Last night at the workout, Adam was talking about snatching 110 kg. if everything went perfectly. I told him that perfect lifts are not very common and that in truth in my 47 years of watching weightlifting I'd only seen a few perfect lifts. It brought to mind the first perfect lift that I saw and it generated some thoughts about how my weightlifting eye had to develop in order to tell if I was actually seeing a perfect lift.

I saw my first weightlifting meet at an auditorium called the Playhouse in downtown Los Angeles in 1962 when I was a 10th grader. Because it was an auditorium we had to watch from the front so even if we knew what to look for it would have difficult to see it from that perspective. Isaac Berger, the 1956 Olympic gold medalist, was clearly the best lifter there, but all of the lifts looked impressive to me, the first time observer.

I started training at the Los Angeles Downtown YMCA in 1967 with a number of very good lifters and had attended some top meets so by this time I was developing an eye for technique. When I started coaching juniors in 1969 I was forced to sharpen by visual acuity even more but it wasn't until 1972 that I was sure that I'd seen a perfect lift. I'm going to leave the two-hands press out of this discussion because the judging standards from 1962 to 1972 were constantly changing, and I don't think anyone that was around during that period could define what a perfect lift might have been in that event.

The competition was the 1972 Olympic Games weightlifting in Munich. The Amateur Athletic Union had offered a package deal that included airfare and hotel for $350.00 so I decided to go over with my coach, Bob Hise and take in the greatest weightlifting event on the planet. The event venue (I believe it was called Messegelende), was fantastic with a huge stage and seating three quarters of the way around. The railings were painted in bright colors and festive banners added to the mood. Germany and the city of Munich had gone all out to present a cheery facade to the world which would be watching on 24 hour telecasts every detail of the Games. I remember that we were able to get seats about half way up the stands and to the side of the stage--a perfect vantage point from which to watch a weightlifting competition.

The first day of competition was for the 52 kg. class or flyweights as they were called at that time. The eventual winner was Zygmunt Smalcerz of Poland who would later go on to become an outstanding coach of the Polish national team. But the performance that left me aghast was the fourth attempt snatch of 114 kg. for a world record. The lifter taking this weight was a lesser known Japanese lifter named Koji Miki. Although he held the world record at 113.5, he failed on his third attempt at 115. The rules at the time allowed for fourth attempts to be taken but only for world record attempts with the weight called for being as little as.5 kg. over the existing record. So Miki asked for a 4th attempt with 114 kg. or approximately 251.5 lbs.

I watched him address the bar, set his grip and then pull. In a twinkling of an eye the bar was locked overhead while he sat in a deep squat. I was aghast. In every lift I'd ever seen previously I could have pointed out something that could have been executed better. This time--NO! Miki could not have pulled the bar any higher, straighter or faster. He could not have flashed under the bar in any less time and he could not have positioned himself in a squat any lower.

Although I was to witness many more outstanding, inspirational efforts over the nine days of weightlifting competition in Munich, only one lift was flawless. Only one lift was perfect. I feel fortunate to have had the eye to see such a perfect lift. Thank you, Mr. Miki.