An athlete and an icon

An athlete and an icon

Yoel Razvozov




Now that the dust has settled on his defeat in London, and now that we have all been moved by his tears, we can take a look back at Arik Zeevi's career and say, without an iota of cynicism: He is not just a judoka, and he is not just an athlete — Arik Zeevi is an icon.


Sport is where legends are made, and Arik is precisely such a legend. The kid who started out in a neighborhood bomb shelter in Pardes Katz, received a European junior championship medal to the sound of the Israeli national anthem at just 16. From there he went all the way to the top, winning every possible title along the way. He was always open, flashing his winning smile, or winning crowds over with his honesty and the tears that he couldn't control.


Close your eyes and try to remember all the times you felt your heart fill with pride at another one of Zeevi's achievements. The satisfied smile that crept onto your face when Hatikva played, and Arik, with his humble smile, waved to the crowd and gave thanks for the support.


Thursday's loss, and the cruelty of having to vacate the mat after less than a minute, hurt my heart more than any of Zeevi's previous losses. As someone who, for years, practiced the same sport, and made it to the Olympics, I know the struggles and hardships Arik faced along the long road to participating in the Olympics at age 35. The main difference between London and previous Olympic Games is that by now Arik's family has expanded, with two children, and he now has other things to think about besides competitions and training. He's carrying baggage that he didn't have in previous competitions.


I remember one emotional episode during a grueling training session in France. We were together in the room, and suddenly the phone rang. It was his wife, Ravit, calling to tell him that his daughter was sick and that she was being hospitalized. What should he do? He thought to himself: My heart is telling me to go home and be with the girls, but my head is telling me to stay in training and improve my skills.


But despite all this, and despite his age — relatively advanced for a professional athlete — Arik managed to thrill us all when he won the European Championship several months ago and made history as the oldest judoka ever to win the competition.


Following that impressive achievement, we were all anxious to see Arik battle his German rival in London. And then the moment came. Arik took to the mat, but it didn't look good from the start. The German pinned him to the ground and put him in a lock. Arik is a true fighter — he tried to hold out and reverse the situation, but in a split second it was all over. He gave in seconds before the German judoka broke his arm.


This loss stung. I could feel the physical pain, but more than anything I felt the psychological pain of being eliminated in such a rapid and unexpected way. An athlete's worst fear is to lose in the first round and be eliminated from the competition. Arik spoke about how so many people had come out to support him, and that they would all be disappointed. At that point, every athlete could identify with that sentiment. It is the precisely the horrifying scenario that runs through your mind for days before each competition.


But Arik, despite your disappointment, you didn't let anyone down. With nine European Championship medals, four of them gold, a second place in the world championships and a bronze Olympic medal, you lived every athlete's dream and were a source of pride for every Israeli.


Now Arik will return to Israel and decide where to go next. Whatever path he chooses, we all owe him immense gratitude for everything that he has done for himself, for us, and for Israeli sports.


http://www.israelhayom.com/site/newsletter_opinion.php?id=2349