The Faded Prospect

Let me write today about a really fascinating topic in sports. The Faded Prospect. It is almost an archetype in sportsm that's why I use capital letters. The notion of seeing a world of unlimited potential for greatness in a young athlete, only to see him never realize that potential, has captivated many sports writers. And for me personally, I think all of sports would be much less interesting if all talented athletes just become training-addicts, and hard work alone determines how far an athlete gets.
Sometimes, it's just more fun, more interesting (both good and bad), to follow the mega-talents that never make it to the all-time Pantheon of their respective sports. I am really fascinating with this concept, and the length of this blog post will certainly reflect that. Bear with me, if you will.

All sports have mega-prospects. Young athletes who grow up with a recognizable natural gift for his sport. There are even a few who have all-world talents in several sports; many who saw him in his youth swear Allen Iverson would have made a great NFL quarterback, and some even made the pros in more than one sport. That's a cross-athletic gift, a purely bodily strength, and sometimes specialized skill within one sport just makes it look like an athlete was born to perform right where he is, in that one sport. Often, he might really be born just for that, as many of these athletes' flawed personalities and private lives have shown.

As so many other things, this is not exclusive to sports. It's just that sports are so well-structured in many ways that they make it easier to discuss abstract subjects like not living up to expectations, burning out, etc.
Basically, there can be three main reasons why a prospect fades away:

Lack of commitment
The big one for many, and the most frustrating one to watch. If only Jan Ullrich had trained half as hard as Lance Armstrong, Armstrong's biggest achievement might very well have been the Flèche Wallone he won in 1996. If only Tracy McGrady's hobby hadn't been sleeping, there's a good chance he would be battling it out with Kobe for supremacy over the era right now, and, well the Big Deal Syndrome is well-known in American sports: once an athlete gets the big payday, his commitment will very often drop. So there are many, many greatly talented athletes in this group.
That means that this group of faded prospects will often get some results to back up their promising skill set along the way. Sometimes Jan Ullrich by accident hit his top form (usually toward the end of the seasons), and you can hardly say a man who was a point of refernce in cycling for a decade was truly a wasted talent. In the context of less-than-stellar work ethics, people often mention Shaquille O'Neal, who undeniably had the talent to become the greatest center ever. He wasn't, but still wound up maybe the fifth-best center ever, a four-time NBA champion and an all-time great. The boundaries between decent careers and disappointment are fluid in this group. Talk to Jan Ullrich, I'm sure that is exactly what frustrates him about his own career.

Flaw in skills
This is a technical aspect of a talented athlete not living up to his potential: if he simply has an achilles heel that makes him beatable, and keeps him from true greatness. I've read a lot about Caroline Wozniacki, the Danish tennis girl, and her lack of a super weapon in her battle for Grand Slam titles. She doesn't have that forehand that can finish opponents off, or the killer serve - and that is why she is essentially doomed to mediocrity despite her obvious talent. Speaking of Danes, I still believe Mikkel Kessler was the world's greatest Super Middleweight fighter in 2007-2009. But he couldn't fight dirty, and often got hurt (see below), so he never quite made it to the very top. Abraham Olano was supposed to take over Miguel Indurain's throne atop world cycling in the 1996-1997 seasons, but he lacked Indurain's punch in the mountains, and Olano's greatness never properly materialized.
Athletes who buckle under pressure are even more doomed (though perhaps that is Wozniacki's problem, too). I will maintain that Kamil Stoch could become the greatest ski jumper in the world if only he would stop underperforming in the second round at big event. Dave Winfield was famously known as 'Mr. May', and Andrey Shevchenko, who was one of the great soccer players of the 00's, will forever be remembered for the chances he blew during the great meltdown of AC Milan in the 2005 Champions League final. Clutch inefficiency is mind-crippling, and really hurts a great athlete's chances of being remembered forty years from now. In cycling, Michael Boogerd was one of the finest riders of the mid-90s to mid-00s. There was just one thing he couldn't do - and that was to win!
I also include in this group the athletes whose health or body capacities prevent them from going all the way to all-time greatness. Some make it anyway, such as Marco van Basten, whose four short years at the very top I am not the only to remember fondly. Cut short was also the peak of the prodigious tennis lady Martina Hingis, and Kessler (see above) had setbacks at three of the worst possible times of his career, the worst perhaps being an injured hand on a cold night in Cardiff, Wales.

Honorable mention in this category goes to Alex Zülle, who not only was not a great clutch performer (he often failed to impress when a big race was on the line), but whose poor vision required him to wear thick glasses - which further held him back in rainy or foggy conditions, leading to even more pressure in decisive situations and, well, a pretty ordinary career when you look at it. Zülle, along with his cycling compatriot Tony Rominger, demonstrates very well that the worst skill flaw you can have is bad luck. Somewhere up in Finland, should-be triple Formula One World Champion Kimi Raikkonen is nodding vigorously.

The common thing about these first two points is that athletes can overcome these flaws and still enjoy plenty of success (see below). They might not reach their full potential, and it is annoying in some cases to watch athletes not live up to what you - and the rest of the world - expect from them. But such is life, and the reason why people, myself included, are so fascinated with the concept of the Faded Prospect is the following category:

Demons
It is an appropriately hazy category, as this is often what is alluded to when analysts can't - or won't - explain what is the matter with a very gifted young man. Let's just go ahead and call it the Tyson Factor already - physically Mike Tyson might be the greatest fighter ever, and I don't care for analyses according to which 'stupidity' killed off Tyson's greatness. If you have ever heard Mike Tyson explain boxing, talk about boxing, analyze boxing, you know that he is not a stupid man at all. He just had some demons, intangible and impossible to get rid of, holding him back in essential ways.
An athlete's background can often supplant his later greatness, and it's very frequent in American sports that athletes who grew up in unfavorable conditions are later haunted by them. Why are there so many shooting incidents in the NFL? Demons. Plaxico Burress, Marvin Harrison and others might have made it anyway, but they had their problems, and one would imagine such things have held hundreds of others back.
Plain drug abuse has haunted sports too, of course. Robbie Fowler or Paul Merson in soccer, and Marco Pantani in cycling (though I believe Pantani made the most of his career). Mental illness has also hit athletes, and guys like José Maria Jimenez (cycling) or Justin Duchscherer (baseball). And a combination of all these things make for the most interesting faded prospect I know of: cycling's Frank Vandenbroucke. Vandenbroucke could have dominated cycling in any aspect since he burst onto the scene in 1997 - he could ride classics and beat Jalabert and Bartoli, he could win the medium stage races such as Paris-Nice, and in the Vuelta of 1999, he showed a tantalizing flash of what could have been when he went all Eddy Merckx on the peloton on the way to a great stage win at Avila. But his downfall, which really started after the World Championships at Verona that he would have dominated had he not broken both his arms early on in the race (!), and it didn't end until he was found dead at a Senegalese beach resort in October of 2009.

Vandenbroucke's story crystallizes everything that is fascinating about the Faded Prospect. All-time talent? Check (even Eddy Merckx himself pointed to Vandenbroucke as his successor). Flashes of legendary brilliance? Check (many still believe his 1999 win at Liège-Bastogne-Liège is one of the finest editions of that race in recent times). Demons? Oh yeah, you betcha. Everything from PEDs to recreational drugs, a stormy relationship with no fewer than two models in 18 months, to the Belgian media, the police, and clinical depressions, attempted murder, attempted suicide several times - and that rather depressing list goes on and on, and even includes puzzling sightings at amateur races in Italy, riding under a fake name.
Frank Vandenbroucke died at 34. As an athlete, he had two seasons, 1998 and 1999, where he bagged some good results on a consistent basis. But consistency was never his strength; after a bout with depression in 2000, he practically disappeared for a couple of years - and characteristically showed up in the winning break of the 2004 Tour of Flanders all of a sudden. Out of training and unable to out-sprint Peter Van Petegem, he took second, and never made it back to the elite again. Yet he will be remembered, primarily for what he could have been than for what he was.


Now, there are three principal ways a Faded Prospect can go, somewhat mirroring the three main reasons for fading in the first place:

He can become ordinary, have an unremarkable career.
This is both the most frequent way to make a career away from the all-time greatness a prospect was destined for, and maybe the most depressing way to end up (from a purely athletic perspective). Both basketball (Tim Thomas, Lamar Odom, etc.) and cycling (Alex Zülle, Michael Boogerd, etc.), and certainly other sports, are littered with this type of cancelled greatness.
Cancelled greatnes characterizes another one of cycling's mega-prospects of the early 90's, namely Eugeni Berzin, who burst onto the scene with a dominant Giro d'Italia win in 1994, as well as Liège-Bastogne-Liège that year, only to show exactly two flashes of brilliance (one in 1995 and one in 1996) for the rest of his career. There are those who in hindsight believe Berzin was never all that good, and that his exceptional 1994 season was mainly due to his Gewiss team's trail blazing in the PED department. But nevertheless he was up against some riders who were not exactly using yoohoo and skittles either, and he did win in remarkable style. And it was a great shame to see him end his career, a very unremarkable and beleaguered 30-year-old in the year 2000 - ironically over a PED suspension.
In the same way, I'm sure there are many boxing fans who would have liked Mike Tyson to just call it a career after it was clear he could no longer beat fighters of Evander Holyfield's caliber in the mid-90's. No matter how short your time is at the very top, it just looks better to go out while you're still close to the top.

He can show inconsistent flashes of brilliance over an extended period of time,
but never achieve consistent greatness that puts him into consideration for the all-time Pantheon of his sport. Van Basten essentially made his legend with one great goal (that's shorting him quite a bit, but that is what most remember about him), and many athletes just have trouble staying healthy enough to be great for a long time. In baseball, the faded pitching prospect can still go out and throw a no-hitter; consistency is not the only way to greatness in pitching. The Yankees probably wouldn't have won the 2009 World Series with the steady finesse pitcher Mike Mussina as their number two starter instead of the volatile power pitcher A.J. Burnett, who produced three fantastic starts when it mattered the most.
An athlete capable of going about his trade like this can command serious interest and money from clubs. But it can also hold a talented athlete back. Why don't Arsenal just get rid of Marouane Chamakh, whom they're scarcely using themselves; trade him, sell him, or loan him out? Because they know what he is capable of, and don't want him pulling a three-goal performance against them in the Premier League.

He can flame out completely.
Again, the most interesting way to go out. Frank Vandenbroucke is the prototypical flameout; I don't believe the details were

Three Days in 1994: How awesome Miguel Indurain actually was

He had class. Cycling was a gentleman's sport back then, something which Lance Armstrong changed for good.

The 1994 Tour was decided in three stages that might have been the most dominant three-day stretch by any rider in cycling history.
Indurain produced three or four really brilliant time trialling performances over his reign at the Tour, but the one in 1994 may be the most impressive one of them all. In '92, he beat the second-placed rider, De Las Cuevas, by 3'00" at Luxembourg, his biggest margin of victory of all the time trials, but while there were some major names further down the list (Bugno at 3'41", Lemond at 4'04"), his competition in Bergerac for the 1994 Tour counted a much more complete rider on his best form (Tony Rominger, whom Indurain beat by 2'00"). Rominger's form for the '94 Tour can be discussed at length, but the fact remains that Rominger himself beat the next rider, De Las Cuevas, by 2'40" himself, leaving third-placed De Las Cuevas a whopping 4'40" behind Indurain. In one time trial! Chris Boardman, who later that year would win the Time Trial World Championship, finished fifth at 5'27". That's almost five and a half minutes, against a very motivated time trial specialist who a week earlier had shown he had great form.
Rominger began talking of a knee injury and bad health even before the time trial, but if your knees are not healthy, you don't beat Chris Boardman or the 1994 De Las Cuevas by that much. You just don't. So yes, I am calling 'bad excuse' on Rominger here. Just like with Lance Armstrong in the 2003 time trial, but that's another story.

The time gaps, even for a 64 km-time trial, are mind-boggling, and back then, a time trial that long was the norm in a Grand Tour, so they were hardly because of the monstrosity of the route. The Bergerac time trial in 1994 was probably Miguel Indurain's mega-apex as a time triallist. The Formula at its very best. As I said, whether to consider this time trial more impressive than his '92 thrashing of the field at Luxembourg depends on how you read Rominger's form, but aside from pointing to the time Rominger put into the following riders, I will actually contend that Rominger's poor form in the following mountain stages came from his defeat in the time trial.
Before the climb up to the Hautacam started two days later, Rominger knew he was up against a superior opponent. Indurains unexpected display of power up the Hautacam just showed everybody that this was an improved Indurain, not content to sit back and observe, but actually willing to launch pre-emptive strikes against his opponents. The next day, when Richard Virenque introduced himself to the world, Indurain laid down the law again, but in a more understated way, up to Luz Ardiden. He could once again control the pace of the lead group, and maintain initiative against a strong contingent of mountain specialists. This was Indurain the field general, and turned out to be the day he effectively eliminated Rominger, made sure Ugrumov would never be a serious threat, and kept Pantani within what was manageable, too.

Those three stages of the '94 Tour made Indurain's legacy as a champion. If he had continued his Formula from '92 and '93, he would rightfully have been considered a boring winner. The rest of the '94 Tour was boring, but that was because none of the contenders believed they could challenge Indurain. Rominger had never given up completely in '93, no matter his bad luck along the way, and Chiappucci never gave up, period. But mentally, Indurain had them all beaten after these three stages, and the Alpine stages of the '94 Tour reflected that. The latter part of the race still saw some great racing, but it was for second place, and everybody knew it.

They also changed the way Indurain went about his business the following year. Indurain's 1995 win has often been analyzed as 'more of the same', but in essence, that win was in no way dependent on time trial dominance. Bjarne Riis lost 1'00" to Indurain - over the combined two time trials of the race, but it was in the mountains that Indurain really crushed his opponents. Namely on the road to La Plagne, where Indurain might have produced his career-defining performance. He didn't win the stage, but notice how he just rides away from the others without actually attacking. It was no contest.
Indurain, after seeing in 1994 that he was able to do it, was simply more aggressive in '95. His surprise attack in Liège has been interpreted as fear of Rominger's and Berzin's time trialling abilities, but in the past Indurain still would have waited and let the others make the first move. Indurain's win in 1995 was never as much a sure thing as it had been in '94, especially with the ONCE team trying to out-maneuver him, but it was often more enjoyable to watch, because the competition depended more on wits than on power to compete with Miguel, which prompted some unusual reactions, too.

Indurain was also a legendary race manager, masterminding his successor Olano's World Championship in 1995, but I will maintain that he is actually underappreciated. And for those three days during the 1994 Tour, he would have been a match for any cyclist in history. Put him up against the 1997 Jan Ullrich, and Ullrich would have had trouble on the cold and foggy climb up to Hautacam. Put him up against the 2001 Lance Armstrong, and Lance would have been crushed like a bug on the time trial. Put him up against Eddy Merckx, and Eddy would have destroyed his own chances going forward by launching an ill-advised attack early on the Luz Ardiden stage to make up for the time he had lost in the time trial. Ultimately, anyone would have been powerless against the Indurain of those three stages, July 11th to July 15th, 1994.