Milano Cortina Olympics: ski jumping (14-02-2026)

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 I arrive at Auer station around 4 p.m.: there are Finnish and Swedish people around (not headed for Predazzo, as I will later discover). I wait for the shuttle bus (the race is at 6.45 p.m.) so as not to arrive too early and wait under the rain. I get on at around 4.45 p.m. and see that it may be one third full or a little more: I hope it doesn't wait to fill up before leaving, and in fact it leaves shortly afterwards. There is traffic, and it takes just over an hour. The journey from the car park to the entrance is a little longer than the website said: 700 metres instead of 400, but maybe they moved it, made some changes because of the bad weather. The entrance procedures are a little longer and more chaotic than usual, but we're still talking about ten minutes.

I enter around 6:15 PM: the trial jump is already over, and they're working on the track. The rain is picking up. Just past the entrance, there's a fork between category A and category B seats: for category A, there's a grandstand at the end of the track, while category B offers a spot right by the side of the track (still level) and a three-level terrace. I try out the different terrace levels, but in the end I opt for the side of the track. Here, it's not a problem having someone in front since you need to look up and (from the terrace) to the left. Anyway, my neck will end up a bit sore. Earlier, I considered grabbing something to eat, but the line is too long, and I worry it will be even worse at intermission. I also noticed that, for once, the men's bathroom line is longer than the women's.

When I find myself at the side of the track, in the middle of the fans, I think there's nowhere else in the world I'd rather be at this moment—not even at San Siro watching Inter-Juve—even though I'm expecting more than two hours standing, in the rain, possibly without food. The largest group is definitely the Germans, followed by Slovenians and Poles. There are also Finns, including a group wearing historical bibs from the Cortina 1956 champion, Americans, Japanese, and Romanians. Surprisingly, there seem to be few Austrians, considering their tradition and proximity, but when their jumpers arrive, they'll make their presence known. There's even an Italian sign for Kobayashi, "Koba's bite."

They do karaoke with "Nel blu dipinto di blu" (okay, the announcer calls it "Volare," but as a former music quiz champion, I have to mention the exact title), and many sing along, not just Italians. Shortly after, it begins: the first to jump is the Italian Cecon, who lands far from the K-point (115 meters versus 128), so it’s clear he won’t qualify for the second round—he’ll finish third to last, ahead of only numbers 3 and 4. The Americans in front of me get excited for Frantz, who, jumping as number 13, lands at 133 meters and takes a clear lead. Bresadola, number 16, slots into third, which means he has a decent chance of qualifying: he needs seven others to do worse. One of these is Insam, number 18, but he’d need eight to do worse, so it’s immediately obvious it’ll be tough. A Kazakh, number 20, lands at 140.5, just half a meter from the HS point, and in addition to taking a clear lead and staying there until number 38 (the Pole Tomasiak), convinces the jury to lower the start by two bars.

When we reach number 24, Bresadola needs three more to stay behind to qualify (or so I think): I end up rooting for every jump. An Estonian edges ahead of him by one tenth o a point, but an American and a Slovenian remain behind, so as far as I can tell, only one more is needed, which will be hard since the best are up next. Then, the announcer says he’s qualified and I check that it’s true, but at the end some big names like Lindvik, Kraft, and Lanisek (the latter will still be among the top 30) will also end up behind him. The disqualification of the Austrian Tschofenig makes him gain another position: he’ll finish 26th. The Germans accompany each of their jumps with a hum, but it doesn’t bring much luck—the best finishes 10th. The Polish fans are much more vocal. The Japanese Nikaido, jumping third to last, lands at 140 meters and takes the lead by nine points: only Kobayashi and Prevc are left, but the former falls behind (11th), and the latter jumps 138.5 meters but, with less wind compensation, stays second by 7 points.

There are just over 20 minutes of break, and I figure if I spend the whole time in line I might manage to get something to eat. There are two food stands: "typical products" and "hamburgers and hot dogs," but the first includes pizza (along with two polenta dishes) and the second features a hot dog with sauerkraut, which comes from a closer place. I choose the typical products because the line is shorter, though the two lines tend to merge. Seven minutes before the restart, I realize I won’t make it in time and think about leaving, but since the line has moved up quite a bit and I can see the ski hill from there, I decide to stay. In fact, the second round begins while I’m still in line and not at the front: I see Lanisek do even worse than in the first round, finishing last, and Bresaola finishing second to last.

I manage to get back to the side of the track during the break after the first 10 jumps: when I see the Americans, I know I’ve found my original spot. None of those who disappointed in the first jump redeem themselves, until Kobayashi, who jumps 138.5 meters and takes the lead by 13 points. With five jumps to go, he’ll still be in the lead, but all five will overtake him. The Poles celebrate Tomasiak’s great jump (138.5 meters), who was fourth, but celebrate even more when Sundal’s jump right after isn’t great (still 135.5 meters, so I wondered if their celebration was premature), which means he wins a medal. The scene repeats, even louder, with the Slovenians in the final two jumps: a roar for Prevc, who clears the HS point (141.5 meters), and an even bigger roar for Nikkaido, as he doesn’t reach that level. Still, it’s 136.5 meters, but seeing the low wind compensation, it’s clear it’s done—he stays six points behind.

As the celebration for the Slovenians begins, with congratulations from the others, they tell category B spectators to leave only five minutes after the awards ceremony, as if we were soccer away fans, "to ensure an orderly exit." I was unsure about staying for the victory ceremony, but now I know I have to. From the side of the track I won’t see it, so I move to the terrace: from there, you can see. Coventry herself presents the medals. The Slovenians sing the anthem quietly at first, but towards the end, they let themselves be heard.

There aren’t many people in line for the shuttle to Auer; there are more waiting for shuttles to the parking lots. The problem is, you can't see the shuttle. Soon one arrives, but I realize it’s not enough, and I’m one of the first left behind (at least the line is orderly here). There’s a bit of a wait for the second. Next to me sits a Polish guy in a Vancouver beanie: I find out he was at those Olympics, too. Tomorrow he’s going to watch the biathlon, while I’ll be at the cross-country.