The Amateurs by David Halberstam Page A

when the pain becomes too great and one of the racers either physically or psychologically, it does not matter, cracks. It does not have to be a very big crack, just one rower making his surge, pouring everything in and breaking either his competitor or himself. But neither racer faltered. They simply matched strokes for the last third of the race. Biglow decided that the only way to continue was to think of one stroke at a time, that and nothing more. Only then could he keep rowing. They crossed the finish line in a dead heat, although the angle of the finish line favored Biglow. Bouscaren was far behind. "Good race, John," Wood said to his opponent. Good race, he thought, hell, it was almost perfect.
    For Wood the experience had been exhilarating. Quite possibly he had rowed an almost perfect race. He had rowed his absolute best and found someone he could not row through. Anyone else would have come apart in that race. He is a wonderful oar, Wood had thought, just a wonderful oar. Later that day Wood realized he had mixed feelings. Part of him was a little sad because he had lost, and part of him felt profoundly enhanced because he had been a principal in something so nearly perfect. Biglow, he realized, was not going to have to wait for a year or two. He had already arrived.
    Nonetheless, Wood was still confident he could beat Biglow but was careful not to practice with him anymore. He believed that since he was experienced and Biglow was not, joint practices helped Biglow gain confidence. Tiff Wood saw no need to improve John Biglow's confidence. That race in Hanover had been quite enough of a contribution.
    Biglow was, of course, very pleased that he had won, and somewhat surprised that he had come on so quickly as a sculler. Single sculling was not supposed to be like this. He was not supposed to beat the top sculler in the country in his first race. In rowing it was proper to ascend slowly, not win from the start. In the trials later that year, he and Wood had been in the same heat. The winner would go to the finals, everyone else to the repechage. In the heat Wood had been about a half length behind Biglow with five hundred meters to go when Biglow hit a buoy. Wood had heard the crack of the oar and then the sound of Biglow catching a crab, and he had immediately turned on all his power and had taken a quick length lead to win the heat. That had sent Wood directly to the finals and Biglow to the repechage. The heat had been in the morning, the rep was in the afternoon and the final was the next morning. In the final Wood still felt sore in his legs from his race the previous day, and he had gone out at a low rate. He had heard Harry Parker in the background shouting to take the stroke up. Bouscaren had held the early lead, and then Biglow had just rowed right through him and through Wood. That had taught Tiff Wood that Biglow was special, that his endurance was exceptional and that he became stronger as a regatta went on. In the months after that they became not just competitors but also good friends. They loved rowing against each other in practice. The pleasure was special. No one could push Wood like Biglow, and no one could push Biglow like Wood. Off the water they were unlikely friends; but bonded as they were by this sport, by the fact that what each liked best in those spring days was to row against the other, they became closer and closer. The time was the most productive either had ever known on the water, and while Biglow was winning most of the longer pieces, they were astonishingly even. Each could feel himself improving every day. Wood knew they were both going very fast, and he was confident when Biglow left for Europe that summer that he was going to do very well in international competition. Wood's admiration for Biglow grew, as a competitor and as a man. John, he thought, was an oarsman of complete integrity. He gave everything he had on every stroke and he never cheated. Biglow in turn felt protected