Six in the morning of a sultry day July 29, 1996. Romano Prodi is in government, a few months ago they cloned Dolly the sheep and a couple of weeks ago Martina Hingis became the youngest Wimbledon champion in women’s doubles. Scattered facts that risk being overshadowed by what is about to happen now.
Mokas that sizzle trying to resuscitate bodies shrunken by sleep. But you have to wake up and stay focused in front of the TV. They give the Atlanta Olympics on Rai. On the other side of the ocean there is an athlete who comes from the Italian province, Prato, he is twenty-seven years old and has been waiting for this moment for four years. Because Yuri Chechi he was already indicated as the favorite for the gold medal in the rings exercise at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics. Only that a month before he ruptured his Achilles tendon and goodbye to dreams of glory. He needed treatment, rehabilitation and then to cultivate that goal again, with ferocious dedication. But how interminable can four years be.
He spends them all training for that handful of moments. His journey is well worth a few handfuls of yawns. Also because if there is a specialty in which Italy can do well and an athlete reassures us, that is Jury. So, while thousands of Italians dip biscuits or brioches in cups filled with milk or coffee, Chechi heads to the platform, to Centennial Olympic Park. The audience is in liturgical silence, even from the kitchens and living rooms of the house. He peers at the two rings to which he will have to cling: even though he is just over 160 centimeters tall, he is now called to climb to the top.
Kneaded hands. Straight hair and blue vest. Propitiatory puff. In an execution of less than a minute, the sacrifice of years is condensed. Jury knows it and stands up determined. From there begins a clean sequence, free from smudges, the muscles tense, the gaze fiercely concentrated. The people in the stands break that wall of silence only to applaud the perfect figures that Chechi manages to draw with his pirouettes. Then everyone holds their breath for that “cross” absolutely clear, terrifying and yet perfect: the Lord of the Rings he performs it almost effortlessly, without betraying the slightest hesitation.
Until that safe landing, the eyes finally shining with satisfaction, the lips widening in a smile. Even the Rai commentator lets himself go to an uncontrollable exultation: “There can be no doubt about it, this is a gold exercise!”. Just enough time to wait for the jury’s verdict, which will result in a gigantic 9,887. All true. Gold medal for Jury and for Italy, the first in gymnastics after the one won by Franco Menichelli in Tokyo, in 1964.
People applaud and stand up both in the stadium and in Italian homes.
Never was a dawn wake-up call set better. A drooping eyelid is more than justified if the reward is to have been eyewitnesses, albeit behind a screen, of one of those rare moments when history is made.