Ilia Malinin’s road to 2030 begins with owning what went wrong at Milan Olympics

MILAN — Ilia Malinin will continue to skate. He will continue to deliver quads that inspire oohs and ahhs from every spectator in the house. And to dust off some golden-oldie phraseology that fans, friends and media often ascribe to great athletes who’ve made epic falls, Ilia Malinin will be back.

But every comeback needs a beginning, a hopeful first step. And Malinin has already handled that assignment. 

Yes, it got off to an awkward, clumsy start. That’s the way it is with most comebacks, right? After his disastrous free skate Friday night at the Milano Ice Skating Arena, Malinin went to the kiss-and-cry area and was overheard on a hot mic saying he “would not have skated like that” had he appeared in the 2022 Olympics in Beijing. He later took steps to tidy up that remark, telling reporters in the mixed zone that if he had been there four years ago, “I would have had more experience and know how to handle this Olympic environment.”

If you want to beat him up over that, have at it. Here’s another way to look at it: Malinin must have been out sick the day they taught hot mics at media training. But he got caught on one, and he had to answer for that. He’ll be answering for it again and again over the next four years, right up until he steps onto the ice at the 2030 Olympics in the French Alps.

The late author John Updike, in his 1960 essay for The New Yorker on Boston Red Sox legend Ted Williams hitting a home run in his last at-bat, explained Teddy Ballgame’s refusal to acknowledge fans with a curtain call this way: “Gods do not answer letters.” To borrow from Mr. Updike, Quad Gods do not make excuses — or should not, intentionally or otherwise.

In every other way, Malinin owned his poor performance. 

Moments after he had completed his free skate — this after standing motionless at center ice, his face buried in his hands, and after the hot-mic moment — Malinin found his way to Mikhail Shaidorov of Kazakhstan. If you had never heard of Shaidorov before Friday, that’s only because nobody expected him to capture gold. But on a night when nearly all of the skaters took falls, Shaidorov took off and performed a free skate that was good enough to vault him into first place. 

Malinin was the last to perform, and his struggles transformed Shaidorov into a gold medalist — and a national hero back home in Kazakhstan. If Shaidorov doesn’t run for president someday, it’ll be only because he doesn’t want the job.

Shaidorov looked stunned by Malinin’s performance, as if he were wondering, “Is this really happening?”  Oh, it happened. Malinin knew it better than anybody. He approached Shaidorov. The two young men, both 21, clasped hands and embraced. They spoke to each other. And then Malinin stepped away, disappearing into a runway. Shaidorov stepped onto the podium to receive his gold medal. Watching him sing his country’s national anthem was beautiful.

Some skeptics will likely see Malinin’s moment with Shaidorov as performative. “What else was he going to do?” will come the cry. But if you’re going to blast Malinin for his hot-mic gaffe, it being the wrong thing to do, then decorum requires that you also applaud him for doing the right thing by embracing Shaidorov. Besides, their exchange had a realness to it that had to make many a cynic pause, however briefly, before proceeding to the online butchery.

Malinin later comported himself well during his post-skate interview with NBC’s Andrea Joyce. Later still, while speaking with reporters in the mixed zone, he patiently and candidly answered questions.

“I just felt like all the traumatic moments of my life really just started flooding my head,” Malinin said. “And there’s just like so many negative thoughts that flooded into there, and I just did not handle them.”

That’s a remarkable admission. Not only was he saying he had a case of nerves, but that it was worse than that. Whatever it was, he just didn’t handle it. 

After two years of dominating men’s figure skating, Malinin didn’t need to be off-the-charts brilliant in his free skate to win gold. His short program, coupled with the other contenders’ stumbles in the long program, meant that all he had to do was not screw up. And then he went out and screwed up, and kept screwing up, over and over. If there was anything more painful than his skating, it was the look on his face when he finished. 

For those of us who can’t help reaching for classic movie tropes to make a point, here’s one from the 1993 crime drama “A Bronx Tale“: Malinin looked like those bikers in Chez Bippy after Sonny locked the front door. “All their courage and strength was drained right from their bodies.”

The difference here is that Malinin got out of the bar in one piece, but undoubtedly without peace. But he gets to keep going. He gets to fix this.

It’s probably in Malinin’s best interest to pack away the “Quad God” campaign, because when you finish eighth, you really shouldn’t be answering to a cool nickname. Not for a while, anyway. 

But he’ll be back. Malinin owned what happened in Milan. He owned all of it. The road to the French Alps begins with that.