Rowing / Keith Elliott at Large: Conductor of champions

MY MOST enduring memory of the last Olympics is not Linford Christie's momentous 100 metres or Sally Gunnell's stirring victory. For me the Games were summed up by that picture of a very small man, framed by two giants, bawling his eyes out as the National Anthem is played.

While the huge Searle brothers cuffed a stray tear, Garry Herbert allowed his tension and emotion to burst out after winning a gold medal with one of the greatest finishes in any sport, let alone boring old rowing. His reaction was exactly how we want our heroes to feel after running, riding or racing their hearts out. And his weeping did more for rowing, small people and, I suppose, Kleenex, than any government grant.

What sport can you take up if you are 5ft 6in, with the sort of build that anorexics drool over? Stick-insect racing, maybe dwarf-throwing, or rowing? I mean, it's a doddle being a cox. You only need a loud voice and the build of a hobbit, don't you?

Herbert admits he too started with such misconceptions about the man with the megaphone (no longer used: it's all computerised now). At the age of 14, Herbert was captivated when he watched rowing in the 1984 Olympics. 'Here was the sport for me, a natural extrovert. I like to have authority, and here was a small guy in charge of all these big guys.'

He went to the local rowing club in Hammersmith, west London, where his size, comely form and sad-looking blue eyes attracted a strapping eight of female sixth-formers. This led to him joining Thames Rowing Club, and soon he was sitting in the first eight.

'The more I raced, the more I loved rowing. I was still pretty useless, though. We would have a race plan and I would get so excited when we got on the water that I totally forgot it.' He must have been doing a few things right. At 16, he was travelling all over Europe, taking part in international regattas.

A year later, he coxed a four to the semi-finals at Henley, and was cox for the first eight in the junior world championships. 'We came fourth, which was an amazing performance. But I was very upset afterwards because I hate losing.'

He was invited to join the exclusive Leander Club at Henley. 'It was amazing: you would look down the boat and see people such as Steve Redgrave and Andy Holmes. The trouble was, they expected me to do all the right things and I goofed time and time again.'

It demanded total devotion. After school, he would travel to Henley, getting back about midnight. 'I was doing this five weekdays and every weekend.' Herbert soon became cox of Leander's first eight, won a bronze in the Under-23 world championships and reached the final of the Ladies' Plate at Henley. But he couldn't get into the British team.

'It seemed impossible. It was a closed shop. By 1990, I seemed to have been around so long and always on the periphery. It got to the stage where people were saying: 'Oh God, we are being coxed by Herbert; we are bound to come in last.' I seriously considered giving up. I watched my friends going out and on holiday, I didn't have any girlfriends or a social life. I was going out with rowing, and in my time off I slept or did my schoolwork.'

In 1991, it even looked as if Leander was going to give him the boot. 'The captain, Ivor Lloyd, asked to see me and I thought, 'This is it.' Instead, he was told: 'We must try to get you in the Olympic squad.' Suddenly, things started to go right. He coxed a ragbag eight to a surprise victory in the Grand Challenge Cup, Henley's premier event.

Then Jonny and Greg Searle, who had shocked the rowing world by beating the world champions, Steve Redgrave and Matthew Pinsent, asked Herbert to cox them in the world championships. 'I hadn't even been in a coxed pair until a couple of months before the Olympics. It was a shock after the speed and grace of an eight. We would do a 12-mile training run and it seemed to take for ever. But from the start, every outing was brilliant.'

Actually, it wasn't all sunshine and roses. Even rowers row. 'There were times when it became stressful,' Herbert admits. 'You get greedy and expect to continue doing better and better each time, so tempers start to flare. But we went to the Olympics in a very buoyant mood.'

The rest is history. They beat the Romanians in the first heat, the Poles and Germans in the semi-finals. But the biggest threat was certain to be the all-conquering Abbagnale brothers. The Italians had won the previous two Olympics, and, with 500 metres to go, looked set to collect a third gold.

'I turned the volume on our microphones up to full blast and really started to scream and swear. I could see the gap closing with every stroke. At 250, Jonny said, 'One last go', and the boat just lifted. I felt as if there was air between the water and the boat, and my head was knocking on the headrest. In the last few strokes, I had my eyes shut.'

Afterwards, Herbert realised just how much energy he had expended in only six minutes. 'I was mentally exhausted. My throat was sore and I just wanted to lay down. But at the same time, I felt amazing. It was the best way of all to shut up all those people who had told me I was a useless cox, and would never make it.'

The race's impact and Herbert's lachrymose happiness generated worldwide interest and made him overnight the world's most famous cox. It brought him an MBE (Jonny Searle said: 'If he hadn't been given a medal we wouldn't have accepted ours.') and appearances on television programmes, from A Question of Sport to Blue Peter.

Now 23 and reading history at Reading, Herbert hasn't found it easy to live with fame. 'People at university expect to see me driving around in a Porsche. And there has been some surprising antagonism.' It's probably from people who see him stuffing in sweets, chocolate and Chinese food, and staying a gaunt eight stone.

There are other problems. He and the Searles may not even be able to defend their title in Atlanta. Moves are afoot to replace it with a lightweight coxed pairs, which makes as much sense as limiting tennis to sub-12 stone players.

But being a cox is no longer something to make midget jokes about. Little big man had shown that it needs psychology more than size, that the ability to motivate and inspire people is just as important as knowing how to shout and steer. Herbert's main problem since that win has been in motivating himself. 'What keeps driving me is fear of failure. The time when I was doing it just for the enjoyment has long gone. Now I'm doing it to win.'

(Photographs omitted)