"Always looked up to Brian and his skating, I loved his skating and what he had done for the sport. And the triple axel, that was the thing, and I wanted a triple axel"
About this Quote
Hero worship turns into technical ambition in a single breath. Stojko isn’t reminiscing about a vibe or a golden era; he’s naming a target. Brian is Brian Orser, the Canadian standard-bearer whose blend of power and polish defined what men’s skating could look like in the 1980s. By anchoring his admiration to “what he had done for the sport,” Stojko frames influence as infrastructure: Orser didn’t just win medals, he expanded the job description.
Then Stojko tightens the lens to one element: “the triple axel.” The repetition and blunt phrasing (“that was the thing”) read like a young athlete circling an obsession. In figure skating, the triple axel isn’t a flourish; it’s a public proof of seriousness, the jump that historically separated contenders from champions. Saying “I wanted a triple axel” sounds simple, but the subtext is ruthless: I wanted the hardest receipt in the sport, the move you can’t fake with artistry or crowd appeal.
Context matters here. Stojko came of age during the early-90s escalation when men’s skating was being re-scored in real time by athletic difficulty. His admiration is generous, but it’s also competitive. He’s not content to inherit Orser’s legacy; he wants to metabolize it, convert inspiration into a measurable upgrade. That’s the quiet emotional punch: mentorship at a distance, transformed into a checklist item that can make-or-break a career, live on ice, in four minutes, with no edits.
Then Stojko tightens the lens to one element: “the triple axel.” The repetition and blunt phrasing (“that was the thing”) read like a young athlete circling an obsession. In figure skating, the triple axel isn’t a flourish; it’s a public proof of seriousness, the jump that historically separated contenders from champions. Saying “I wanted a triple axel” sounds simple, but the subtext is ruthless: I wanted the hardest receipt in the sport, the move you can’t fake with artistry or crowd appeal.
Context matters here. Stojko came of age during the early-90s escalation when men’s skating was being re-scored in real time by athletic difficulty. His admiration is generous, but it’s also competitive. He’s not content to inherit Orser’s legacy; he wants to metabolize it, convert inspiration into a measurable upgrade. That’s the quiet emotional punch: mentorship at a distance, transformed into a checklist item that can make-or-break a career, live on ice, in four minutes, with no edits.
Quote Details
| Topic | Training & Practice |
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