Stars of the Slopes

More than four decades of watching skiing introduced me to many alternative sporting superstars. In their homelands, some became national heroes and heroines but in my living room their periods of fame tended to be compressed into a few brief months either side of Christmas.

The catalyst for my own fascination with performers on the piste was undoubtedly Franz Klammer. I vividly recall watching the Winter Olympics in 1976 when the 22 year-old Austrian, the red-hot home favourite, careered down the Patscherkofel mountain to win in 1 minute 45.73 seconds, a precise time burnt indelibly into my brain. The Kitzbuhel downhill prize also virtually became his personal property during a late Seventies purple patch, which incredibly included an unbeaten run of ten races.

By the time Ski Sunday became a regular fixture in my winter TV schedule, usually viewed at teatime from my chair through the open kitchen door, there were other names which became very familiar. Another Austrian, Anne-Marie Moser-Proll, was always there or thereabouts in the women’s downhill, along with Liechtenstein’s Hanni Wenzel., whose brother Andreas was also a leading slalomer. The big Swiss, Peter Mueller was worth watching hurtling down the slopes, while Austrians Peter Wirnsberger and the engaging and memorably monikered Harti Weirather – who often donned a natty cap for post-race interviews – were frequent Downhill winners. American twins Phil and Steve Mahre were also experts in the technical disciplines, but both were restricted in the roll of honour by the supreme slalom and giant slalom specialist Ingemar Stenmark.

Almost every time the Men’s Slalom was featured on the programme, the unflappable Swede seemed to win. Even if behind on the first run, I kinda knew he’d surge back to take first place after the second. Compatriot and contemporary, Bjorn Borg, may have been a household name around the world but in Sweden Stenmark commanded equal status, so dominant was he on the slopes. He accumulated a record 86 World Cup race victories and seven consecutive World Cup slalom titles. Unsurprisingly he embraced professionalism rather too early for the then amateur IOC, and was banned from the ’84 Games but legendary status was assured. 

Before the days of the flamboyant American Bode Miller, neighbouring Canada boasted its own unorthodox downhillers. Ken Read's and Steve Podborski’s hell-for-leather approach earned them, with team-mates, the title Crazy Canooks. They were either on the podium or crashing out in a flurry of skis and snow, so required viewing in the blue riband event.

By the Eighties, Ski Sunday was most definitely habitual viewing for Dad and me. For the women, the elegant Maria Walliser and compact slalomer Vreni Schneider stood out while on the men’s scene, usually preferred by Ski Sunday, the reddish-haired Pirmin Zurbriggen led a Swiss revival. Starting out as a Slalom/GS racer, he became a superb speedster before retiring at his peak in 1990 to start a family. I loved watching him and his compatriots in their eye-catching red and gold suits, one of my favourite colour combos!

The aforementioned stars were not exactly wacky characters so it took the entertaining entrance of Italy’s Alberto Tomba at the Calgary Olympics in 1988 for skiing once again to claim a hero capable of transcending the sport in such a crowded market. ‘Tomba la Bomba’ seemed to win by sheer strength and willpower. A bit of a playboy, he never quite hit the heights of Stenmark but undoubtedly lit up the slopes for a decade or so. Another man with a unique branding was the ‘Herminator’, Hermann Maier. He epitomised the fearless indestructability of the alpine skier, supreme at GS, Super G and Downhill and still winning races at the age of 36. Commentators loved him, and the affection also transmitted itself to me. With Stenmark, Meier was the closest to a winter sports favourite I ever had.

Sometimes it’s not the specialists who capture my respect. All-rounders like Zurbriggen and Marc Girardelli (who, after a dispute with Austrian coaches, represented the distinctly un-alpine Luxembourg) also merited appreciation but the Norwegian Kjell-Andre Aamodt took multi-event success to another level. Between 1992 and 2003 he amassed a record twenty Olympic and world championship medals, proving you didn’t have to be a central European, or Stenmark, to triumph on the piste.

In the new millennium, my Ski Sunday viewing became much more erratic so the leading skiers became strangers to me. I honestly couldn’t distinguish Benny Raich from Marcel Hirscher, although I do know they have both excelled at Slalom/GS in recent years. I particularly recall watching Raich during the 2006 Olympics, coming back from 5^th to snatch gold by a mile.

The rosy-cheeked Swede Anja Paerson had me cheering in the Turin slalom and I remember the accolades piled upon Croatian Janica Kostelic when she claimed the unique feat of three golds and a silver at the 2002 Olympics, insodoing pipping Paerson in the shorter disciplines. Her brother Ivica was no slouch either.

These days skiing seems to make the headlines only in connection with looks rather than skill. It’s a sad indictment of ongoing sexism in sport that Lindsay Vonn, possibly the greatest woman skier of all time, is better known for her swimwear modelling and relationship with Tiger Woods than her phenomenal achievements. Britain’s similarly photogenic blonde Chemmy Alcott never medalled but is probably more familiar than any other homegrown winter sports star since Eddie Edwards!

Whether they are winners or serial also-rans, anyone who puts on those narrow strips of steel, fibre and moulded plastic deserve my respect. I may have favoured some over others but all alpine racers have common qualities: thighs of iron, knees of steel, cool as a cucumber and mad as hatters!