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: No. 8 – Robert Shavlakadze over John Thomas at the Rome Olympics (1960): Nineteen-year-old John Thomas was widely acclaimed as "the greatest high jumper in the history of mankind." Prior to the Olympics, he'd won 50 competitions in a row, including the Olympic Trials where he'd jumped 7 feet 3-3/4 inches to shatter his own world mark. : : In the days leading up the competition in Rome, even the three-man Soviet high jump contingent : 1960 Olympics : paid him homage by attending his public workouts. Each time Thomas sailed over the bar, the Soviets would gaze in wonderment. What Thomas didn't know was that the same Soviet jumpers were clearing seven feet regularly in secret practices. "I'd never heard of any of the Russian jumpers," he admitted later. "But in those days, who had? They didn't travel much." : It was the consummate "psych job." When the Olympic high jump competition finally began, Thomas was full of confidence. But as the day wore on, he became aware that, for the first time in years, he was competing against equals. The bar reached 7 feet 1/4 inch. Thomas cleared it on his second attempt. Now he was alone in the field except for all three Russians. The bar was raised to 7 feet 1 inch. Robert Shavlakadze, the lead Soviet jumper, cleared it on his first attempt. : Teammate Valeri Brumel followed. Thomas missed on his first two tries. On his final attempt, he appeared to succeed, but his trailing leg brushed against the bar, sending it plummeting downward. Shavlakadze won the gold medal; Brumel the silver. Thomas was awarded third place on the basis of fewer misses than Viktor Bolshov, the third Soviet jumper. The next four years were difficult for John Thomas. : "I was the guy who'd lost to the Russians," he would say later. "In international sports, it was always the U.S. versus Russia; freedom versus communism; us versus them. And because I came in third, it just wasn't good enough for a lot of people." Plus to make matters worse, Valeri Brumel soon emerged as the leading high jumper in the world, besting Thomas in eight out of nine competitions. : "I was the guy who'd lost to the Russians. In international sports, it was always the U.S. versus Russia; freedom versus communism; us versus them. And because I came in third, it just wasn't good enough for a lot of people." : – American High Jumper John Thomas : : Then came the Tokyo Olympics. Now the roles were reversed. Brumel was considered a "cinch" for the gold, and the prevailing view was that Thomas would be fortunate to win any medal at all. The competition began. The field narrowed. Finally Brumel and Thomas were alone with the bar at 7 feet 2-3/4 inches. Both men missed on their first two attempts. Brumel missed badly on his third try. Now John Thomas' fate rested on one jump. If he cleared the bar, the Olympic gold medal would be his. If not, Brumel would be awarded the prize on the basis of fewer misses at lower heights. : Thomas missed. : "I did my best," he told reporters afterward. "So even if I didn't satisfy anyone else, I satisfied myself and that's what counts." Still, the hurt remained. And decades later, reflecting on the pressures that had been thrust upon him at an early age, Thomas would remark with a modicum of bitterness, "American spectators are frustrated athletes. They'd like to be champions but can't. So they sit and cheer the champion and ridicule the loser. In the champion, they see what they'd like to be. In the loser, they see what they actually are : : : No. 7 – Secretariat Loses the Whitney Stakes (1973): : It was supposed to be a coronation. Instead, it became a reminder that in horse racing there's no such thing as a sure bet. : Secretariat was racing's first Triple Crown winner in twenty-five years. He'd won the Kentucky Derby : and Preakness by 2½ lengths each. Then, in the Belmont Stakes, the chestnut colt had put on the greatest performance in racing history, shattering Gallant Man's track record by more than 2¾ seconds, the equivalent of thirteen lengths. The closest competitor finished 31 lengths back. In the stretch run, no other horse appeared on the television monitor. : Now, suddenly, Secretariat was more than a horse. He was a cultural phenomenon. The William Morris Agency was hired to license various rights. CBS made plans to televise the colt's next four races, with Marlboro cigarettes as a special sponsor. Prior to the Kentucky Derby, a syndicate had paid $6,080,000 ($190,000 per share) for lifetime breeding rights to the horse. Immediately after the Belmont Stakes, Secretariat's owner, Penny Tweedy, turned down an offer of $450,000 for one share. : Now, suddenly, Secretariat was more than a horse. He was a cultural phenomenon. The William Morris Agency was hired to license various rights. CBS made plans to televise the colt's next four races, with Marlboro cigarettes as a special sponsor. Prior to the Kentucky Derby, a syndicate had paid $6,080,000 ($190,000 per share) for lifetime breeding rights to the horse. : – Secretariat : : There was a carnival atmosphere in Saratoga, New York, as the Whitney Stakes approached. Three days before the race, five thousand people went to the track to watch Secretariat's 7 a.m. workout. Penny Tweedy, who owned the colt, became a celebrity in her own right. The horse had assumed an aura of invincibility. : But behind the scenes, trouble was brewing. For several days before the race, Secretariat had run a low-grade fever. Mrs. Tweedy later remembered, "On the day of the race, the fever was gone, and we thought the horse could run at his best. Lucien Laurin [Secretariat's trainer] and I made the decision together. It was a calculated risk. No one put any pressure on us. But the town of Saratoga had painted itself blue and white [Meadow Stable's colors], and I felt an obligation to have the horse perform. I was wrong; it was a mistake." : : Secretariat went off as a 1-to-10 favorite before the largest crowd ever to watch a race at Saratoga. Only four other horses had been entered in the field. One of them, a 4-year-old gelding named Onion, led every step of the way until the final turn where Secretariat drew even. Then Onion pulled away for his first stakes victory ever. : "It's embarrassing," Onion's owner, Jack Dreyfus, later remembered. "I wish I could tell you I was there, but I wasn't. I knew Onion was running well, but I didn't think he'd beat Secretariat. So that afternoon, I was playing golf with Gary Player and my son at the Century Country Club in White Plains, New York. A couple of times, I thought about the race, but not with any real hope. Then, after we finished, I went back to the clubhouse, and someone told me, 'Onion beat Secretariat.' I was stunned." : So was Mrs. Tweedy. "I got a lot of letters after that race," she recalled. "And quite a few of them told me I was to blame; that it wasn't the horse's fault."

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