Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, March 13, 1994 TAG: 9403130034
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: E-7 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE:
DATELINE: CHICAGO LENGTH: Long
The public now is privy to the secret everyone around figure skating had been loath to reveal: Kerrigan, designated America's sweetheart after she was whacked on the knee Jan. 6, long has been more of a sourpuss.
That is why the U.S. Figure Skating Association had such a PHIL HERSH mixed reaction to the formal revelation of an unkept secret: Kerrigan will not compete in the world championships on March 22-27 in Chiba, Japan.
The USFSA wanted Kerrigan to skate in the world meet because her performance could help lay the foundation for future U.S. Olympic skating teams. She has begged off, partly because of fatigue, which is oddly appropriate, given how tired U.S. figure skating officials have become of dealing with her.
"Nancy is under no obligation because she has taken no USFSA money this year," USFSA president Claire Ferguson said during the Olympics. "But we would hope she would feel some responsibility to us."
Kerrigan, 24, has been slow to accept any of the responsibility that came with being rich, famous and the cynosure of thousands of little girls who want to be like Nancy. She was unprepared and unsuited for that role, a problem for which her agents' negligence and her own personality are to blame.
The first public evidence was in the remark a CBS microphone caught Kerrigan making while waiting for her Olympic awards ceremony, delayed while officials searched for an audio tape of the Ukraine national anthem. Kerrigan thought she was being forced to cool her heels while the emotional champion, Oksana Baiul of Ukraine, composed herself and fixed her makeup.
"Oh, come on," Kerrigan said. "So she's going to get out here and cry again. What's the difference?"
The next day, speaking to the press after skating in the exhibition, Kerrigan refused to give Baiul, 16, the slightest credit, complaining that the judges overlooked the gold medalist's mistakes.
Then there was Kerrigan's reaction to her first appearance for her new major sponsor, Disney, which is paying her a reported $2.5 million. As she paraded in the company of Mickey Mouse at Disney World, Kerrigan said, "This is so corny. This is so dumb. I hate it. This is the most corny thing I've ever done."
Kerrigan's agents at ProServ have tried desperately to work spin control on those remarks, to little avail, judging from the mail and conversations coming this direction.
Those of us in the media who have covered Kerrigan's career for several years knew she was hardly Cinderella.
Why was that not reported? After the assault that wound up catapulting Kerrigan to superstardom, it initially would have been unfair and unnecessary to criticize her for not living up to her manufactured image. She deserved the benefit of the doubt in trying to prepare for the Olympics, where Kerrigan delivered the performance of her career, one deserving of great credit and the silver medal.
The best of Kerrigan also brought out the worst of Kerrigan, as the public learned without any media opinion-making.
Some wondered why CBS, which was doing tape-delayed telecasts, chose to air what seemed like an isolated remark by Kerrigan. Sources at CBS confirmed it wasn't isolated, but part of Kerrigan's lengthy, vintage whine after she lost the gold medal to Baiul.
For the USFSA officials who helped Kerrigan try to cope with the enormous attention focused on her - attention that has made her enormously wealthy - the snipe at Baiul actually was just another complaint in the litany Kerrigan made during her 18 days in Norway.
No sooner had she arrived in the Olympic Village than Kerrigan moaned about having her movements restricted for security reasons. When a USFSA official told Kerrigan she was most secure in the village but free to go anywhere she wanted, the skater replied, "But if I go out, everyone will want to take my picture."
Kerrigan also complained of a lack of figure skating team spirit, yet went to hockey games and speedskating races rather than most of the other skating competitions.
The final straw was after the exhibition, when Kerrigan berated USFSA press officer Kristin Matta because a dozen U.S. reporters were waiting to ask her questions that took fewer than 10 minutes to answer.
That attitude is why Kerrigan's absence from the U.S. world championships team will be noted but not mourned.
The number of places for U.S. women in the 1995 world meet will be determined by performances in Japan. Had Kerrigan won a medal, which no other U.S. woman is likely to do, she would earn three spots for the United States; a top-10 finish would earn two spots.
Instead, Kerrigan has left her successors to fend for themselves, becoming just the second of 13 U.S. women who have won Olympic medals since World War II to skip the ensuing world championships. The only other was 1984 silver medalist Rosalynn Sumners.
Kerrigan skipped the Olympic Opening Ceremonies because of legitimate concerns her knee would be bothered by standing and sitting in the cold for several hours. She skipped the closing to jet by Concorde for the ill-fated appearance at Disney World.
A week later, one of Kerrigan's aunts let it drop there were security concerns about having her at the closing. That was typical of the belated spin control being attempted by ProServ, which should have known better than to rush tired, cranky Kerrigan into post-Olympic appearances.
"A fatal mistake," said Evy Scotvold, one of her coaches.
Even under the best of circumstances, Kerrigan has been her own worst enemy in public. No wonder a Colorado Springs writer called her, "The Kmart Katarina."
In January 1992, Kerrigan bristled at a Boston Globe reporter who had compared her favorably to Witt as, "The Irish Katarina." Said Kerrigan: "There's very little Irish in me. Just my name."
Later that year, she snapped at an Atlanta Constitution reporter who saw Kerrigan's engagement ring and asked how her fiance (now ex-fiance) had proposed. "I don't know," she huffed.
In January 1993, she greeted the announcement of her two-year endorsement deal with Seiko by saying, "I don't know what I'm supposed to say."
Last December, she screamed at Scotvold to bring her the sponsor's watch before an awards ceremony at the Pro-Am competition in Philadelphia. Eight months earlier, after her fifth-place debacle at the world championships in Prague, Kerrigan had forcefully pushed away the consoling arm of a U.S. team leader.
Nancy Kerrigan's 1994 Olympic appearance was possibly her last venture into figure skating competition, amateur, professional or mixed. Competitive skating, the sport that has made Kerrigan rich, will be no poorer for her absence.
Phil Hersh is the Olympics writer for the Chicago Tribune.
by CNB