It was a huge disappointment, given they had the time to refine their techniques. Even with all that, they were far from their absolute best, they had settled on a just-good-enough launch technique. It wasn’t too hard to predict how the contest would go: Richard Yaztromo was going to be in top form — his jumps were flawless, if not boring— but Klaudiusz Żółtowski’s main issue of landing with one ski ahead of another reared its ugly head. There were worries during the qualification that he was going to fail to clear the bar, and that it would cost them dearly.
That pessimistic prognostication turned out true. Klaudiusz couldn’t even save face with an appealing expression; he just stood there on the hill in silence, ashamed of himself and his poor performance. The look in his eyes wasn’t one that said “I won't do that again next time!” It was one saying: “Why me? Why now? What have I done wrong?", as tears began rolling down slowly towards his chin from each eye socket, as if he was in some dark fantasy.
The ski jumpers were uncharacteristically subdued in their following photo session. It was more of a funeral than anything else, the team dressed in black suits and ties with somber expressions, Klaudiusz’s eyes red and puffy from crying; they had done so well, they thought — they would be standing on a podium if not for his performance. Maybe it was a looming anxiety and foreboding doom: as though Diarcesia would never be earning medals from these four again now that their chance was blown.
