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The Spider who finally came in from the cold
Gwilym S. Brown
December 20, 1971
He used to race for play as an official U.S. team amateur, but now ex-Olympian Sabich races for fun and profit as a bright new star on the professional circuit. And what is more, he's winning all the money
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December 20, 1971

The Spider Who Finally Came In From The Cold

He used to race for play as an official U.S. team amateur, but now ex-Olympian Sabich races for fun and profit as a bright new star on the professional circuit. And what is more, he's winning all the money

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The two skiers come out of their twin aluminum starting gates like famished greyhounds and race into view high up on the slope, moving side by side through the two long rows of slalom poles. Halfway down, as they become momentarily airborne off the second of three small jumps that have been built into each course, it is suddenly evident that the racer on the left, whose row of flags is green, has swiveled his way into a slim lead over the skier on the right, whose flags are gold. He lands an instant before his rival. Over the last jump and through the final few poles he continues to increase his margin and finally passes under the bright yellow finish-line banner with a snap of his head to confirm his six-yard victory. Thus did Vladimir (Spider) Sabich win the slalom and giant slalom in the Samsonite Classic at Vail, Colo. And thus did American professional ski racing kick off its third, and perhaps most critical, winter of pole-to-pole, side-by-side match race competition.

The man-against-man pro circuit is the special baby of Bob Beattie, once the coach of the U.S. National Ski Team and now one of the sport's most energetic promoters. Beattie's version of the pro tour got off to a fragile start two seasons ago when all he could pull together were three race weekends for $8,500 in prize money and an outfit called The International Ski Racers Association—composed almost entirely of Billy Kidd, the first American male ever to win a gold medal in the FIS World Championship, and some retread Austrians. Now the numbers have a healthier glow. Last year there were nine race meetings offering total prize money of $127,000. Kidd, after an autumn of exhausting activity on the ski promotional circuit, didn't win a race. But while the tour lost Kidd, in spirit at least, it gained Sabich, the charismatic young Californian whose slashing, joyous racing style is a reflection of his social life. Sabich brought a touch of glamour to the tour, dominated it as well and emerged from last winter as leading money winner with a total of $21,189. Not exactly Nicklaus, but not bad for openers.

"It was such a relief to stop racing as an amateur," says Sabich. "I was fed up with the hypocrisy. Fed up with racing against guys who were making $50,000 a year, guys who had other people to wax their skis, sharpen their edges and who could go home when they got tired. I was too nervous trying to compete with what I thought were insufficient weapons. Now I have no worries."

"One of the reasons I think Spider is now skiing better than ever is that a free spirit like him could never thrive under the regimentation you have on a national team," says Kidd, an old friend from years together on the U.S. team and at the University of Colorado. "Now he does what he wants. He's loose, he's happy, he has freedom. And it shows in his skiing."

This year Sabich is back, obviously looser, happier and freer than ever. Kidd also is back, his own enthusiasm burning brightly once again, and Beattie has hopes of adding some more stars to his roster once the Winter Olympics in Sapporo have ended. ISRA membership is up to 100, and this year's tour schedule calls for at least 12 race meetings and prize money of almost $300,000.

Beattie has developed a new racing format keyed to slaloms and what he calls a dual challenge round of 16. This is head-to-head knockout competition conducted like a tennis tournament, and the field for this phase of each event is filled by the fastest 16 skiers from qualifying time trials held earlier. Each match is decided over two heats on parallel and almost identical courses, 12 to 15 feet apart, the contestants switching courses for the second heat. The racer who wins both heats, or compiles the largest overall winning margin by time, advances to the next round. The courses are usually set on intermediate slopes, seldom more than 600 or 700 yards long, and the racers are visible to the spectators at the bottom for almost the entire run. The whole event, from the first round of 16 to the final match, can be run off within 90 minutes. It all makes for quick, compact spectating.

"People can relate to two guys whipping down a mountainside trying to beat each other," says Beattie. "After a couple of rounds they also begin to identify with special favorites."

"This is certainly the most exciting form of ski racing there is," says Sabich. "For us as well as the spectators. You can see exactly what you have to do—which usually means go all out. If you finish second you're through. So for the guy behind, things can get really wild. You start cutting corners and taking chances because there's always a way to go faster. Against a clock you wouldn't take that gamble."

Races of this sort also present multiple problems to the skiers. They must learn how to get out of the starting gate extra fast, avoid collisions en route and cope with the jumps that Beattie inserts in each course. And an additional hazard was described at Vail by Jake Hoeschler, a former University of Colorado running back and downhill skiing star who lost to Kidd in the first round of the giant slalom.

"It's hard to concentrate on your own course with another skier right next to you," said Hoeschler, whose shaggy blond hair and bushy blond mustache make him look like a lion in goggles. "You listen for the other guy, as I did for Kidd. I lost my concentration, and suddenly I was flat on my face."

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