the Prize-winner of two Olympic Games, the ex-world record-holder and Europe of the 1980-90th years in swimming by a breast stroke Dmitry Volkov , the founder and the author of a site http://swimillustrated.ru , continues in "Championship" the unique author's heading . So about sports anybody does not write more – neither athletes, nor journalists. It costs time for reading.
"The Lord appeared the inventor"
in the Summer of 1992, the late July morning following after my last attempt in life to snatch gold of the Olympic Games, our commanders-shtabisty reported me the yesterday's telegram from Lithuania. In it it was written: "The old horse of a furrow does not spoil". And still: "Give, Dimon, I believe in you". Signature: Robertas Zulpa.
The day before I, having literally flown by the one hundred breast stroke and having reached the final the first, in much inspired hopes. But fire of pobedovozhdelenny passion and heat heated to 40 degrees in a shadow of Barcelona burned me completely. I won "predvarilovka" with the best result of a season, and was only the sixth in the evening. Without regaining consciousness, moments later after a heat, looking at a huge board over a bathroom, I could not understand everything in any way: the dreadful dream it or a bad reality, so ridiculous and even improbable seemed result. After all the whole year I prayed to god that he allowed me to win instead of my life which not grudged, and thought that I managed to agree with it, but the Lord appeared the inventor and confused my ambitious plans.
Holding next day in hand the message of the friend written and sent 15 hours ago to decisive fight, I suddenly thought: my dear Robertino, how many years passed! As I missed you! What you after all the good fellow, so watched, was ill, hoped! Means, forgave, forgot my idiotic trick! And still flashed: here receive I this note earlier, maybe, everything could develop and in a different way …
"Badly I it carried out br"
the First fall of the new Olympic fourth anniversary began postpokhmelno: the wood growing bald in fast winter behind a window of the grown hateful hotel on the Lake Round base cast melancholy. And if not beginners in crew, could seem that life stopped.
the Last season which has come to the end with the last in the history of sports with the Olympic boycott and the international scandal with the hypocritical name "Friendship-84", beat out considerable part of the veterans who have sat up in it from team. But here the call is given, and from all rural lands of the immense Union stretched in the direction of legendary sports base – neigbours of a remote village with speaking the name Fishermen – in turn and the whole flocks fresh frames of new domestic swimming.
It seems to br, for maintenance of fighting spirit I enclosed to the friend in a bed under a blanket a plastic pack with honey. It seemed to me that it can be ridiculous.Beauty and pride of our crew under the leadership of the honored trainer of the USSR Boris Dmitriyevich Zenov, my friend and the senior companion, the champion of the Olympic Games-80 Robert Zhulpa, after fake Games — alternatives present, American – days 90 striked somewhere at himself in Lithuania. In few months he still will try to gather a form, will arrive on Round and will habitually torture itself a sickening anaerobe bacteria, but … The hours spent in our firm room on the second floor, after a release, with turned-off light, a cigarette in a hand at the opened window and conversations with Mahmoud ( Sergey Zabolotnov. – Comment. "Championship" ) that life needs to be lived that it was not painfully sick, will make the business: 1985 – the last year when I saw Zhulya on a path …
Badly I it carried out. One of the last days its stay on spring collecting already in a new season was marked by my quite foolish joke: it seems, for maintenance of fighting spirit I enclosed to the friend in a bed under a blanket a plastic pack with honey. Still I do not understand, really it seemed to me, what it can be ridiculous? !
"Let beat – I will not resist"
, so thrust into sheets this crap, and then even forgot about it! Passed some hours to a release, I already distracted and began kemarit as suddenly in number were filled up my lepshy Zhul and Mahmoud. All of them about something were whispered, closed even a door to my room not to rustle and to smoke. And here in the middle of the night — a heart-rending mat. Between swear words of others, binding meanings, it was impossible to sort. I thought not at once in what business and when me together with a sweaty wave of judgment after all reached, the door was opened and there, in two meters, in the next kletushka on a bed, without crying nearly, having strong walked smack and holding in sticky hand the crushed plastic box exuding with sweet nectar, in pants and an USSR national team undershirt the Olympic champion and my bosom friend Robert sat.
On hatred to the unknown to it to the evil and ringing despair in the Tatar-Lithuanian dialect of Robert habitual for convicts I thought: will beat now.
On hatred to the unknown to it to the evil — he after all guessed not at once the instigator — and to ringing despair in its Tatar-Lithuanian dialect habitual for convicts, I thought: will beat now. Still flashed: rightly, I will not resist. Having seen Zhuli's unfortunate eyes, his helpless pose of the native giant, I had the most deep feeling of pity to an idol of youth and already then understood that not bruises, and the infinite torments of conscience tormenting, by the way, to this day will be punishment for a trick to me.
in the Morning as if having enjoyed the last straw which has overflowed it with grief of farewell to sports, Robert collected the things and went to Moscow. To Muscovites as it once joked. But saying goodbye, all of us embraced. It after all very kind, my friend Dzhulbars! I embraced him, yet without realizing, it is impossible what to float eternally that everything comes to an end sooner or later. Without knowing that once in the solar capital of Catalonia I will remember this history in absolutely new context … And at that last moment of farewell I dreamed to forget, erase from memory silly melliferous skvernu, married our relations and the end of sports career of darling by the country and me personally the champion. I wished br to br that it in general never was that everything appeared a bad dream, but … having looked in eyes Rusty as called Roberta Mahmoud, I saw in them yesterday evening. He also embraced me as if being afraid to be soiled again in something. And I all monotonously went on, muffling the overdue shame: "Forgive, the brother! Well, forgive, please …".
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Photo: "RIA Novosti news agency"
Robertas Zhulpa
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