Mead's Simon Rosselli leaves state meet with another title in hand, devoted to pursuit of his 'masterpiece' | Dave Boling

TACOMA – In a performance short on drama but steeped in artistry, Mead High’s Simon Rosselli won his third straight state 4A discus championship Saturday at Mount Tahoma High, and provided ample evidence that he has the potential to be an American Olympian in the event.

Always a shame that the ballistics and flight variability of events like the discus and javelin force them to be competed in neighboring fields outside of center stage, because more fans should have been able to focus on Rosselli’s splendid efforts.

Already the national leader in the discus, he took a lead of more than 50 feet on his nearest competitor with his first throw, but was well off his season best of 225-6 until his final toss.

He fired Throw 6 up the right sector line and curved it into the quartering head wind for a mark of 223-0.

His implement is a perimeter-weighted Nishi discus, with a logo that looks like a ninja throwing star, and as it soared off toward the vanishing point, the spinning star seemed almost hypnotic.

Here’s what it made me see: The future. Featuring Rosselli as an Olympic medal-winner.

Why?

1. He won easily on Saturday, but was far from happy with his performance. (Goals being goals, standards must be met).

2. In a display of eloquence rare for a high school senior, he voiced his deep understanding of the aesthetics of his event – the most graceful of all events. It’s the kind of connection to the event that a string of great American throwers have shared.

3. Rosselli did something after the competition that probably very few would notice, but displayed important personal qualities of the Oregon signee: Character and appreciation.

“My performance wasn’t at all what I was hoping for, nor what I expect for myself,” Rosselli said Saturday.

On Thursday, he won the shot put, an event he only recently took up. Winning at 68-0, he threatened the 1977 record held by Mount Tahoma’s Vince Goldsmith.

His goal for the disc this meet was the all-time national record owned by Ryan Crouser (237-5). Rosselli has been in touch with Crouser (three-time Olympic shot champ) on the phone a few times. “I guess I’ll have to let him know that it looks like his record is going to stand a little longer.”

Asked to ditch the restraints of humility and reveal the true range of his highest goals, Rosselli didn’t hesitate a bit. “I want to be an Olympic gold medalist,” he said. If not 2028 in Los Angeles, then 2032 in Brisbane, Australia.

Why not?

He pointed out that current world-record holder, Mykolas Alekna of Lithuania (247-10), is roughly his size. (Actually, an inch shorter, at 6-4).

“Why go if you don’t expect to win?” Rosselli asked. “I mean, the goal is to get to Oregon, work with coach (Brian Blutreich), get to the Trials and compete.”

The great paradox of the event is that if you try your hardest, the throw is guaranteed to wobble and fall short. It has to be smooth, efficiently capturing the energy of the rotating body and translating that into torque and centrifugal force. Properly released, the spinning disc supplies its own lift, like the aerodynamics of an aircraft wing.

It starts with a Dervish whirl and ends with a balletic pirouette; in-between is going like heck and trying to stay balanced.

I’ve had a love affair with this event since the summer of 1962, when, at age 10, I was taken by my older brothers to Stagg Field at the University of Chicago to watch the USA-Poland track meet.

Al Oerter, the first man to throw the 2k discus past 200 feet, set the world record that day at just under 205 feet. The beauty was almost indescribable.

So, when Rosselli offered his explanation of the discus aesthetic, it was as powerful as any that I’ve heard from decades of throwers, many far older and more experienced than he.

“It’s an art, it’s a canvas, it’s a painting,” he said. “It’s my job to put the paint on the canvas where it needs to be. If my body is in the right position, if I’m feeling the way I should, it’s a display of myself and it’s a reflection of my work. So, in many ways, it’s art, it’s a masterpiece.”

Al Oerter couldn’t have said it better.

It seems unlikely that Rosselli will ever let complacency cross his mind. For instance, in the classroom, he finished with a 3.96 GPA. He didn’t want to go into details, but his Spanish teacher his freshman year didn’t choose to round up his 89.9 semester average to an A, leaving him short of a perfect 4.0.

His squint and head shake indicated he’s still pretty ticked about it. (Que lastima, amigo).

All those things are convincing qualities that paint a bright future for Rosselli.

But here’s another one.

After he won the event, disappointed from having bettered his state record from his junior year by a mere 18 feet, he walked back inside the throwing cage. To take another spin to try to polish any rough spots?

No. While his competitors were packing bags and heading off to see loved-ones and teammates, Rosselli sought out the officials who measured the throws and monitored the foot-faults and sector-fouls.

He shook hands and thanked every one of them. He was the only one I saw who made that effort. Most of these officials are probably volunteers, the kind of people who rarely get thanked, but whose unnoticed hard work allow the event to be competed in the first place.

Simon Rosselli gets it. He’s a gifted 18-year-old with a brilliant future. And he’s already bringing honor to his craft, and proving himself a worthy successor to the greats who preceded him.