COLOURLESS RUNNER

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 1, Issue 61, 11 September 1939, Page 6

COLOURLESS RUNNER

WOODERSON DESCRIBED A CANDID CRITIC Sydney Woodcrson, who was fouled in the Princcton mile, is not the type of runner to pleace the crowd, according to M. P. ("Storky'') I Adams the Australian alLroundeiv Avho writes candidly 01 hini in this article. Of all the great athletes I've met 'and seen in Sydney Wooderson,, the Blackheath harrier and holder of the world's record for the mile, is the least impressive on and ofl the track. With a white apron stretched across his midriff he might pass for a suburban grocer—without any reflection on good grocers—and trotting around the track in sneakers (sandshoes) he might easily pass Tor one of the tail-end of the Victorian 10-mile Cross Country championship. S A nice, quiet chap, Sydney, who responded exceptionally well to the high pressure bombardment of American pressmen and photographers. J But he really has no colour, no I striking personality. In fact ? he is a rather negative personality. ON THE TRACK. Later in the afternoon, while he threw off his wraps and did a little warning up with brother Stanley— a larger boned edition of Sydney— the pair struck me as on a plane J with the tail-enders paddling home in the wake of a cross-country championship field. Try as I would IJ couldn't feel the least impressed by this diminutive athlete. But I kept I saying to myself. 'He has hoisted the figures on the books —I'm not dream-J jng. Surely this MUST be the man who ranks with the greats of all time.'' Even in a proportionate way he lacked the fine deep diaph-ram of a Cunningham or a Don Lash, or in I the smaller build of the great mil- I er Archie Sa n Romani. Then where he gets all this wonderful turn of speed and the stamina, to sustain it J over the great four-lap race is a mvs terv to me. Chatting with Dr McPhee, the track medico, I was told that Woodcrson had nothing abnormal about him. In fact he was, from the medical standpoint, just an ordinary bloke. LACKED COLOUR AND STYLE. Wooderson. ran 300 yards against j the watch that afternoon and though his work Avas smooth and his arm action that of a sprinter, he lacked colour and style in his running. Perhaps his running" Avas so perfectly machinelike that it lost appeal, Avas it that the athlete was a perfect runner, hut as a human being utterly lacked a personality on the track, "he fans 1oa t c colour on the ti ack, in. J he ring, on the river, on the l'oot,all field or on the cricket pitch. As Sydney sped around the track nd down the straight, the veteran teeplechase champion, Joe Mc_ J Jlusky, turned to me and said, "I vish I could run as fast.'' Joe c«miot run as fast as Sydney, but the >ld-timer has colour—a track po;r;onalitv AA'hich the fans discovered .rears ago. Joe has a fine personality >ff the track. STRIKING CONTRAST. What a contrast to see Woodcrson scratching up the cinders that afterloon and Gene "Venskc—the poet 13 jf motion —and John Borican Avork. ng out. Venskc and Borican arrested one's attention. Unless Wooder;on's identity Avas knOAvn, he Avould icA r er catch the eye like other luminaries on the track that afternoon.. ,FRAIL LITTLE SOUL. Alongside Cunningham and Venskc the diminutive Wooderson is indeed a frail little soul avlio lias been very carefully pursed in his racing England. But if he had to vie 'with Glen Cunningham over seasons and seasons and races and races, T"m convinced he Avould completely collapse. Albert Hill must conserve Wooderson's strength. The little lawyer isn't a human dynamo. He got his answer at Princcton. Too much racing in England; a plane journey; a voyage across the Atlantic and at Princeton a change of AvaUr, food and a bombardment by American pressmen and nc\A r s photogi aphers, throAvn into a Monday to Thursday preparation for the alleged "Mile ol the Century.'' Master Sydney is a marvellous Vltlc running machine, but he hasn't the physical basis for the constant grind.