Monday night. That Finke and Paltrinieri both finished within the old record time accentuated what Wiffen had just done. They both brought the best they had and it still wasn’t enough.
Wiffen climbed out of the pool and pumped his arms with a confident kind of steadiness. He said the only voice in the crowd he heard was his twin brother’s. He returned 35 minutes later in his tracksuit, stood atop the podium, and let a few tears roll down his cheek as Amhrán na bhFiann rang around the arena and the Irish flag began its slow, slow, gorgeously slow ascent in front of him.
The crowning that awaits all great Irish athletes is to be known nationwide by their first name. Sonia, Kellie, Katie, Roy, Jack, Johnny, Ruby…Mona.
Wiffen might be the first to become a verb.
Wiffen (verb): to execute brilliantly and in so doing have all your thoughts about your brilliance confirmed.
Find a car parking spot right outside the supermarket on a busy Friday evening? You’ve Wiffened it.
Jump through the Dart doors as they are closing? You’ve Wiffened it.
Fix that leaky tap without calling a plumber? You’ve Wiffened it.
“There’s a whole saying going around of getting Finked,” Wiffen told RTÉ.
Not anymore. This was the night a whole sport shifted, and a country couldn’t quite believe it was finally tilting towards us.
Written by Gavin Cooney and originally published on The 42 whose award-winning team produces original content that you won’t find anywhere else: on GAA, League of Ireland, women’s sport and boxing, as well as our game-changing rugby coverage, all with an Irish eye. Subscribe here.
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