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What's the difference between a sportsman and an athlete?

Sports that rely overwhelmingly on physical virtuosity are in crisis, as the trouble at Team Sky shows.

Silence can speak loudly. The inability of Team Sky, serial champions of the Tour de France, to produce written records for their own medical procedures is damning evidence.

Examining my own memory, a different blank spot emerges. This is the first time – unless I’m mistaken – that I’ve written an article about Team Sky. Something inside me resisted joining the cheerleading, or even its counter-movement. I felt sceptical, a scepticism that has hardened. Reluctant to feel let down over the long run, I didn’t allow myself to be uplifted or moved by the elite cycling team in the first place.

Team Sky’s public philosophy of “marginal gains” – the idea that many tiny advantages create an unstoppable compound effect – is bound up with their problems. In the good times, Team Sky explained winning in terms of PowerPoint presentations and shipping their riders’ special mattresses and pillows around the world. With that backdrop, it’s a hard sell to argue there aren’t records for medical packages stuffed inside Jiffy bags. It’s easier to benefit from the excuse of carelessness if you’ve been George Best all along.

The real lessons of Team Sky have little to do with incremental changes. Instead, look at the grand sweep of history and the development of the human body. The crisis at Team Sky – and the new damage to cycling, already so tarnished by repeated scandals involving performance-enhancing drugs – contribute to questions about the long-term trajectory of various types of sport.

Sports that are overwhelmingly determined by physical virtuosity alone are in a state of sustained crisis. As a rule of thumb, if success and failure are measured exclusively with a stopwatch, then the sport faces a bleak future. The near disappearance of track and field as an everyday spectator sport is not explained by “greedy football”: it’s because people’s faith in what they are watching has gradually evaporated.

Second, the management class in all elite, and especially stopwatch, sports faces an existential crisis. Coaches and trainers are more famous and wealthier than ever, yet their contribution to absolute improvement is shrinking to the point of invisibility. In other words, ultra-professionalism has led two trends to develop in cruel conflict: sport embraced a big bang of managerialism just as the likelihood of those managers achieving real progress became much more slight.

Human beings are following in the footsteps of greyhounds and racehorses, whose speeds levelled off decades ago. The pace of new world records has slowed to a trickle. (Many records, set when drug testing was less rigorous, will never be broken.) The golden age of athletics coaching, when superior knowledge offered a huge competitive advantage, is long over.

A third point follows obviously. Most of the legitimate solutions have already been mined. So, for coaches in stopwatch sports who seek dynastic supremacy, performance-enhancing drugs – or, at the very least, the “grey area” of Therapeutic Use Exemptions (TUEs), under which prohibited substances or methods are approved to treat legitimate medical conditions – become close to irresistible. The use of TUEs is at the heart of the controversy surrounding Team Sky.

My final point is more optimistic. As interest drains away from pure physical virtuosity, other sports will benefit: the ones in which decision-making, skill, on-field intelligence and tactics are more inextricably bound up with success. Everyone recognises that winning in modern professional sport relies on relentless dedication; but success is more interesting when it doesn’t rely exclusively on physical optimisation.

In that light, consider how Roger Federer beat Rafael Nadal at the Australian Open this January. Both men are spectacularly fit, but it was not fitness that determined the contest. At the beginning of the fifth and decisive set, Nadal looked the stronger and more resilient player. But this time Federer did something different. He doubled down on a new tactic: hitting high-risk back-hand winners. It worked. He stood tall and hit cleanly. Federer’s backhand technique, often an Achilles heel against Nadal, held firm.

It is a lot easier to enjoy sport as narrative drama when we are confident that the critical advantage is not chemical. Yes, Federer needed exceptional fitness. Yes, aptitude, confidence, optimism and energy are all interconnected, each relying on and feeding off the others. However, the Melbourne result probably hinged on technical and tactical changes by Federer.

In contrast, when fitness alone holds all the ace cards, it is hard to quell the voice of doubt. (This is not to say that stopwatch sports are the only ones with doping problems. The power hitting of Twenty20 makes cricket vulnerable. Andre Russell, the West Indian all-rounder, is currently serving a ban for missing drugs tests.)

British sport used to recognise a distinction between the word “sportsman” and the term “athlete”. In America all sportsmen have been described as “athletes”. I spent my winters in New York when I was a county cricketer; people would say, “So you’re a professional athlete?” – to which I’d reply that, no, I was just a cricketer.

Recently, however, the American usage has become ubiquitous. Now all sportsmen and women are enveloped by the umbrella “athlete” – and the athletic demands within most sports have become more extreme.

But in the future, the old distinction between sportsmen and athletes could be revived. As athleticism hits what the evolutionary biologist Stephen Jay Gould called its “outer wall”, the realm of the pure athlete will become increasingly uninteresting as a spectacle. As for the continued ascent of sport, with its complex interplay of factors: I’d put more money on it than ever. 

Ed Smith is a journalist and author, most recently of Luck. He is a former professional cricketer and played for both Middlesex and England.

This article first appeared in the 09 March 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The return of al-Qaeda

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Meet Anne Marie Waters - the Ukip politician too extreme for Nigel Farage

In January 2016, Waters launched Pegida UK with former EDL frontman Steven Yaxley-Lennon (aka Tommy Robinson). 

There are few people in British political life who can be attacked from the left by Nigel Farage. Yet that is where Anne Marie Waters has found herself. And by the end of September she could well be the new leader of Ukip, a party almost synonymous with its beer-swilling, chain-smoking former leader.

Waters’s political journey is a curious one. She started out on the political left, but like Oswald Mosley before her, has since veered dramatically to the right. That, however, is where the similarities end. Waters is Irish, agnostic, a lesbian and a self-proclaimed feminist.

But it is her politics – rather than who she is – that have caused a stir among Ukip’s old guard. Former leader Paul Nuttall has said that her views make him “uncomfortable” while Farage has claimed Ukip is “finished” if, under her leadership, it becomes an anti-Islam party.

In her rhetoric, Waters echoes groups such as the English Defence League (EDL) and Britain First. She has called Islam “evil” and her leadership manifesto claims that the religion has turned Britain into a “fearful and censorious society”. Waters wants the banning of the burqa, the closure of all sharia councils and a temporary freeze on all immigration.

She started life in Dublin before moving to Germany in her teens to work as an au pair. Waters also lived in the Netherlands before returning to Britain to study journalism at Nottingham Trent University, graduating in 2003. She subsequently gained a second degree in law. It was then, she says, that she first learnt about Islam, which she claims treats women “like absolute dirt”. Now 39, Waters is a full-time campaigner who lives in Essex with her two dogs and her partner who is an accountant.

Waters’s first spell of serious activism was with the campaign group One Law for All, a secularist organisation fronted by the Iranian feminist and human rights activist Maryam Namazie. Waters resigned in November 2013 after four years with the organisation. According to Namazie, Waters left due to political disagreements over whether the group should collaborate with members of far-right groups.

In April 2014, Waters founded Sharia Watch UK and, in January 2016, she launched Pegida UK with former EDL frontman Steven Yaxley-Lennon (aka Tommy Robinson). The group was established as a British chapter of the German-based organisation and was set up to counter what it called the “Islamisation of our countries”. By the summer of 2016, it had petered out.

Waters twice stood unsuccessfully to become a Labour parliamentary candidate. Today, she says she could not back Labour due to its “betrayal of women” and “betrayal of the country” over Islam. After joining Ukip in 2014, she first ran for political office in the Lambeth council election, where she finished in ninth place. At the 2015 general election, Waters stood as the party’s candidate in Lewisham East, finishing third with 9.1 per cent of the vote. She was chosen to stand again in the 2016 London Assembly elections but was deselected after her role in Pegida UK became public. Waters was also prevented from standing in Lewisham East at the 2017 general election after Ukip’s then-leader Nuttall publicly intervened.

The current favourite of the 11 candidates standing to succeed Nuttall is deputy leader Peter Whittle, with Waters in second. Some had hoped the party’s top brass would ban her from standing but last week its national executive approved her campaign.

Due to an expected low turnout, the leadership contest is unpredictable. Last November, Nuttall was elected with just 9,622 votes. More than 1,000 new members reportedly joined Ukip in a two-week period earlier this year, prompting fears of far-right entryism.

Mike Hookem MEP has resigned as Ukip’s deputy whip over Waters’ candidacy, saying he would not “turn a blind eye” to extremism. By contrast, chief whip, MEP Stuart Agnew, is a supporter and has likened her to Joan of Arc. Waters is also working closely on her campaign with Jack Buckby, a former BNP activist and one of the few candidates to run against Labour in the by-election for Jo Cox’s former seat of Batley and Spen. Robinson is another backer.

Peculiarly for someone running to be the leader of a party, Waters does not appear to relish public attention. “I’m not a limelight person,” she recently told the Times. “I don’t like being phoned all the time.”

The journalist Jamie Bartlett, who was invited to the initial launch of Pegida UK in Luton in 2015, said of Waters: “She failed to remember the date of the demo. Her head lolled, her words were slurred, and she appeared to almost fall asleep while Tommy [Robinson] was speaking. After 10 minutes it all ground to an uneasy halt.”

In an age when authenticity is everything, it would be a mistake to underestimate yet another unconventional politician. But perhaps British Muslims shouldn’t panic about Anne Marie Waters just yet.

James Bloodworth is editor of Left Foot Forward

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear