The great singer-songwriter Neil Diamond once said he was “not particularly smart,” otherwise he would have studied biology and invented a cure for cancer. “I’m better at feeling things than understanding them,” Diamond said, and he wrapped these feelings in his songs in a particularly beautiful way. An extraordinarily beautiful distillate is “Sweet Caroline”, a love hymn about good times and an even better future, which has been a bit overused in sports arenas in recent years. But on Saturday at the Hahnenkamm in Kitzbühel, it fit: When the Swiss Beat Feuz unbuckled his skis in the finish area, in the Austrian Alpine Amphitheater, almost everyone sang a farewell song for the big rival: Oh oh oh / Good times never seemed so gooood!
Saturday on the Streif was the day for upcoming and current veterans, as is almost always the case in Kitzbühel. It was snowing, visibility was terrible. Norway’s Aleksander Aamodt Kilde won his fifth downhill run of the winter, despite breaking his wrist in practice on Thursday and nearly hitting the net on Friday. Second was Frenchman Johan Clarey at the tender age of 42. There were countless stories. Undoubtedly the biggest, however, belonged to the rider, who put on the jersey with the number 217 at the start and patted his well-built stomach. It was a final, nice gesture from the jury: Feuz 217. The World Cup race was his last as a professional.
A quiet smile to say goodbye: the Swiss say goodbye as they are: without airs and graces.
(Photo: Alexander Hassenstein/Getty Images)
Like Neil Diamond, Beat Feuz has neither become a biologist nor has he researched a remedy for cancer, at least not yet. He was always very, very gifted at feeling the ice beneath his six-foot downhill skis, then hurtling down a mountain the fastest in the fastest and toughest alpine test ever. Feuz won Olympic gold in the downhill a year ago, in 2017 he became world champion, four times he secured the overall ranking in the World Cup; the latter was otherwise only managed by Franz Klammer. He seems like an illogical grandmaster in this discipline, in which everything always seems a bit remote, on and off the piste. But that is the first, deceptive look.
On the descent, those who are calm, who know where to dance with the risk and where not, often win. Feuz realized early in his career that it rarely takes 100 percent to be 100 percent successful, and that’s how he usually drove. The 35-year-old is “one of the best downhill skiers of all time,” said Thomas Dreßen in Kitzbühel, the best German downhill skier of the past and gradually also of the present. You don’t dust off praise like that so easily in this business, where respect for your colleagues counts for a lot, but trust in your own strength even more. forced.
Anyone who has never even slid down a descent sealed with ice can hardly grasp the forces to which the riders are exposed. Feuz, however, always managed to come across as approachable to all observers. He was seen as the upcoming champion early on, but he also enjoyed the quickly prepared food in the relevant restaurants as much as he did fast descents, which earned him the nickname Kugelblitz.
Ten years ago, his left knee became so badly infected after an operation that they almost had to amputate his leg. He came back after about ten more surgeries, often training only a third as much as the others. But for the big events, the one attempt on the one day, he usually scraped together the strength. Then, a few years ago, he suddenly started to excel all season long. There was winter when he was on the podium at almost every high-speed run.
Over time he has learned to use the few units that his body allows him to do better, said Feuz. Whereby Andreas Evers, the trainer of the German downhill skiers, who looked after Feuz for a long time, often emphasized that Feuz works much more consistently “than he is said to have”. And: The often so quiet person freaks out – “but within two minutes he is himself again and can concentrate on his run”.
When Feuz pooled his skills, everything flowed together as splendidly as a symphony
And when Feuz packed all his skills into one run, everything flowed together so splendidly like a symphony – gripping, energetic, soulful where it was needed. Then he always pressed the edges well dosed into the ice, rarely losing his balance. That made the hard work lighter, like his compatriot Roger Federer’s tennis strokes. It was only when the competitors studied the rides very closely that they realized how much Feuz was dancing at the limit. How he crouched down in the air while others stretched, “compact as a cannonball,” as the great Swiss downhill skier Bernhard Russi enthused. Or how Feuz aligned his skis when he jumped so that they immediately carried him in the right direction when he landed. Or how he never kept the supposed ideal track, but broke away as soon as the surface or speed required it.
“It’s impressive,” said Austrian Vincent Kriechmayr, the current downhill world champion and Streif winner on Friday.
“I almost had a small tear in my eye when he swung away because he’s just such a fine guy,” said Romad Baumann, the best German on Saturday in eighth place.
“Brutal”, Thomas Dreßen.
Feuz always let others share his knowledge – also from other nations
Many were amazed when Feuz recently announced that he would be leaving the company after the classics in Wengen and Kitzbühel, before the world championships in February. But the longer you listened to him, the more coherent the step seemed, like many things in his career. It is becoming more and more difficult to get the body fit, especially the injured left knee, said Feuz. He’s only strayed a bit from his best version, but that makes a big difference, on the descent anyway. And at the World Cup, only the medals counted anyway. “I’ve experienced enough and achieved enough,” said Feuz.
When he was in the finish area for the last time on Saturday, 16th in the day’s standings, he didn’t mention anything material. He was proud, he said, that so many colleagues had congratulated him, “that shows that I’ve never closed myself off, not even to my competitors”. He has donated a lot of knowledge to the new generation of Swiss, Niels Hintermann, the third from Friday, Marco Odermatt, also rivals like Dreßen.
“He’s still an extreme role model,” said Dreßen in Kitzbühel, meaning: how Feuz raced to success on inconspicuous paths, after serious injuries, over and over again. It’s a biography that the German, by the way, tries to recreate in a very similar way, although Saturday didn’t quite go as well as the downhill the day before. Dreßen fell in the Alte Schneise, was annoyed that the spot wasn’t marked well enough with paint on the ground, then cursed his driving mistake: “Because you’re just such a dork!”
A descent is always a metaphor for a career, often for life. The driver sets off in silence at the start, struggles with forces that he is not always made for, arrives – usually at least – at the finish, where the heat of the others rains down on him. Feuz’ wife and daughters were waiting there on Saturday, “that’s the most important thing,” said Feuz, the family and health. Good times never seemed so good.