If the IAAF feel that is the right way to go for TV rights and

Hear the lament of Kim Collins, sprinter of renown, who declared: “If the IAAF feel that is the right way to go for TV rights and everything, the rule will stay. As much as I want to be on the podium, tonight is a sad night for athletics.” These words are heavy, not with the loss of one race alone, but with the sorrow of an athlete who sees the purity of his craft weighed down by the demands of commerce and spectacle. It is not simply about rules—it is about the soul of sport itself.

In his cry, we hear the tension between the athlete and the institution, between the runner who devotes his life to training and the governing body that bends to the will of television, money, and entertainment. Collins does not rage against the inevitability of loss; he grieves instead that the integrity of competition is diminished by rules made not for fairness, but for profit. Thus, he calls it a “sad night for athletics,” for the spirit of sport was overshadowed by forces that cared not for honor but for gain.

To understand this fully, we must look at the broader context of sport in history. The Olympic Games of ancient Greece were once held as sacred festivals, where athletes competed not for riches, but for the olive crown and the glory of excellence itself. Yet even then, corruption crept in, and athletes were sometimes bribed to lose, while cities sought prestige more than purity. The struggle Collins names is thus eternal: the contest between the love of the game and the weight of worldly gain.

Consider, too, the story of Jesse Owens in 1936. He ran not only against other men but against the propaganda of a regime that sought to twist athletics into a tool of ideology. His triumphs were victories of spirit, but they also showed how sport is always vulnerable to forces beyond the field. Collins’s lament echoes the same truth: that athletes, no matter how noble, are bound by rules shaped by powers that do not always honor the spirit of the sport.

The sadness of Collins’s words lies also in his humility: “As much as I want to be on the podium…” He does not hide his desire for victory, yet he recognizes that his personal ambition is smaller than the greater tragedy—the tarnishing of athletics itself. Such words reveal the heart of a true competitor, one who cares more for the dignity of his craft than for the shine of a medal.

The lesson is clear: in every endeavor of man, whether in sport, art, or life, there is always a danger that purity is sacrificed to profit. When decisions are made only for gain, the spirit of the thing itself withers. True greatness is found not in bending to convenience but in preserving integrity, even when it is difficult, even when it costs.

Practical is this counsel: if you are an athlete, an artist, a worker in any field, remember always the higher calling of your craft. Do not let the lure of money or recognition strip away the dignity of what you love. If you govern, make rules for fairness, not for commerce. And if you watch, support not only the spectacle but the spirit, honoring those who strive with honesty.

So remember the words of Kim Collins: “Tonight is a sad night for athletics.” Let them be not only a lament, but a warning and a guide. For athletics—and all human endeavors—remain noble only so long as truth, fairness, and integrity stand higher than gold, higher than applause, higher than fleeting gain. In guarding these, we guard the very soul of what it means to compete, to strive, and to triumph with honor.