I filmed a cool spot for AT&T in Colorado Springs. In the commercial, I hop out of a pool and see a guy trying to get reception on his cell phone while he’s standing on the pooldeck. “Dude,” I tell him, “you’re going to hurt yourself. Here, try mine.” Of course, it’s an AT&T phone in perfect working order. As the announcer asks, “How many bars do you have?” the graphic above his head changes from one bar to a series of five raised bars that you see on a cell phone with perfect reception. It took about ten takes to get it exactly right, but I like the way it turned out.
I also went down to Miami to film a commercial for VISA. In that ad, I swam in open water past a number of landmarks until I reached New York Harbor, near the Statue of Liberty. Then I swam to the wall, touched it, turned around and said, “One,” as if I had merely completed a lap. Here are two secrets for people who have seen the commercial. First, even though I filmed the scenes in Miami, I had a body double for the scenes in New York and Atlanta. Sean Foley had joined the staff at Octagon after an accomplished career at the University of Texas. He was the swimmer in most of the scenes. People in the swimming world can probably tell the difference. Sean breathes every other stroke; I breathe every stroke. Secret number two: VISA actually filmed a second version of the commercial in which I touch a wall, take my goggles off, look up and see Bob standing in front of the Statue of Liberty with a stopwatch. Then he looks down and tells me to “pick it up on the way back.” Unfortunately, they canned that version because it ran longer than the 30 seconds they had allotted, which would have cost them more money. No Bob, no royalties. Sorry, Coach.
Besides those ads, we filmed some highlights for NBC at Loyola that the network used for its pre-Olympic promotions. Power Bar ran a series of highlights from my events. And the Omega watch company came up with a deal I couldn’t refuse. Not only was I going to become one of their spokespeople, but I was also going to be introduced as an Omega rep with Cindy Crawford, who was one of their other clients. Very sweet. And the watch is cool, too.
Then came the media crunch. We did cover shoots for Sports Illustrated, SI Kids and Time, and I gave long interviews to The New York Times, Washington Post, Chicago Tribune and USA Today. The local paper, The Baltimore Sun, was writing stories almost daily. Even on a day I wouldn’t give interviews, there would be stories in the local papers and on the Baltimore TV stations.
All along, we had to ask, “Was the media exposure adversely affecting my training?” Peter ran everything through Bob, who had veto power over everything. They came up with a scale of importance. Some obligations were mandatory. Before a major meet, such as Nationals or the Olympic Trials, for example, the top swimmers are expected to be available for a general press conference. Then if they win a race or qualify for the Olympic team in an event, we are supposed to make ourselves available after that race. Beyond that, I started to get a lot of requests, especially as the Olympics drew closer. With every photo shoot, interview request, press conference and TV appearance, Bob would ask Peter: On a scale of 1 to 10, how much would this benefit Michael?
I also wanted to do as much as possible because it was a chance to get swimming on the front pages, the way it is in Australia. We did the nines and tens, tried to accommodate the sevens and eights and had to pass on everything else. Even with the ones we accepted, Bob picked the dates and times when I’d be available. Usually we tried to aim for 2 p.m. as a time for interviews, because I could still have a morning practice, eat, take an afternoon nap and be ready for a late-afternoon practice after the interview. Because I wasn’t going to school during the year, I had more hours to work with. Even without school, I was getting a great education anyway, a real insight into communications and into marketing.
Bob and I flew back together from the Argent shoot in the Bahamas and he began telling me about the trip to Ann Arbor. He was originally against the job, but he went to Ann Arbor as a courtesy to Bill Martin, the Michigan athletic director and acting U.S. Olympic Committee president. I had competed in Ann Arbor before and so Bob had seen the area, but when he finally saw it through the eyes of a prospective coach, he fell in love with it. “If I want the Michigan job, it’s mine,” he said. I told him I wasn’t surprised and I congratulated him. That he asked the obvious question: “If I took the job, what would you do?” I answered him in about two seconds, but I knew the question was coming and I had my answer ready before he even asked. “Are you kidding? I would go anywhere you would be,” I told him. “I like new challenges and I used to wear that Michigan cap at school.”
It was more than that. No other coach could have gotten me as far as Bob. It was more than his degree in developmental psych that allowed him to plow through my attitude and get the most out of my talent; it was a brilliant mind and a great heart that he probably didn’t want anybody to know about. Bob and I had always been careful not to express too much emotion toward each other because, with my dad rarely in the picture, I relied on him for the kind of counsel a father gives a son. In our moments when we weren’t yelling at each other, we talked about school, friends, family, girls, music, anything. We didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of it (I will NEVER like country music), but he knew and I knew that he had done more than mold me into a swimmer; he had helped me grow up, and there were days when I needed a lot of help. I like Ann Arbor and I admire Michigan’s tradition, but if Bob had accepted a job in Siberia, my decision would have been the same.
20
EMOTIONAL SENDOFF
After Bob told me about the Michigan job on the plane, he also said: “You’re the only one who knows about this, so please don’t tell anyone yet.” That was hard. Later that day, Jamie was talking about training with Bob the next year, and I had to keep my mouth shut, knowing that he would have to re-think his decision and that I couldn’t speak to him about it just yet.
At Meadowbrook, we began wearing new caps that said NBAC on one side and Athens 2004 on the other. Just seeing the cap each day made me realize how close we were to the Games. I kept a calendar on my bedroom wall and I began checking off days before the start of the Trials. We had just passed T-minus 100 days, and I could feel my intensity start to pick up in practice.
Bob was planning to wait until after my next meet, the Doc Counsilman Classic in Indianapolis later that week, before making an announcement about the Michigan job. Before the competition, I went to a publicity event to promote the World Short Course Championships that were scheduled for October at a temporary pool inside the Conseco Fieldhouse, the home of the Indiana Pacers basketball team. I knew the press would be asking a lot of questions about the quest for seven gold medals and they had more reason to do that after the publicity event. Larry Bird, an NBA legend who is now the Pacers’ president of basketball operations, presented me with a team jersey that had the number seven on it. “It’s Jermaine O’Neal’s number,” Bird said, talking about his team’s best player, “but we know what it stands for.”
Bob wanted to see how I would react to swimming three races in a day again. I had a winning streak of 37 straight races going into that meet. We expected that would end because I had entered the 200 breaststroke on Saturday just to tax my body a little and give me stamina in my weakest stroke of the IMP. The streak ended, but not the way I planned.
That afternoon I ate some bourbon chicken with rice in a local mall and didn’t think anything of it. I’m not positive that that caused the problem, but when I went to the prelims on Friday morning, I felt really sluggish. I got through the heats of both the 200 free and 400 IMP and was the top qualifier in each. Friday night, I felt like garbage. I struggled just to finish to 200 free and finished second to South Africa’s Ryk Neethling. It was my first loss since the previous July. I left the pool feeling both hot and cold, and even the towel I wrapped around my back couldn’t stop me from shaking. I told Bob I didn’t think I could do the IMP and he wasn’t happy.
“This isn’t going to give us a good indication of where we stand.”
“I know, but it
’s not my fault. If I had known I was going to get sick off the stuff, I wouldn’t have eaten it.”
“Fine, I’ll pull you from the race.”
Bob walked away from me. I know he felt that it was beneficial to compete under stress because that prepared us for what we would face at the Olympics, but I really couldn’t learn anything except how sick I was.
I went back to my room, ate some chicken soup, downed some Pepto Bismol to ease my stomach, turned the TV on and slept from 10 p.m. until noon when my mom and Bob came into the room. I didn’t race the 200 fly or 200 breast on Saturday, but I did get in the water and train just enough to get my body ready for a big day on Sunday and then came back to cheer for my teammates in the night session.
In the middle of all this, reporters started approaching Bob to ask him about the Michigan job. It turned out Coach Urbanchek had mentioned his departure and Bob’s hire to his swimmers, and at least one of them told somebody who ran a Wolverine website. Bob was okay answering the extra questions, but we didn’t want people to think that my stomach ailments were in any way connected to the move to Michigan.
I was still a little stressed out physically and I felt pressure to bounce back after the discussion with Bob, but I felt a lot better. I won the 200 back and then the 100 free, rallying from next to last at the 50-meter turn and beating Neethling at the wall. Then I swam a 200 free by myself as an exhibition and a sort of stress test to see how I’d do with three swims in a short period of time—in this case, about 40 minutes. In between races, my lactate level was at 14, which is much higher than we ever want to see it. Right before the 200 free, it was still at 7.9, nowhere close to the 2.0 we shoot for. Still, my 200 free time was 1:48.30, much faster than the time I swam when Neethling beat me a few days earlier. More important, it gave me an idea of how I would do swimming three races in such a short period of time the way I’d have to at the Trials in Long Beach a few months away.
From there, I went right to a two-day photo shoot for Speedo at Arizona State. I was very happy with the shape I was in at that particular point. Bob usually doesn’t come to photo shoots; he usually just gives me workouts and lets me swim around. But he made a big point of coming to this one so he could monitor me and make sure I was doing the right things to get ready for Trials.
We came back in time for more functions. I was excited to be invited to Ray Lewis’ charity bowling event to raise money to build a park in Lakeland, Florida, his hometown. No, Bob, I didn’t bowl. I picked up a football for Matt that was signed by his favorite player, Steve McNair, the Tennessee Titans’ quarterback. Matt was finishing up his freshman year at Salisbury State and he let out a loud yell when I called to tell him about the football.
The following evening we had a black-tie gala inside the pool at Meadowbrook to raise money for NBAC. (Don’t worry, we drained the pool.) Parents and coaches donated many items that we auctioned off, and Rowdy Gaines came in to be the master of ceremonies for the event. I donated some things, but I also wanted to get people in a bidding mood to help the club, so I also bought the first item, a weekend ski package in Jackson Hole, Wyoming for $5,000. Mom was on the opposite end of the pool when Rowdy made the announcement and said to her friends: “Did I hear that right?” Don’t worry, Mom. Just look at it as a good cause.
The next day was Mothers Day and I had been looking forward to visiting my grandmother for a while. She was putting up a brave fight against pancreatic cancer, and she had been living at the Brighton Gardens assisted-living residence in Pikesville, Maryland, where many of the residents would corner her for daily reports about her grandson, the swimmer. Word was that Leoma Davisson, 85, would take the back stairs to avoid her newfound celebrity. But she had been in a hospital for two weeks after developing pneumonia. I really wanted to see her before I left for the summer, especially since her health had recently been so-so.
But as soon as I walked into the room, she turned to my mom and said, “What is he doing here?” I know my grandmother wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see her, but she was looking out for me and she didn’t want me to catch any germs that she had. She insisted that I leave for my own good and I was pretty bummed about it. I’ve always been really close to her, and it’s so fun to know that she’ll say the first thing that pops into her head without filtering what she’s thinking. She told Hilary once, “You know, you’d look so much better as a blonde.” She told me I should never have a steady girlfriend because “Every girl needs lovin’ and why should a young man be tied down? Be free. Have fun.” See, when you’re 85, you can say anything and nobody will tell you not to. I knew I’d be away for a few months and I wanted to make sure I saw her, because I didn’t know what her condition would be when I got back.
I tried to take my mind off my grandmother’s illness and the disappointment of not being able to see her. I saw two English bulldogs in the window of a pet store in Baltimore and I thought I could name them Diesel and Chief. That day I went home and asked my mom about bringing them home. It was a lost cause. “Well, Michael, if you get dogs now, you have to be able to walk them every day. You have to make sure they have their shots. You have to be able to spend enough time with them to train them to stay off the furniture. You have to find a kennel for them for the weeks you’ll be away, which is a difficult thing for new dogs. You have to …”
“So you’re telling me no.”
“No, Michael, I’m not saying no; I’m just telling you that there are certain responsibilities that go with buying a dog now. If you do that and train and go to the Olympics at the same time …”
“Maybe I could ask them to hold the dogs.”
“Michael, I think that’s a good idea.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Later that summer, when I left for the training camp in Palo Alto, my mom sent me an e-mail with a picture of two dogs.
In late May, I was back in New York for a media summit put on by the U.S. Olympic Committee. They flew in Olympic hopefuls in a number of sports, so reporters would have an opportunity to talk to a lot of athletes in one place and the smaller sports would have a chance for exposure they might not otherwise have. At some point I had mentioned that I was thinking of getting another tattoo to one of the reporters, who then asked my mom about it. Okay, she was probably thinking, Michael already has the Olympic rings, what is he thinking of now? Something bigger? Something he’ll regret? I know she didn’t want to say no, but she also didn’t want me to get it.
Peter became her representative in the no-tattoo campaign. When we were in New York, he proposed a contest. We go to the ESPN Zone restaurant where the third floor is filled with every kind of game you can imagine from foosball to air hockey to games that allow you to shoot baskets, take slapshots or drive a simulated Daytona race car. We each chose alternate challenges. “If you win,” Peter told me, “I’ll take you to dinner anywhere you want in New York City. If I win, I own the rights to your body art.” This was serious. We each chose games we figured we could win. I picked games I could play on consoles. Peter chose mostly sports that involved more physical skills. He won when we played at the basketball hoop; I won when we played at the basketball console. He took slapshots; I shot targets. It was close, but after several hours of titanic struggle, the air hockey did me in. No tattoo. Score one for Peter. And Mom.
During one of the breaks at the media summit, Peter tried to show me that I could save time by the way I signed autographs. We talked before about the walk-and-sign trick celebrities use all the time. Don’t stop going where you’re going. Just keep walking as you scribble something that looks like a signature. I don’t like that very much. If it’s a single person, you can usually make it a more personal experience for them by asking where they’re from, if they’re involved in swimming, that sort of thing. If you’re walking and signing for a group of people, you might end up giving a pen to the wrong person. And have you tried to write something down while you’re in motion? The signature looks like a big cross-out. Peter also
showed me how I could save time by coming up with a writing style so I could sign my name more quickly and accommodate more fans. You know, sign the initials and then drag the pen for a few letters worth of space. I tried it, but it looked like chicken scratch. “You want to give a kid that?” I told him. “You can’t even read it. If he shows it to his friends, they won’t think, ‘Oh, cool, Michael Phelps’; they’ll think, ‘Yeah, right—Mi___ P____. Tell me another one.’” Peter agreed, so sometimes I have to teach things to him.
The next week, we went out to the West Coast for a meet at Santa Clara and it was time to learn another lesson. My first final was the 400 IMP and I was concentrating on the race as I went up to the blocks. I didn’t notice the amount of water that was on my block as I jumped into the pool. Instead of diving in, I fell off the blocks and ended up swimming from a dead stop inside the pool. I still won the race, finishing two seconds ahead of Erik Vendt, but from then on I added an extra step to my prerace ritual by taking out a towel and wiping off my block before getting in the water.
The news was good and bad on the second day. I beat Ian Crocker in the 100 fly for the first time since Worlds, but I also lost to Aaron Peirsol in the 200 back, one of the wild-card races we were considering adding to the schedule for Trials. I was four seconds ahead of everyone else but still a half-second behind Aaron.
The next day I swam three finals in an hour, the 100 free, 200 IMP and 100 back, against some tough domestic competition. I wanted to leave a good impression with Eddie Reese, the Texas coach who would be our head coach in Athens and would pick the swimmers on our freestyle relay teams. Since I wasn’t planning to swim the 100 free at trials, this race was a tryout of sorts for one of the 4x100 free relay spots at the Olympics. I swam well and won the race, finishing ahead of Jason Lezak in 49.26 seconds. Bob told me afterward that the result should have left no doubt in people’s minds that I belonged on the squad. A half-hour later I won the IMP in 2:00.41 and then came back for the backstroke half an hour after that. The field was loaded with great swimmers, including Peirsol, Lenny Krayzelburg, Jeff Rouse, Randall Bal and Peter Marshall. I was tired and I wasn’t able to go out with Peirsol. I caught the rest of the field to finish second in 55.49, but Aaron was half a second ahead of me.
Beneath the Surface Page 17