A late inquiry kept US gymnast Jordan Chiles off the podium. But who is to blame? The judges, the technology, or the way we measure time itself?
At the Olympics, seconds matter. Anyone who’s watched the Games — or, really, any athletic competition — knows the difference even a fraction of a second can make. It’s the difference between a basketball going up just before the buzzer sounds instead of the moment after and the difference between a championship and an elimination.
This persnickety counting is only supposed to matter on the field of play itself — the court, the pitch, and, in the case of gymnastics, the mat. But at the women’s floor final in Paris, four seconds off the podium have become more important than any flips and twists done during the competition. These four seconds have spiraled into a monthslong saga that implicated the officials managing the sport and immiserated the athletes who’ve been caught up in this mess.
It began in the seconds after the women’s floor exercise final. US gymnast Jordan Chiles completed her routine and sat down to await her score. She was the last one to compete, and her mark would determine the final rankings of the artistic gymnastics event in Paris. Chiles had helped the US team take gold but kept missing out on opportunities to win solo medals. This floor final was her one and only shot on any individual hardware.
When her score of 13.666 was posted, Chiles smiled, but not her typical exuberant one. She had placed fifth, less than a tenth away from a medal.
Nearby, Ana Barbosu of Romania was smiling and laughing as the reality of the bronze started to sink in. This medal marked Romania’s return to the Olympic medal podium for the first time since 2012. The once dominant program that had fallen off the cliff competitively for over a decade had finally clawed its way back to relevance.
But things weren’t as final as some of the gymnasts thought. Cécile Canqueteau-Landi, one of Chiles’ coaches, had momentarily disappeared to submit an inquiry into her difficulty score, and the Superior Jury, which handles such matters, had accepted it. Chiles’ 13.666 became a 13.766, which launched her from fifth to third and onto the podium.
When the new score was announced, Chiles sprinted down the sideline, passing Barbosu who was standing on the competition podium with a Romanian flag, and collapsed in tears. Barbosu looked around, momentarily confused, the crushing disappointment just starting to hit her. She had been bumped down to fourth and out of the medals.
The ecstasy of victory and the agony of defeat in a single frame — the sort of thing that the Olympics is known for. Inquiries, on the other hand, though ubiquitous in gymnastics, usually happen with far less fanfare, and viewers rarely take note of them. Scores go up by a tenth or two and sometimes go down. Usually, all of that gets left on the field of play.
But here, another competition — between the two countries’ teams and between the different organizations that mediate Olympic gymnastics — was just beginning.
Within 24 hours of the medal ceremony, Romania had brought a complaint before the Court of Arbitration of Sport (CAS) seeking to overturn the results. Initially, according to the evidence submitted by Chiles’s legal team, they tried to challenge the outcome of the inquiry on gymnastics grounds, saying that the jump that was subject to review was insufficiently rotated and shouldn’t have been credited. That didn’t work. Their second objection was about an erroneously applied out of bounds deduction that took Sabrina Voinea-Maneca out of the medals. Had her coach — who is also her mother — inquired into this deduction, Voinea-Maneca would’ve had the bronze.
The case that was presented in front of CAS said nothing about an underrotated leap. The focus shifted from performance to, simply, bureaucracy: they decided to question the timing of Chiles’ inquiry though Voinea-Maneca’s out of bounds deduction remained in the conversation, too.The Romanian Gymnastics Federation claimed Chiles’s challenge was submitted too late and should have never been considered in the first place.
This had the feel of a fishing expedition, of trying different tacks to find one that would give Romania the bronze medal they felt that they had earned, one way or the other; it didn’t even matter which of the two Romanian gymnasts went home with the bronze.And this gambit worked. CAS concluded that Chiles’ inquiry had been submitted too late. Her inquiry was timestamped four seconds beyond the one-minute time limit, according to Omega, the official timekeeper of the Olympic Games. This result was devastating for the American gymnast. Chiles’ score reverted to 13.666, and she was dropped back to fifth place. Barbosu was elevated to the bronze medal position.
But determining whether Chiles’ inquiry was really four seconds over time is a much fuzzier task than simply looking at a clock — and Chiles’ team argued that they had been wronged.
At last year’s world championships in Antwerp, Kathi-Sue Rupp, a Category 2 Brevet level men’s gymnastics judge who served as one of the inquiry officials, described the process for filing an inquiry. The screen of the tablet that she worked from had two sections: one that had a list of the gymnasts who had just finished their routines within the last minute and another that had gymnasts who had completed their routines within the last four minutes. It’s a bit more complicated in qualifications or all-around competitions since more than one gymnast is competing at the same time. But the athletes went up singly at the Paris floor final, making for a less dizzying process. The inquiry official who accepted Landi’s challenge wouldn’t have had a list of names to go through to find Chiles’. By the time her score was flashed, it was too late for anybody else to file one.
“If a gymnast or coach had an inquiry, they would come over to the inquiry desk [and] tell me that they wanted to put in an inquiry for whoever the gymnast was,” Rupp said. “I would look for their name on that list underneath a minute, pull up, open their file, ask them, ‘Okay, you didn’t agree with the D score. What D score do you think it should have been?’ I would then need to input the D score that they think it should have been and hit submit.”
Everything in the process takes time, from the coach approaching to her asking them for the name of the athlete and the skill they want to look into. “Me just saying that took more than four seconds,” Rupp pointed out.
There is no mechanism stopping an inquiry from being submitted even if it is processed after the allotted time, according to Alain Zobrist, chief executive of Omega. “We’re just providing the judges with the technology according to the rules of the Federation,” he told The Verge when explaining how the system works relative to this specific field of play. Basically, the way that Zobrist presents the case, Omega is a glorified log-creating service. (They do other timing functions in gymnastics, despite it being a “scoring sport,” because there are time limits on certain events, like floor exercise and balance beam. Also, when a gymnast falls from an apparatus, they have a limited time to remount and resume their routine, and Omega would time that as well.)