Eight, maybe nine steps of a slightly awkward looking run-in, like he's too big to be attempting to run in like this. If you didn't know better, you might wonder whether a heavyweight boxer or weightlifter has accidentally strayed out of the ring onto the athletics tracks and been handed a javelin. He's officially 6'3" but that might just be the width of his chest. He looks bigger.
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Then a few catapulting side-steps, a little rhythm and whoosh! Until the whoosh!, in truth, it is a little underwhelming but in the way Jeff Thomson was underwhelming when he used to shuffle up to the crease and go wang. The wang was the magic there, as the whoosh! is here, a similar biomechanic commingling of arm, shoulder, hip and pure willpower.
Contrastingly is Neeraj Chopra, unmistakably an athlete, from the cut of his jib to the cut of his hair to the cut of his physique. He sprints in, knees pumping, hair partying, eyes fierce, in Ultra HD sheen to his rival's duller SD glow. Chopra has enough energy to power this stadium and leaves no one in any doubt about the magic of his whoosh, tumbling over to prevent himself from breaching the line, letting out an angry howl to let everyone know he's in the house.
It's a great charade, though, because within two seconds of rival's whoosh!, the commentator knows. As the javelin rises through the Paris air, so too does the commentator's voice. This is enormous. This is massive. This is 90m-plus. This is an Olympic record. This is the gold. (Solemn advice: to do it justice, watch the clip with Arabic commentary.)
Arshad Nadeem's throw with arabic commentary pure goosebumps: pic.twitter.com/SeTtUBvMXy
- ZAMAN MALIK (@zamannx) August 9, 2024
Arshad Nadeem raises his arms and walks backwards, not disbelieving - because he knows he can hit this distance and possibly more - and not outwardly ecstatic. One of the joys of Olympics-watching is the reactions of winners: the relief, the validation, the disbelief, the celebration. Nadeem gives nothing but a little prayer of gratitude as he turns around. There's a few more rounds left, and he has no mic in his hands to drop, but that is exactly what he has done.
*****
Ultimately, Arshad Nadeem told Al Jazeera before setting off for the Paris Games, "I compete against myself."
The response was to a question about his great rivalry with Neeraj Chopra and Anderson Peters. It's the kind of thing athletes say all the time although perhaps it rings truer in individual sports. Athletes train to conquer themselves first, through the extra hour in the gym, throwing over 90m, or beating a silver at the World Championships with a gold at the Olympics.
About a decade ago, when he began in earnest Nadeem threw less than 60m; in 2015 he hit 70m with his final throw to win a national gold; in 2016 he hit 78.33m to win bronze at the South Asian Games; two years ago, he hit 90m to win Commonwealth gold; he has now gone past 90m three times. Competing against himself and, as by-product, defeating opponents.
The only problem is, of course, that it isn't strictly true. Nadeem may be competing against himself each time he runs in, but he is also competing against vaster forces. He is competing against the apathy of a one-sport nation. He is competing against the history of an under-performing sporting country. He is competing against a decaying tradition of sport. He is competing against a lack of facilities. He is competing against poorly funded, badly run sports organisations. He is competing against his own upbringing in which he was handed few, if any, favours. He is competing against a legacy that doesn't exist yet; rather, he is competing against all the forces that stand in the way of such a legacy being created.
Which is why a compelling case can be made that his gold-medal performance in Paris stands apart as, arguably, the greatest sporting performance by a Pakistani. It sounds hyperbolic and exactly the kind of rushed judgment one makes in the afterglow of the event. Which is fine. But take a bit of time and think about this.
We're not talking an overly crowded field here, populated mostly by individual and collective triumphs in cricket. Similarly, hockey, with multiple world and Olympic titles as well as an aesthetic ingrained among its greatest players that places it alongside, say, Brazil's most beautiful football teams, or the style of Roger Federer. Jahangir Khan's 555-game unbeaten run in squash from the early 80s through to 1986 is a serious contender, still unparalleled in professional sport in terms of sheer winningness.
Not a crowded field, no, but probably worth recalling that 30 years ago Pakistan famously had world champions in four sports (cricket, hockey, squash and, incongruously, snooker). So, there is some legacy Nadeem is competing against.
Now remind yourself again of what Arshad has done and how he has done it. He did not arrive into a well-established tradition with solid infrastructure and an embedded system of patronage. When Jahangir broke through in 1980, Pakistan had already established a dynasty in squash, one that he could and did tap into. Any hockey player that emerged until the 2000s, or any cricketer that has emerged since the 70s, did likewise. They all came into a culture of relative excellence and experience; one they could immediately tap into to better themselves.
Nadeem came into javelin throwing which, well, there is no suitable analogy that captures the audacity of this. It is the analogy; as in, Nadeem wanting to be a professional javelin thrower in Pakistan is, in terms of outlandish pursuits, like wanting to be a professional javelin thrower in Pakistan. (It continues to be one of the remarkable things about this mini era we are in, that an Indian and a Pakistani are dominating *checks notes, repeatedly* an athletics event at a global level.) He had nothing to dip into, nobody to look up to, no tradition to draw from, no former great to seek advice from, no specialist coaches to lean on, no financial resource to feel secure against. He is the first splash on a blank canvas, the first flick of a torchlight into the abyss. If ever an athletics legacy will be built - though don't hold your breath - it will start with him.
It isn't simply that he has become Pakistan's first individual Olympic gold medalist. Or that it is the first Olympics medal Pakistan has ever won in athletics. Or that he has won a first medal of any kind for Pakistan since 1992. All of this alone makes it a great Pakistani sporting moment. But in bettering the Olympic record twice in one night, first and most decisively by nearly two-and-a-half metres, Nadeem created a genuinely great Olympics moment; one of those that sucks the world in, like a great 100m sprint, or 1500m race, or two high jumpers choosing to share a gold medal.
*****
Nearly an hour after 92.97, Nadeem returns for his final throw. Chopra has fluffed his final attempt, so the gold is officially his, and yet still no celebration. Instead, Nadeem stretches his arms and shoulders against the javelin in preparation. He allows himself one concession to joy, clapping to get the crowd going. They respond. Arshad Nadeem, of Mian Channu in Pakistan, has the Stade de France clapping along with him; the Stade de France where, 26 years ago, Zinedine Zidane was conductor of this orchestra. May that never sink in.
Eight, maybe nine steps again, except now he's not looking out of place. Now he's looking like a man doing exactly what he has been put here to do. Then the catapulting side-steps, the rhythm and whoosh! into the evening sky, into history and into the future.
Osman Samiuddin is a senior editor at ESPNcricinfo.