Do you recognize the names Guy Perillat and Milorad Cavic? They came in second to Olympic gold medalists Jean-Claude Killy and Michael Phelps, respectively, each by a single hundredth of second. Or as it’s called in the real world, a tie.
If the time clock was measured in tenths of a second, or even fiftieths of a second, Killy and Perillat would have tied in the 1968 Winter Games. They both would have received gold medals and become darlings of the ‘60s jet set. Phelps and Cavic might both be starring in Subway commercials if they had tied in the 100-meter butterfly in London in 2012. Instead, Cavic lost by 0.01 of a second.
By contrast, Usain Bolt won the gold in London by beating Yohan Blake in the 100-meter sprint by just over one-tenth of a second, and even to the untrained eye, it was an obvious victory. It wasn’t even close. You could see who won easily, without debate, no photo finish required.
There are a great many good things about keeping hyper-accurate time. It’s good for training and it’s good for the record books. But in competitions, hypersensitive timekeeping makes being 0.01 of a second behind the “winner” somewhat like being a Soviet politician in the Cold War who falls out of favor. You’re removed from the history books; your name is never spoken again. You become a nonperson.
Sports seems to be one of the few human endeavors that hates a tie — someone has to win. Why? A lot of people would go to a movie that starred Julia Roberts or Meryl Streep. But they would also go to a movie that starred Julia Roberts and Meryl Streep. They’re both winners. There is no second place. In show business, there are lots of winners; hundreds of stars can walk down the red carpet at the Academy Awards and they’ll all get the over-the-top celebrity treatment. But if gold and silver Olympians walk into an event, the silver medalist may as well be in the witness protection program for all the attention he won’t get. He’ll never see his face on a Cheerios box; he won’t be in TV ads; he won’t get as many sponsors.