Mm, I remember the age of six
the turning point of mine.
A born addict, like I needed a fix,
I watched those men divine.
Like a tournament for an ancient knight
is a ski jumper’s task,
And one of them sailed the wind like a kite,
the man behind the mask.
Dad, I asked, the one who’s strong,
is he a demigod?
He laughed then, but damn if I’m wrong,
now I swear he’d nod.
To Trondheim, as I turned seven,
the people were assembling,
and I was about to experience heaven,
for Espen’s knees were trembling.
Hannawald came and so did Schmitt,
Malysz and all the names.
After all the years they all did quit –
only one remains.
When four hills came, oh, the joy!
Every one of them ran.
And you may call Schlieri a wonderboy,
but boy is a boy compared to a man.
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