Finland 

A Nation in Pursuit of the Phantom Paavo

Puistola/Katariina Sports Ground, Kotka | August 9–10, 1924 (25 000 m, 3000 m steeplechase, decathlon)
Sports Ground, Lahti | August 23–24, 1924 (main meet)
Sports Ground and surroundings, Mikkeli | September 28, 1924 (XC)

Appetisers in a Maritime Setting

The opening gambits of the 1924 Finnish Championships were served in Kotka on a scenic spit of land, besieged by the surf. The menu consisted of the decathlon, a 25,000-metre slog, the steeplechase, and various relays.

Iivari Yrjölä, evidently still nursing a grudge against the universe after his disappointment in Paris, trudged onto the field with a point to prove. He duly clinched the decathlon, leaving Anton Huusari,      who had been the most industrious Finn in Colombes, to settle for a rather sour-tasting silver.

Meanwhile, Olympic veterans Ville Kyrönen and Elias Katz galloped to victory in the long-distance and steeplechase events respectively. Of Ville Ritola, there was not so much as a whisker to be seen, nor of Hannes Kolehmainen, who was busy scuttling across a 10,000 course on the Karelian Isthmus at the time.

The Great Lahti Stampede

By late August, the circus had decamped to Lahti Sports Ground (later retitled Radiomäki). The venue, though technically adjacent to where the radio masts would eventually sprout in 1927, was yet to acquire its broadcast-themed moniker.

On the first day, a modest crowd of a thousand shuffled in. However, the second day saw a positive deluge of humanity as the local populace scrambled for a glimpse of the Olympic deity, Paavo Nurmi. The previous attendance records for Lahti were not merely broken; they were pulverised into fine dust.

Ritola remained conspicuously absent, apparently preferring to dash about in Laihia a few days later, single-handedly taking on local relay teams for sport. The "Wolf of Peräseinäjoki" might have hoarded a mountain of medals at the American Championships, but when it came to Finnish gold that year, his cupboards remained resolutely bare.

Nurmi Deploys the Handbrake

Paavo Nurmi restricted his exertions to the 10,000. He bolted from the gun, covering the first half in a terrifying 14:55—some five seconds inside Ritola’s world-record pace. Then, having sufficiently frightened the chronometers, he throttled back with such nonchalance that his winning time of 30:32.2 lingered nine seconds adrift of the record.

When queried by the journalist Martti Jukola, Nurmi claimed he had simply concluded that a sub-thirty-minute time was "off the cards." Looking back a century later, one suspects Nurmi was merely husbanding his energies for those meets where he could more effectively bolster his retirement fund.

While Nurmi simmered, Yrjö Ekqvist arrived in a state of high autumnal pique, uncorking what the press dubbed a "monstrous heave" of 63.76 (209-2) in the javelin. It was a throw that would have snaffled the gold in Paris. It fell some two metres short of Jonni Myyrä’s world record, but as Myyrä had effectively vanished into thin air following the Olympics, Ekqvist reigned supreme.

True to form, Olympic silver-medallist Erik Wilén went about snatching medals with the casual air of a man picking wildflowers. He crested both the hurdles and the flat 400, though his time of 56.6 in the former was a far cry from his Parisian peak. He was denied a golden treble in the 200 by Reijo Halme, who flattened the HIFK man on the very cusp of the finishing line.

The President-to-be High-Tails It

While the Olympic cohort didn’t exactly set the world on fire with their marks, those left behind on the pier when the ship sailed for Paris arrived with a ferocious thirst for vengeance.

Chief among them was a cropped-haired youth from Kajaanin Kipinä named Urho Kekkonen, who enjoyed perhaps the most lustrous weekend of his athletic career. He lofted himself over 1.85 (6-0¾) to win the high jump – a personal best achieved, impressively, at the first time of asking. Not content with that, he stepped on the gas in the 100 to secure second place in a brisk 11.0 seconds. He was beaten only by Halme, who pipped the future President of Finland by a single tenth of a second.

A Brutal Brace of Two-Laps

The 800 descended into a vicious skirmish. Nestori Järvelä managed to extricate himself from the pack during the final straight, wrenching a solitary tenth of a second’s advantage over Felix Hildén (1:57.8 to 1:57.9). Gösta Jansson, an Olympic veteran who had clung on grimly until the 700-metre mark, finally found his tank empty in the closing stages, though he did manage to salvage the bronze from the wreckage of his race.

In the triple jump, Paris alumni Vilho Tuulos and Väinö Rainio snaffled the top two spots, though their marks were a decidedly anaemic echo of the heights scaled in France earlier that summer.

Over at the shot put circle, the venerable Olympic champion Elmer Niklander sought atonement for his Parisian disappointment against Hannes Torpo. The "Cannon of Oitti" thumped his way to victory with a workmanlike 14.00 (45-11). Niklander had to settle for silver in the discus, however, where he was eclipsed by the "orangutan-armed" (as the colourful Martti Jukola put it) Olympic silver-medallist Vilho Niittymaa, who heaved himself into first place. Of Armas Taipale, the gold-plated legend of the previous decade, there was no sign; he had evidently shuffled off the competitive coil.

Niklander’s Invincible Haul

Over the course of his interminable career, Niklander amassed a staggering 43 individual Finnish titles – a feat that has remained unassailable well into the following century. It is a record unlikely ever to be eclipsed, unless, of course, the organisers of the Kalevan Kisat resort to inventing entirely artificial disciplines, such as a mixed-team 100-metre backwards sprint.

Niklander was, it must be said, a fortunate beneficiary of the era’s eclectic sporting menu. As a versatile man of muscle, he was able to pocket titles with equal facility in the shot put, discus, weight throw, and hammer. Medals cascaded upon him from the two-handed competitions in the shot and discus as well, which, in those days, were treated as distinct opportunities for championship glory.

The frequency of Niklander’s medal ceremonies was further aided by the fact that his formidable clubmate and training partner, Armas Taipale, could seldom be bothered to grace the Finnish Championships with his presence during the 1910s. Consequently, a great deal of silverware was delivered to Niklander as if on a silver platter.

Regrettably, Niklander’s glittering hoard is not available for public admiration. Shortly before his passing in 1942, he consigned his trophies to the earth in his home district of Hausjärvi. To this day, the precise location of this subterranean treasury remains – officially, at least – a mystery known only to the soil.

The Post-Olympic Hangover

Held more than a month after the closing ceremonies in Paris, these championships carried the unmistakable whiff of leftovers. The standards were distinctly lacklustre, and the starting lists were plagued by the conspicuous absence of several heavyweights.

The correspondent for Helsingin Sanomat, seemingly having crawled out of bed on the wrong side, hammered away at his typewriter to declare the event "inferior to last year’s outing in Kuopio." He further scoffed at the leisurely pace of the proceedings, branding the schedule as hopelessly "provincial."

Despite the general sag in quality, a half-dozen stalwarts managed to fend off all challengers and retain their 1923 crowns, largely congregating in the field events:

• Erik Wilén, successfully guarding his hoard in the 400m, 110m hurdles, and 400m hurdles.

• Elias Katz, the steeplechase.

• Vilho Tuulos, the triple jump.

• Vilho Niittymaa, the discus (single and aggregate).

• Erik Eriksson, the hammer.

• Yrjö Ekqvist, the javelin and weight throw.

Sipilä’s Mossy Monopoly

The athletic season was finally bundled into its crate in late September in Mikkeli. Competitors scampered onto the moss-carpeted trails adjacent to the local stadium to determine who possessed the most nimble set of pins in the cross-country event. For the first time in the annals of the championships, the "scramble through the scrub" was held as a season finale rather than an opener, a scheduling quirk that has sparked interminable debate in Finnish sporting circles ever since.

Väinö Sipilä of Tampereen Pyrintö proved to be entirely in his element on the soft terrain. The "Moose of Pälkäne" dictated terms from the gun, leading the field from start to finish to bag his second consecutive cross-country title.

In the final accounting for the Kaleva Cup (the tussle for club supremacy), Helsinki IFK managed to pluck the trophy from right under the noses of Tampereen Pyrintö. The Tampere lot had turned up to the cross-country with something approaching a first-string battalion, but alas, in the 1920s, points for frolicking in the forest did not count toward the prestigious Cup. One can only imagine the muted grumbling on the train ride home.