The Ultimate Winner

"Nobody ever had to zap Gable with intensity," says former Iowa basketball coach Sharm Scheuerman. "He's just always had it." And Gable's mom, Katie, hesitates when she's asked how he came by this attribute. "Do you have to get it someplace?" she asks. "I don't think so. Intensity is what you do yourself."

Practice is also something you do yourself. But having Gable at every workout is more than a little nerve-racking. It's 6:46 a.m., and in the Iowa wrestling room Gable, in his baggy sweat suit, is pacing around and clapping his hands, already unhappy that practice is starting late. Never mind that it isn't supposed to begin for 14 minutes. In Gable's mind, it's late. If you're not doing something toward winning right now, you're late. A wrestler strolls by and says with a laugh, "Ready, Coach?" Snaps Gable, "I'm ready. This is my second workout today." It is, too. He has already run six miles; before this day is done he'll work out three more times by 11 p.m.

Practice proceeds. A wrestler may think he's having a tough workout, but it isn't really rigorous until Gable ambles over and without a bit of "molly putzing"—a favorite Gableism that means wrestling like a sissy—grabs hold of the youngster and starts showing him a few things. Gasps Lou Banach, the 1983 NCAA heavyweight champ, "I love wrestling. I mean I love it. But I don't love it like Gable loves it." Fatigue makes cowards of everyone—except Gable. He won't succumb. Once, while training for the Munich Olympics, he told Bill Wieck, one of the nation's best high school coaches and a veteran international coach, he was through practicing for the day. "O.K., Dan," said Wieck, "but the Russians are still working out. Think about that when you go home to bed." Gable was incensed. "Let's wrestle!" he screamed.

When Gable was in college, he once was confronted by a reporter who said, "You must never think of anything but winning."

Responded Gable, "No, sir. I never think of anything but losing."

And miraculously, Gable is able to take this intensity and transfer it to others. There's just something about Gable: When he greets you and says, "Good morning," you have a sudden urge to run through the nearest wall or at the very least pin somebody.

And if Gable gets the utmost out of this Olympic team, the U.S. could win seven of the 10 weight classes. Before the Eastern bloc walkout, American wrestlers thought they might win only three medals, and that was probably wishful thinking. At last September's world championships in Kiev, the U.S.S.R. won seven golds and the U.S. one, by 163-pounder Dave Schultz. In the '76 Olympics, Americans won one gold, and in '72 the total was three, including Gable's.

The biggest challenge now facing the U.S. in the Olympics is one of style. Americans grow up doing folkstyle (also known as collegiate style) wrestling, but in the Olympics they must compete under international freestyle rules, which are considerably different. In international wrestling one must dominate one's opponent, rather than simply control him, as the U.S. rules encourage a wrestler to do.

But Gable isn't worried. Closely connected to his intensity are his devotion and determination. Joe Wells, an assistant coach at Michigan and Gable's roommate while both were Iowa assistants, says, "He's able to give so much of himself without reservation." Gable is mystified that devotion is worth praising and says, "When something means something, sacrifices are nothing." To Gable, wrestling doesn't mean something, it means everything. Wrestling isn't part of life, it is life itself. Therefore, he reasons, why is it special that he owns a four-wheel-drive vehicle, in part so he can drive around predawn Iowa City, long before the snowplows are out, and pick up his wrestlers and take them to early practice? Devotion. This spring, Gable rushed from Iowa City to Chicago's O'Hare airport to greet a group of potential Olympic team members who were changing planes en route to a tournament. He was a one-man pep rally, cheering, clapping, encouraging, building confidence. See, he didn't have to be at O'Hare. But he was. He didn't even notice, and certainly didn't care, that other travelers were slack-jawed at his performance. Devotion.

And determination. When Gable is in pursuit of a dream, which is what he has been most of his life—"People who have a hard time finding goals are the ones who aren't looking," he says—his focus is unswerving and his vision tunnel-wide. Why, there goes his wife, ahhh, whatshername, right over there. Once during his undergraduate days at Iowa State, he was thrown in jail for possession of beer on the street, a charge of dubious legal merit. Forced to spend four hours behind bars, Gable put the bars to use: He did pull-ups on them. And the cold jail floor was just right for one-armed push-ups. This is Gable. You can confine his body, but you can't confine his spirit.