Masahiko Harada

Posted: Wed February 4, 1998

Four years ago Japan's Masahiko Harada plummeted from the thrill of victory to the agony of defeat faster than a Wide World of Sports intro. The setting: Lysgardsbakkene Arena, the ski jumping venue for the 1994 Lillehammer Games. Harada, then 25 and the normal hill world champion, stood atop the ramp, his country's Rising Sun symbol painted on each cheek, and prepared to make the leap that would give Japan its first ski jumping gold medal since the 1972 Winter Games were held in Harada's native Sapporo.

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After seven jumps Japan held a seemingly insurmountable 55.1-point lead in the four-man team jumping event, in which each man makes two leaps. Harada, who had soared 122 meters on his first jump, was only moments from making his—and Japan's—final effort. Before him stretched the 120-meter ramp; in the distance, the picturesque Gudbrandsdalen Valley; and beyond that, national hero status and a tax-free reward of 3 million yen ($29,000 U.S.) from the Japanese Olympic Committee for his gold medal performance.

"Congratulations," said Jens Weissflog of then second-place Germany, "on winning the gold medal."

"No, no," responded the normally effervescent Harada, "we must wait."

Who knew he would wait four years?

Weissflog, the 1984 normal hill gold medalist, soared to the longest jump of the competition, 135.5 meters. Harada, following him, needed a leap of about 110 meters—which is like asking Morten Andersen to kick an extra point—to secure the gold. Instead, Harada sailed like the Titanic: His 97.5-meter jump was the worst among anyone on the top eight teams and dropped Japan to a silver medal.

Harada collapsed to the snow in grief. Then, true to the nature that has earned him the nickname Happy Harada, he pulled himself together. "In the past a well-raised Japanese would have to commit hara-kiri after such a mistake," said Harada, who still pocketed 2 million yen. "Today, nobody expects that of us. I made a short jump, but I did not lose face. So why commit hara-kiri?"

The intervening quadrennial has done little to dampen the blithe spirit of Harada, who has won three of the first four World Cup events this winter. After winning his first large hill world championship last March in Trondheim, Norway, Harada told the crowd, which had been pulling for a home team win, that he wanted to celebrate "with a big party and lots of beer," provoking a chantfest of "Ha-ra-da! Ha-ra-da!"

If Harada can remain similarly relaxed before a home audience, he will not fall on his face—nor have to entertain the notion of falling on his sword.       

—John Walters

Issue date: February 9, 1998