This is a piece about a rather inferior athlete who won the superior prize at an AYF Olympics.
Perhaps you may have heard similar stories about individuals who have gone above and beyond the call of duty.
But since this is the AYF and the Olympics enters its 75th year in Providence, it bears mentioning. It is my thinking that every anniversary year carries its own clout, its very own personality and message. If there are 200 athletes participating in the games, then each one has a story to tell—like the naked city.
Some you will remember. Others tend to be forgotten. This one remains indelible in my mind—a story for all seasons and occasions. It is the stuff of which every Olympics is manifested.
The year was some time during the 1960’s and the individual you may know. Let’s call him Razmig. He hailed from an active chapter of athletes destined for gold.
Now Razmig was no athlete. He would be the first to admit that. Put an educational into his hands and he would elucidate any chapter meeting. Razmig was king of the debate circuit, loved his books, and was wise to the task. The running and the shotput he left to others more qualified than he.
Then one year, all that changed. An athletic director encouraged him to compete.
“Surely you can do something,” he told Razmig. “Run the dash. It’ll be over in a minute. That way you’ll be part of the team. It’s all in the spirit, not the prize.”
Well, Razmig gave it some serious thought. The most he had ever run was far away from the track during practice. He was the kid in the stands with his head buried in his books, planning the next educational.
Now Razmig could have picked the 100 but decided to go out on a limb and choose the mightiest event of them all. He opted to run the 2-mile. The mere mention of such an arduous distance sent eyes fluttering.
The plan was not to win, just finish, like many of those also-rans who tried the marathon. The 2-mile turned into Razmig’s personal marathon.
Watching him on the track during practice sessions was like watching paint dry. He took his time and often appeared like he was moving in reverse. But he ran and ran and ran. Razmig was on a mission. He wanted to put the naysayers to rest, once and for all.
The big day arrived and the stadium was filled with people. Razmig bided his time until the call rang out for the 2-mile. His heart skipped a beat. It was too late to recoil. His teammates were looking to him.
“C’mon Razmig. You can do it,” said Satenig, a lovely looking coed. “We’re counting on you.”
Razmig took his place at the starting line along with a dozen other aspirants, some of whom were attached to organized high school and college programs and came dressed with the best. Not for Razmig. He looked like a ragamuffin and his sneakers were hardly the designer sort worn by the experts.
Off went the gun and the others breezed past Razmig like he was standing still. Undaunted, he decided to run his own race, move at his pace, and let the others run circles around him. His teammates lined the track and shouted words of encouragement.
“Go Razmig go. You can do it.”
By the first mile, runners were lapping him. First one, then the others, leaving him in the lurch. By the fifth lap, Razmig was alone on the track. The others had finished. An announcement came from the booth above.
“Clear the track. We still have a runner.”
Razmig passed the starting line and an official held up three fingers, signaling the number of laps remaining. Persistence turned into determination as Razmig gave it all he had.
By the time his final lap approached, the crowd was on its feet giving Razmig a standing ovation. Nobody paid much attention to the victor. But since Razmig was the last remaining, he was the one people noticed the most.
After crossing the finish wilted to the bone, his teammates mobbed him like some champion. If last was first, Razmig was their “unsung hero.”
A clergyman happened to be on the field and he pulled Razmig to his side. “I could run faster than that,” he told the fellow. “But you must be commended for your perseverance.”
That evening at the Olympics Ball, athletes gathered around the stage to collect their trophies. Many of them had garnered three gold medals, some with four and even five if you counted the relays. And then there was Razmig. He was the last guy in the back of the hall.
When the awards were being announced, it was time for the coveted Ernest Nahigian Sportsmanship Award, given to the athlete that best symbolizes the spirit of the AYF Olympics.
“This year’s winner is … Razmig!”
Tom Vartabedian
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