Schaatsen in de media 2008/2009
- Topicstarter Sjoerd
- Startdatum
- Status
Lars-Lover
Active Member
Er is hier de laatste week ook idd weinig meer te beleven. Nu de transfers enzo rond zijn is er niet zoveel nieuws meer. Maar wel hele mooie foto's op de TVM site! 
Die zijn, zo te zien, alweer druk bezig met trainen.
Die zijn, zo te zien, alweer druk bezig met trainen.
Lars-Lover
Active Member
Ja, volgens mij ook. Een aantal zijn vorige week begonnen met trainen en een aantal deze week, zover ik begrepen heb.
Lars-Lover
Active Member
Lisan zei:
Ow leuk! Weet je ook welke dag dat is?
Lars-Lover
Active Member
Ow oke. Dan ga ik kijken! Volgens mij is Holland Sport altijd op Ned 3, als ik het goed heb.
Volgens mij is Holland Sport altijd op Ned 3, als ik het goed heb.
Tuttifrutti
Well-Known Member
Vond op Yahoo schaatsforum volgende erg interessante artikel van Joey Cheek! Is orgineel afkomstig uit de Washington Post. Vond het erg leuk om weer eens wat van hem te horen en vind het echt geweldig dat hij nog steeds zo bezig is met Darfur en de mensenrechten!!
My New Olympic Dream
I went from the ice in Turin to a dusty refugee camp. Now I hope my fellow
athletes will speak out for Darfur in Beijing.
By Joey Cheek in the Washington Post
May 25, 2008
I'd actually imagined what it would be like, which is terrible. You're never
supposed to plan on winning.
But there I was, the gold medalist in the 500-meter speed skating event at
the 2006 winter Olympics in Turin. And with the win came the right to 10
minutes, give or take, at a microphone in front of 60-odd cameras, tape
recorders and sports reporters who were waiting to shout in my face: "How
does it feel to win?" (It's a pretty short answer, actually: "Good.")
Except, I wanted to talk about something different. "I know you guys all
want to do sweet stories about Hallmark and chocolates and butterflies and
all that," I said, stepping to the microphone. "But I have a pretty unique
experience and a pretty unique opportunity here. So I'm going to take
advantage of it while I can."
And then I announced that I was going to donate my winnings from the U.S.
Olympic Committee -- $25,000 for that 500-meter victory and another $15,000
when I won the silver in the 1,000 meters a few days later -- to Darfurian
refugees in Chad. Though I was just beginning to learn about the conflict in
Darfur in February 2006, I knew that more than 60,000 children from Darfur
had been displaced in the course of nearly three years of violence and that
my donation to the Right to Play Foundation might help send them some small
relief.
I was also just beginning to learn what it meant to be engaged with what's
happening in Darfur -- a deliberate campaign of atrocities that the U.S.
government has called a genocide, launched by the regime in Khartoum and an
allied militia known as the Janjaweed -- and what it means to be on an
international stage as an Olympian. Now, more than two years after I won my
medals in Turin, I'm watching those issues collide as the world prepares for
the Olympics in Beijing.
I'm not competing this summer, but I am urging others to think about Darfur
and about China's relationship with Sudan. China buys much of Sudan's annual
oil output and sells arms to Sudan, helping prop up the government in
Khartoum. China is also the genocidal regime's key defender at the United
Nations, helping weaken Security Council resolutions that might stem the
violence.
I sincerely hope that the newest Olympic champions not only show
graciousness toward their Chinese hosts, but also issue a stern call for
action in Darfur. With its significant ties to Sudan, China is one of the
countries in the world best positioned to do more to stop the killing in
Darfur, and it is the responsibility of athletes competing there this summer
to say that -- respectfully yet forcefully -- even as they focus on their
own athletic accomplishments.
But first of all: Who am I to be teaching about Darfur?
Well, I'm an Olympian. That term, for me, encapsulates both what I achieved
on the ice and the person I still seek to become. It means everything to me
to have skated as well as I did, but over the years, I have come to believe
that being an Olympian means more than just being a great athlete.
When I was about 9 years old, I put on my first pair of skates. A neighbor
who was on our local in-line speed skating team -- yes, they exist -- and I
persuaded my mom to let my brother and me join the team. For $2 a week, I
could skate with the team during practice and then during the public session
afterward. When I describe to people what it felt like to start racing, I
put it this way: It's like what God meant for me to do. Now I don't mean
that I was a phenom; far from it, in fact. But I was always good enough that
I could envision myself being the best, and when I worked harder than anyone
else, I was.
I became a state, then a regional, and finally a national champion on
in-line skates all before I was 15, but in 1994 I watched the Winter
Olympics and saw speed skating for the first time. And I knew that was what
I wanted to do. I moved to Canada from my native North Carolina a month
after my 16th birthday to become a speed skater. I found that I loved the
feeling of racing on ice even more than on wheels. I climbed the ranks in
the United States as a junior, then as a senior and eventually became a
world champion. In 2002, at 21, I competed in the Salt Lake City Olympics
and won my first medal -- a bronze.
The life of an Olympic athlete is a bit strange. We spend countless hours
toiling for years for almost no money in the hope of being a hundredth of a
second better than our competition in a sport that often no one watches
except once every four years during this great festival. But aside from the
medal count and the endless patriotism that bombards every Olympic viewer,
there is an incredible community within the Olympic Village. Athletes from
Europe, Asia, Africa and the Americas come together and compete for the same
prize. And when our events are over, we come back to the Olympic Village,
and we sit down and eat together.
This community was the defining aspect of my Olympic experience, and it's
what led me, ultimately, to Darfur. I could sit with an athlete from another
land, and even though we had very different backgrounds, we had the Olympic
experience in common. Just to earn my place in that Olympic Village
cafeteria, I'd spent years competing around the world. During those travels,
I began to see that it wasn't just athletes that I had this fellowship with
but people in every nation. I met great friends in Europe who would invite
me into their homes and where we would eventually realize that both of our
grandfathers had fought in World War II -- against each other. I made
friends from China who had also left their homes at an early age to begin
training, and even though we barely understood each other, no one in the
world smiled bigger at me when we would bump into each other. My other
constant companion in that world travel was the international news coverage
of atrocities that I didn't hear much about on the news at home.
It might seem funny that a speed skater from North Carolina would focus on
what was then a somewhat obscure crisis in Africa, but it all came back to
my Olympic views. Ultimately, I feel no different than a person born in any
other area of the world, except perhaps a bit luckier. And if people were
gunning down my family, I would certainly want the world to help. So that's
what I tried to do.
After the Olympics in Turin, I began traveling the world again -- not to
compete or train, but to talk with people about having won. I also spoke at
many Darfur rallies, including one in Washington in the spring of 2006,
sharing the bill with Elie Wiesel and George Clooney. Somehow, I had gotten
from sprinting at record speed around an ice rink in tights to sharing a
stage with a Nobel Peace Prize-winning Holocaust survivor and an Academy
Award winner. But the more I learned about the conflict, the more confident
I became about speaking out -- and the more urgency I felt.
Seven months after the Washington rally, I was on a stage in New York,
essentially back where I'd started. The same "Save Darfur" posters were
draped on the podium. The same heartbreaking statistics were being repeated
over a bad sound system to a large crowd. But people were still dying by the
scores, and despite the efforts of the activist community, the international
community was not really doing anything.
Star power isn't fixing anything in Darfur yet, either. Although celebrities
can raise awareness about the conflict, ultimately only government officials
can affect the situation on the ground. I saw that when I traveled with
Clooney, actor Don Cheadle, Kenyan distance runner Tegla Loroupe and others
as part of a delegation to Egypt and China in December 2006. The U.N.
Security Council had passed a resolution that year calling for peacekeeping
forces to protect civilians in Darfur, but Sudan was able to stall and
eventually ignore it.
In Beijing, we spoke with government and business leaders: two movie stars,
a speed skater, a distance runner and some activists facing people we
thought had the power to really help. We think this is not right, we said
gently, seeking to engage the Chinese in a positive way. Our message: We
hope that, if nothing else, you will stop obstructing U.N. efforts to
install robust international protection in Darfur. They met with us. They
said thank you for coming. They said they think this is an internal issue in
Africa, and that it's not really our business to fix it or discuss it. Then
they invited us to tour the Olympic venues in progress, hoping to snap a few
photos of smiling movie stars in front of the cranes and half-finished
stadium.
I left feeling very frustrated.
I channeled some of that frustration into the organization I started last
year with Brad Greiner, a water polo player, called Team Darfur. We're
trying to recruit athletes who will use their time in the spotlight to help
save lives in Darfur and show the world that these people still desperately
need our help. So far, nearly 350 athletes from 60 countries have signed on
with Team Darfur. And quite a few of those athletes will be in Beijing in
August, including gymnasts from Europe, basketball players from Africa,
swimmers from the Caribbean and softball players from North America.
For some, though, joining this particular team is a risk, one they fear
could jeopardize their spot on the Olympic team. I recently spoke with a
Beijing-bound swimmer who is committed to the Darfur cause. He attended a
symbolic torch relay on behalf of victims of Sudan's genocidal regime and
has spoken to international reporters about the issue. But he wants to be
sure that whatever he says now won't compromise his opportunity to compete
in Beijing -- not just because he has spent his whole life training for his
Olympic moment, but because he realizes that his status as an Olympian will
give him a wider platform to raise awareness.
That has certainly been my experience. Had I not gone to Turin, the local
paper might have said, "Hometown Boy Forgoes Olympics for Cause." But that's
it. The most important -- and most effective -- means of addressing China's
economic interdependence with Sudan is to go to Beijing, compete and speak
out.
But the question of how to speak out is a complicated one.
For one thing, I understand how much Beijing's organizers have at stake in
ensuring a successful event. I also understand the pride that the Chinese
take in hosting the event: I remember how much it meant to me that my first
Olympics were held in the United States in the months following Sept. 11,
2001.
For another, the International Olympic Committee has all kinds of rules and
restrictions. Rule 51.3 of the Olympic Charter prohibits demonstrations of
"political, religious or racial propaganda" at the official venues. Earlier
this month, the rules got even more confusing. In a letter sent to national
Olympic committees, the IOC said that prohibited conduct could include
written or oral statements. The Olympics, the letter stated, are not a stage
for "political statements about issues such as armed conflicts, regional
differences, religious disputes, and many others."
Right now, this one small section of the Olympic charter is what people are
focusing on, trying to determine whether it's possible to both speak one's
mind and represent one's country. But the entire Olympic Charter is full of
soaring rhetoric about elevating humanity through sport. I'm astounded by
how often this rule is used not to promote that goal, but to stifle it.
So I recommend reading rule 51.3 along with a different bureaucratic agenda
item. This one is from the U.N. General Assembly: a resolution, passed last
fall, urging its members to observe what's known as the "Olympic truce"
during the Olympics in August and the Paralympics in September. The truce is
an effort to "use sport as an instrument to promote peace," a modern version
of what the Greeks called "Ekecheiria" and observed during ancient
Olympiads. The goal today is to use a short window this summer as one way to
temporarily halt conflicts -- a step toward some more permanent kind of
reconciliation.
For my fellow athletes who will gather to compete at the gleaming new venues
China will unveil: Your efforts might give you the chance to improve the
lives of millions. I hope that goal will resonate for everyone stepping to a
microphone after a big win this summer.
joey@...
Joey Cheek, a member of the 2002 and 2006 U.S. Olympic speed skating teams,
is co-founder of Team Darfur and a student at Princeton University.
en vind het echt geweldig dat hij nog steeds zo bezig is met Darfur en de mensenrechten!! My New Olympic Dream
I went from the ice in Turin to a dusty refugee camp. Now I hope my fellow
athletes will speak out for Darfur in Beijing.
By Joey Cheek in the Washington Post
May 25, 2008
I'd actually imagined what it would be like, which is terrible. You're never
supposed to plan on winning.
But there I was, the gold medalist in the 500-meter speed skating event at
the 2006 winter Olympics in Turin. And with the win came the right to 10
minutes, give or take, at a microphone in front of 60-odd cameras, tape
recorders and sports reporters who were waiting to shout in my face: "How
does it feel to win?" (It's a pretty short answer, actually: "Good.")
Except, I wanted to talk about something different. "I know you guys all
want to do sweet stories about Hallmark and chocolates and butterflies and
all that," I said, stepping to the microphone. "But I have a pretty unique
experience and a pretty unique opportunity here. So I'm going to take
advantage of it while I can."
And then I announced that I was going to donate my winnings from the U.S.
Olympic Committee -- $25,000 for that 500-meter victory and another $15,000
when I won the silver in the 1,000 meters a few days later -- to Darfurian
refugees in Chad. Though I was just beginning to learn about the conflict in
Darfur in February 2006, I knew that more than 60,000 children from Darfur
had been displaced in the course of nearly three years of violence and that
my donation to the Right to Play Foundation might help send them some small
relief.
I was also just beginning to learn what it meant to be engaged with what's
happening in Darfur -- a deliberate campaign of atrocities that the U.S.
government has called a genocide, launched by the regime in Khartoum and an
allied militia known as the Janjaweed -- and what it means to be on an
international stage as an Olympian. Now, more than two years after I won my
medals in Turin, I'm watching those issues collide as the world prepares for
the Olympics in Beijing.
I'm not competing this summer, but I am urging others to think about Darfur
and about China's relationship with Sudan. China buys much of Sudan's annual
oil output and sells arms to Sudan, helping prop up the government in
Khartoum. China is also the genocidal regime's key defender at the United
Nations, helping weaken Security Council resolutions that might stem the
violence.
I sincerely hope that the newest Olympic champions not only show
graciousness toward their Chinese hosts, but also issue a stern call for
action in Darfur. With its significant ties to Sudan, China is one of the
countries in the world best positioned to do more to stop the killing in
Darfur, and it is the responsibility of athletes competing there this summer
to say that -- respectfully yet forcefully -- even as they focus on their
own athletic accomplishments.
But first of all: Who am I to be teaching about Darfur?
Well, I'm an Olympian. That term, for me, encapsulates both what I achieved
on the ice and the person I still seek to become. It means everything to me
to have skated as well as I did, but over the years, I have come to believe
that being an Olympian means more than just being a great athlete.
When I was about 9 years old, I put on my first pair of skates. A neighbor
who was on our local in-line speed skating team -- yes, they exist -- and I
persuaded my mom to let my brother and me join the team. For $2 a week, I
could skate with the team during practice and then during the public session
afterward. When I describe to people what it felt like to start racing, I
put it this way: It's like what God meant for me to do. Now I don't mean
that I was a phenom; far from it, in fact. But I was always good enough that
I could envision myself being the best, and when I worked harder than anyone
else, I was.
I became a state, then a regional, and finally a national champion on
in-line skates all before I was 15, but in 1994 I watched the Winter
Olympics and saw speed skating for the first time. And I knew that was what
I wanted to do. I moved to Canada from my native North Carolina a month
after my 16th birthday to become a speed skater. I found that I loved the
feeling of racing on ice even more than on wheels. I climbed the ranks in
the United States as a junior, then as a senior and eventually became a
world champion. In 2002, at 21, I competed in the Salt Lake City Olympics
and won my first medal -- a bronze.
The life of an Olympic athlete is a bit strange. We spend countless hours
toiling for years for almost no money in the hope of being a hundredth of a
second better than our competition in a sport that often no one watches
except once every four years during this great festival. But aside from the
medal count and the endless patriotism that bombards every Olympic viewer,
there is an incredible community within the Olympic Village. Athletes from
Europe, Asia, Africa and the Americas come together and compete for the same
prize. And when our events are over, we come back to the Olympic Village,
and we sit down and eat together.
This community was the defining aspect of my Olympic experience, and it's
what led me, ultimately, to Darfur. I could sit with an athlete from another
land, and even though we had very different backgrounds, we had the Olympic
experience in common. Just to earn my place in that Olympic Village
cafeteria, I'd spent years competing around the world. During those travels,
I began to see that it wasn't just athletes that I had this fellowship with
but people in every nation. I met great friends in Europe who would invite
me into their homes and where we would eventually realize that both of our
grandfathers had fought in World War II -- against each other. I made
friends from China who had also left their homes at an early age to begin
training, and even though we barely understood each other, no one in the
world smiled bigger at me when we would bump into each other. My other
constant companion in that world travel was the international news coverage
of atrocities that I didn't hear much about on the news at home.
It might seem funny that a speed skater from North Carolina would focus on
what was then a somewhat obscure crisis in Africa, but it all came back to
my Olympic views. Ultimately, I feel no different than a person born in any
other area of the world, except perhaps a bit luckier. And if people were
gunning down my family, I would certainly want the world to help. So that's
what I tried to do.
After the Olympics in Turin, I began traveling the world again -- not to
compete or train, but to talk with people about having won. I also spoke at
many Darfur rallies, including one in Washington in the spring of 2006,
sharing the bill with Elie Wiesel and George Clooney. Somehow, I had gotten
from sprinting at record speed around an ice rink in tights to sharing a
stage with a Nobel Peace Prize-winning Holocaust survivor and an Academy
Award winner. But the more I learned about the conflict, the more confident
I became about speaking out -- and the more urgency I felt.
Seven months after the Washington rally, I was on a stage in New York,
essentially back where I'd started. The same "Save Darfur" posters were
draped on the podium. The same heartbreaking statistics were being repeated
over a bad sound system to a large crowd. But people were still dying by the
scores, and despite the efforts of the activist community, the international
community was not really doing anything.
Star power isn't fixing anything in Darfur yet, either. Although celebrities
can raise awareness about the conflict, ultimately only government officials
can affect the situation on the ground. I saw that when I traveled with
Clooney, actor Don Cheadle, Kenyan distance runner Tegla Loroupe and others
as part of a delegation to Egypt and China in December 2006. The U.N.
Security Council had passed a resolution that year calling for peacekeeping
forces to protect civilians in Darfur, but Sudan was able to stall and
eventually ignore it.
In Beijing, we spoke with government and business leaders: two movie stars,
a speed skater, a distance runner and some activists facing people we
thought had the power to really help. We think this is not right, we said
gently, seeking to engage the Chinese in a positive way. Our message: We
hope that, if nothing else, you will stop obstructing U.N. efforts to
install robust international protection in Darfur. They met with us. They
said thank you for coming. They said they think this is an internal issue in
Africa, and that it's not really our business to fix it or discuss it. Then
they invited us to tour the Olympic venues in progress, hoping to snap a few
photos of smiling movie stars in front of the cranes and half-finished
stadium.
I left feeling very frustrated.
I channeled some of that frustration into the organization I started last
year with Brad Greiner, a water polo player, called Team Darfur. We're
trying to recruit athletes who will use their time in the spotlight to help
save lives in Darfur and show the world that these people still desperately
need our help. So far, nearly 350 athletes from 60 countries have signed on
with Team Darfur. And quite a few of those athletes will be in Beijing in
August, including gymnasts from Europe, basketball players from Africa,
swimmers from the Caribbean and softball players from North America.
For some, though, joining this particular team is a risk, one they fear
could jeopardize their spot on the Olympic team. I recently spoke with a
Beijing-bound swimmer who is committed to the Darfur cause. He attended a
symbolic torch relay on behalf of victims of Sudan's genocidal regime and
has spoken to international reporters about the issue. But he wants to be
sure that whatever he says now won't compromise his opportunity to compete
in Beijing -- not just because he has spent his whole life training for his
Olympic moment, but because he realizes that his status as an Olympian will
give him a wider platform to raise awareness.
That has certainly been my experience. Had I not gone to Turin, the local
paper might have said, "Hometown Boy Forgoes Olympics for Cause." But that's
it. The most important -- and most effective -- means of addressing China's
economic interdependence with Sudan is to go to Beijing, compete and speak
out.
But the question of how to speak out is a complicated one.
For one thing, I understand how much Beijing's organizers have at stake in
ensuring a successful event. I also understand the pride that the Chinese
take in hosting the event: I remember how much it meant to me that my first
Olympics were held in the United States in the months following Sept. 11,
2001.
For another, the International Olympic Committee has all kinds of rules and
restrictions. Rule 51.3 of the Olympic Charter prohibits demonstrations of
"political, religious or racial propaganda" at the official venues. Earlier
this month, the rules got even more confusing. In a letter sent to national
Olympic committees, the IOC said that prohibited conduct could include
written or oral statements. The Olympics, the letter stated, are not a stage
for "political statements about issues such as armed conflicts, regional
differences, religious disputes, and many others."
Right now, this one small section of the Olympic charter is what people are
focusing on, trying to determine whether it's possible to both speak one's
mind and represent one's country. But the entire Olympic Charter is full of
soaring rhetoric about elevating humanity through sport. I'm astounded by
how often this rule is used not to promote that goal, but to stifle it.
So I recommend reading rule 51.3 along with a different bureaucratic agenda
item. This one is from the U.N. General Assembly: a resolution, passed last
fall, urging its members to observe what's known as the "Olympic truce"
during the Olympics in August and the Paralympics in September. The truce is
an effort to "use sport as an instrument to promote peace," a modern version
of what the Greeks called "Ekecheiria" and observed during ancient
Olympiads. The goal today is to use a short window this summer as one way to
temporarily halt conflicts -- a step toward some more permanent kind of
reconciliation.
For my fellow athletes who will gather to compete at the gleaming new venues
China will unveil: Your efforts might give you the chance to improve the
lives of millions. I hope that goal will resonate for everyone stepping to a
microphone after a big win this summer.
joey@...
Joey Cheek, a member of the 2002 and 2006 U.S. Olympic speed skating teams,
is co-founder of Team Darfur and a student at Princeton University.
Schaatsfan Suzanne
New Member
Die finale van het fietsspel was erg leuk! en Gerard heeft gewonnen. Had ik niet verwacht. Ik had Simon wel als beste verwacht.
Lars-Lover
Active Member
Erg leuk dat wielerspel! Ik had ook niet verwacht dat Gerard van Velde zou winnen. Ik had Simon Kuipers of Jan Bos verwacht. Ik had gehoopt dat Jan Bos zou winnen, omdat hij 1 van mijn favoriete schaatsers is, maar dat mijn dorpsgenoot heeft gewonnen is natuurlijk ook leuk.
En wie was er laatste :cry:Mijn kleine grote held. Maar wow wat is hij gespierd geworden zeg 
Ik weet nog dat die zo'n mager latje was Is ook alweer 4 jaar geleden. Hij krijgt het lijf van zijn grote broer.
Het was wel te verwachten want die anderen heren hebben veel meer trainingsarbeid in hun lijf zitten. Die hebben jaren getraind.
Ik weet nog dat die zo'n mager latje was Is ook alweer 4 jaar geleden. Hij krijgt het lijf van zijn grote broer.Het was wel te verwachten want die anderen heren hebben veel meer trainingsarbeid in hun lijf zitten. Die hebben jaren getraind.
Lars-Lover
Active Member
villaweb zei:Lars-Lover zei:Ow oke. Dan ga ik kijken!
Grappig dat je wel weet op welke zender het is maar niet op welke dag Holland Sport is :?
Haha ja, dat is idd wel apart
Ik weet ook niet hoe ik dat heb..Volgens mij heb ik ergens een keer gehoord dat dat op Ned 3 zou komen, maar ben ik vergeten welke dag dat was. Dat heb je soms wel eens, dat je bepaalde dingen wel onthoudt en andere weer niet haha. Zoiets zal het wel zijn. Maar ik kijk er anders nooit naar, dus vandaar dat het ook niet echt is blijven hangen waarschijnlijk..@ Lisan: Idd jammer van Freddy. Ik vind dat hij sowieso steeds meer op Erben gaat lijken, ook in het gezicht enzo.
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