On October 30, 1983, the Budapest Sports Palace erupted as a Bulgarian gymnast in a red leotard stuck her first vault with textbook control. She shuffled back on her second vault, but her score was good enough. For the first time at a women’s World Championships, the Bulgarian anthem—Mila Rodino—played in the arena. Boriana Stoyanova had become the first Bulgarian woman ever to win a world championship gold medal in artistic gymnastics.
Back home, the press called it a zlatna nedelya, a golden Sunday. Bulgaria’s “golden account,” as one paper put it, had finally been opened.
The moment would be replayed, narrated, and commemorated for decades. What took longer to register was that Stoyanova was not 15 when she won gold.
Stoyanova on the front page of the October 31, 1983 edition of Naroden Sport, Bulgaria’s main sports newspaper.
Moscow, November 1981. A young gymnast takes her starting position at Luzhniki Sports Palace. When the opening notes of Rossini’s La Cenerentola (Cinderella) sound through the arena, fifteen-year-old Natalia Ilienko—so says her official biography—begins what Soviet journalists will soon call a “sparkling” performance, an “étude set to Rossini, in a minuet-gavotte style.”
The routine, choreographed by Natalia Alexandrovna Marakova, is “elegant, polished down to the smallest detail—to every movement of the flexible hands, to each glance—now languid, now playful.” When Ilienko completes her final tumbling pass, the crowd erupts. Moments later, she will stand on the podium as the floor world champion, one of her country’s newest gymnastics sensations.
But there was a problem with this triumph: Natalia Ilienko should never have competed at those World Championships.
How did people in the USSR feel about Olga Bicherova’s age falsification at the time?Did everyone simply accept that it was for the greater good of the Soviet Union?
In a 1987 essay published in Ogonyok under the provocative title “Don’t Lose the Person,” Tokarev returned to this episode not to litigate eligibility rules, but to imagine the human cost of the lie. He opened the article with the age-falsification case, identifying the gymnast only as “B” to spare her further harm. At the tournament’s final press conference, officials calmly insisted that the champion’s age complied with the rules. When a reporter produced not one but two start lists showing that she had not yet turned fourteen, officials dismissed them as “mistakes.” Only later did a federation insider admit to Tokarev that the documents had been deliberately swapped.
What haunted Tokarev was the position in which this placed the girl herself. Friends, relatives, classmates—everyone knew the truth. She was told that lying was necessary, that falsifying her age served “higher interests,” the honor and glory of the state. The burden of the deception, Tokarev suggested, fell not on officials or coaches, but on a child expected to live inside a public fiction.
(Tokarev would return to this case in 1989, writing again in Ogonyok and naming the gymnast explicitly as Olga Bicherova.)
The heart of Tokarev’s outrage, however, centers on the 1985 World Championships in Montreal. There, coach Vladimir Aksenov watched his protégé Olga Mostepanova—sitting in second place after two days of competition—be abruptly removed from the individual finals along with Irina Baraksanova. In their places, head coach Andrei Rodionenko inserted Oksana Omelianchik and Elena Shushunova, who would go on to share the gold medal. When Tokarev recounts this episode, he anticipates the response he knew so well: the medals were still Soviet medals, so what difference did it make whose names were attached to them?
Aksenov explained the reasoning to Tokarev in stark terms. Rodionenko, he said, was taking revenge. After Sovetskaya Rossiya (Soviet Russia) reported that people’s control inspectors at the Lake Krugloye training base had caught Rodionenko hoarding scarce food supplies meant for athletes, coaches were pressured to sign a letter denying the incident. Aksenov was the only one who refused. His punishment was swift: he was barred from accompanying his own athlete to Montreal, and Mostepanova was sacrificed in the finals as retribution. “Olga and Yurchenko hugged each other and burst into tears,” Aksenov recalled. “You could say that all the way back to Moscow, Olga’s eyes never dried.”
Tokarev recognizes that these individual injustices—the falsified documents, the stolen food, the vindictive substitutions—are symptoms of a deeper corruption. He challenges the notion that such deceptions serve “higher interests” or the “honor and glory of the state.” Through pointed examples, from the pentathlete Boris Onishchenko’s rigged épée at the 1976 Olympics to weightlifters caught trafficking anabolic steroids abroad, Tokarev argues that secrecy and complicity had rotted Soviet sport from within. The system demanded that witnesses sign false statements, that coaches look the other way, that everyone prioritize medals over human dignity. His closing plea is both moral and practical: sport cannot be reformed unless it embraces the same transparency and accountability reshaping Soviet society. “No medals,” he writes, “can replace for us what is most valuable—the person.”
What follows is a translation of Tokarev’s seminal essay.
In November 1981, Ralf-Peter Hemmann stood in a packed Moscow arena, preparing for his second vault in the apparatus finals of the World Championships. His first had been flawless—a handspring front with a half twist that stuck to the mat as if pulled by a magnet. The judges awarded him a perfect 10. Now came his Tsukahara. He landed it cleanly. Score: 9.95. The twenty-two-year-old auto mechanic from Leipzig was the world champion.
“After the 10, I still wasn’t sure,” he told reporters afterward, beaming. “But then when the second vault went so well…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He was being called to the podium, where thousands of East German tourists in the sold-out hall cheered for their new champion. It was the kind of victory that makes careers, the kind that gets remembered in record books. The days before had been the hardest, Hemmann said—sleepless with nerves. But in the competition itself, he’d been completely calm.
Then, without warning, he disappeared.
Not literally—Hemmann was still alive. But his gymnastics career ended abruptly in the spring of 1982, with no explanation, no farewell interview, no public acknowledgment of what had happened. One day, he was preparing for a competition in the Netherlands. The next, a club official told him his competitive career was over, effective immediately. The press never called again.
For years, people whispered theories while the official story was buried in Stasi files that wouldn’t surface until after reunification: Hemmann had tested positive for anabolic steroids at that same Moscow World Championship where he’d won gold. The Soviets had caught him, covered it up, and allegedly used the secret as leverage against East German sports officials. Rather than face an international scandal, those officials made Hemmann himself disappear—forced into retirement with his title mysteriously intact.
Thirty years later, Hemmann still didn’t have answers. His case raises troubling questions about how Cold War sports politics may have enabled cover-ups at the highest levels. Rumors of the positive test circulated among judges even during the competition itself. Yet the positive test result was never published, and the International Gymnastics Federation never stripped him of his medal. We may never know for certain why.
Here’s a translation of Sandra Schmidt’s article on Hemmann’s case.
After the 1974 World Championships in Varna, Stanislav Tokarev, Sovetsky Sport’s special correspondent in Varna, took a step back and reflected on the trends in men’s and women’s artistic gymnastics. In so doing, he asked a question that the gymnastics community continues to ask itself 50 years later: Should participation at major competitions be limited to only the best of the best?
Tokarev rejoiced in seeing up-and-coming gymnastics programs participate in Varna, and he criticized the FIG’s qualification process for the 1976 Olympics, which would limit the number of teams in Montréal.
Here’s a translation of his column.
Olga Korbut taking part in the World Gymnastic Championships in Varna, Bulgaria. Original Publication: People Disc – HG0074 (Photo by D Deynov/Getty Images)
For over three decades Czechoslovakia was a powerhouse in the world of women’s artistic gymnastics. From 1936 until 1968, Czechoslovak women’s artistic gymnasts always won at least one medal at the Olympics, and, except for 1950, from 1934 to 1970, they won at least one medal at the World Championships. (Czechoslovakia did not attend the 1950 World Championships.)
In 1972, that streak ended. No Czechoslovak gymnast won a medal in Munich, which led to much soul-searching.
Two years later, at the 1974 World Championships, the winds of fortune changed, and Czechoslovakia was on the podium once again. Božena Perdykulová, a newcomer to the international stage, came to Varna with an impressive Tsukahara and won a bronze medal.
Because Perdykulová is relatively unknown to English-speaking gymnastics fans, I translated two articles about her, as well as an article about the place where she trained.
What did the leaders of the FIG think about the 1974 World Championships?
For starters, none of them was thrilled about having to move the location of the competition. As you’ll see, both presidents of the technical committees and the president of the FIG mentioned the challenge of choosing a host for the 1974 World Championships. (More on that decision here.)
Valerie Nagy, the president of the Women’s Technical Committee, was generally displeased with the level of the gymnasts, writing: “Even without preliminary qualifications, the national federations should have been more severe when making their selections.”
In addition, she didn’t like the direction of balance beam, where she felt that gymnasts were trying to perform too many difficult acrobatic elements, which impacted the flow of the routine.
In that same vein, Arthur Gander, the president of the FIG, railed against the emphasis on risk and difficulty at the expense of execution.
Below, you can find Gander’s comments, as well as those of the MTC and the WTC.
My thought bubble: Yup, this is pretty nerdy stuff, but most people who read this site are pretty nerdy people. 🙂
A little trivia: Did you know that there were three score protests during the men’s competition? Guess how many of those protests were rejected.
The Japanese men were unable to dominate on the final day of competition in Varna — in part because Kasamatsu withdrew from several events.
As clear as the Japanese won team and individual victories, they could not assume this dominant role in the apparatus final, especially as Kasamatsu had to forego competing on rings, parallel bars, and high bar due to a shoulder injury.
Neues Deutsches Turnen, No. 12, 1974
So klar die Japaner Mannschafts-und Einzelsieg erkämpften — im Gerätefinale konnten sie diese dominierende Rolle nicht spielen, zumal Kasamatsu an den Ringen, am Barren und am Reck wegen einer Schulterverletzung auf den Start verzichten mußte.
Six different gymnasts won gold medals, representing five different countries (Japan, the Soviet Union, Hungary, Romania, and West Germany).
Below, you’ll find snippets of newspaper reports, as well as videos from the 1974 men’s event finals, which took place on Sunday, October 27.
Context: At the 1972 Olympics, only three countries (the Soviet Union, East Germany, and Hungary) were represented in the women’s event finals, and only two countries won medals (the Soviet Union and East Germany).
At the 1974 World Championships, five countries (the Soviet Union, East Germany, Czechoslovakia, Romania, and Hungary) were represented during the women’s event finals, and three countries won medals (the Soviet Union, East Germany, and Czechoslovakia).
Though there was slightly more diversity in 1974, some things did not change. Just as the uneven bars final was highly contentious in Munich, so, too, was the uneven bars final in Varna. Olga Korbut went as far as to say that the results were predetermined.
Here’s what happened on Sunday, October 27, 1974.
Datum: 23.11.1974 Copyright: imago/Günter Gueffroy Annelore Zinke (li.) und Karin Janz (beide DDR)
In 1974, Kasamatsu Shigeru became only the second Japanese gymnast to win the all-around title at the World Championships. (Kenmotsu won it in 1970.) However, his win was not without controversy. With only 0.125 separating Kasamatsu and Andrianov, some thought that Kasamatsu should have won while others thought that Andrianov should have won.
As we’ll see, much of the coverage focused on what happened during the last rotation on October 26, 1974.
Reminder: This was the first World Championships with an all-around final. (The Munich Olympics were the first Olympic Games to include an all-around final.)
