Competitive swimming has an almost cruel quality. When the clock stops, there is nowhere to hide because the lanes don’t negotiate and the times don’t lie. This is exactly what makes the biggest upsets in sports so devastating and memorable.
Michael Phelps took home 23 gold medals from the Olympics. Twenty-three. Debbie, his mother, used to dismiss inquiries about his size (14 feet) and wingspan, saying that hard work was the key she was largely correct.
Swimming consistently produces moments where the hierarchy just… collapses, more than almost any other Olympic sport. This phenomenon cannot be fully explained by hard work. One swimmer no one had circled in their program, one race, one touch of the wall.
Phelps won eight gold medals and set world records in seven of the eight races at the 2008 Beijing Games, a performance that would be featured in inspirational posters for ten years to come. There was a moment hidden within those same Games that should have received more attention.
While true medal contenders faltered under pressure, Japan’s Kosuke Kitajima successfully defended his Athens title in the 100-meter breaststroke. Quietly, swimsuits from smaller federations who had no right to be on that podium continued to brush against it in the relay pool. In swimming, the margins are so small hundredths of a second, fractions of a stroke that a nobody can become a somebody before the broadcast crew even notices.
Eric Moussambani’s upset at the 2000 Sydney Olympics is still arguably the most talked-about upset in modern swimming history. Before coming to Australia, an Equatorial Guinean swimmer had hardly ever seen an Olympic-length pool. In the 100-meter freestyle heat, Moussambani finished in almost twice the qualifying time while swimming alone, clearly exhausted almost stopping at the halfway point.
His two rivals were disqualified. Technically, it shouldn’t have been an upset. As the crowd grew, an odd thing happened: the slowest swim in Olympic history turned into one of the most boisterous events of those Games.
Something had been beaten by “The Eel” Eric. Perhaps an expectation. or the notion that only those who are well-prepared can participate in elite sports.
In the women’s 400-meter individual medley at the 2012 London Olympics, a more traditional kind of upset occurred. Ryan Lochte, who won the men’s equivalent race that same evening, was surpassed by 16-year-old Ye Shiwen of China in her final 50 meters. The swimming community was unsure of how to use that information.
Eyebrows were raised, questions were posed comparisons were made. Ye had arrived relatively unknown outside of China and departed as one of the world’s most studied swimsuits, something that is frequently missed in the commotion. It was unquestionably the Games’ performance, regardless of how one feels about it.
It’s difficult to ignore how frequently these moments occur while everyone else is focused on something else. In the 800-meter freestyle, Katie Ledecky won her first Olympic gold in London at the age of 15. Even experienced spectators were taken aback by how effortlessly she touched the wall. She was meant to pose a threat in the future. She proved to be a gift.
The problem with swimming upsets is that they almost never occur near a field’s edge. They frequently appear in front of the largest audiences during the most eagerly awaited events, right when the star in question appears to be untouchable. It’s most likely not a coincidence.
The sport prioritizes meticulous preparation over unadulterated fame. A swimmer who has spent years perfecting a turn’s exact angle can catch up to someone the media has declared to be unbeatable.
Press conferences, trash talk halftime shows are nonexistent in swimming. Every few years, someone the world hardly knows touches the wall before someone the world knows too well. It has lane ropes, a clock a start beep. That’s the point, that’s the upset.