It’s splitsville for Michelle Kwan and Frank Carroll, the man who has coached the two-time national champion since her days as a wide-eyed, spindly-legged child a decade ago. The breakup comes just four months before the Olympics in Salt Lake City, the biggest skate of Michelle’s life. “Frank and I have always had the same goal: [for me] to be the best skater I can be,” Kwan said in a statement from Colorado Springs, Colo., where she was preparing for this week’s Skate American competition. “Over the past few months, I have come to realize that although we share that common goal, we have different views on the direction needed to get there.”
Say what? Kwan went on to announce that, at least for the time being, she would “put myself on the ice,” a decision no less shocking than if the Yankees announced they had chosen to play the World Series without Joe Torre or if the Lakers decided they would give it a go this season absent Phil Jackson, letting Shaq and Kobe make all the critical calls. The seating area where skaters wait for the judges’ scores is called the “kiss and cry” for good reason. But without a coach, who is there to kiss? Whose shoulder is there to cry on? Kwan insists that she fully understands how–in the world of skating–her decision may be “earth-breaking news.” But she said, “I believe it’s the right decision for me. You have to stick to your guns. The person who knows best is me.”
Coaching switches are not at all unusual in the world of figure skating, where the collision of egos on the ice can be rougher than any body check in the National Hockey League. The current men’s national champion, Timothy Goebel, dumped his longtime coach, Carol Heiss Jenkins, last year and moved from Cleveland to L.A. to work with Kwan’s now-ex-coach, Carroll. But going solo is a whole different matter. For all its elegance and beauty–and no skater represents that aspect of the sport better than Kwan, a four-time world champ-figure skating is an extraordinarily technical endeavor. A skater has her hands full just handling the immense physical demands of practice and competition; a dispassionate voice is usually essential to rendering judgment on the effort and to determine the necessary changes.
Both Kwan and Carroll agreed that there was no single issue, no harsh words or screaming fight that led to this moment. Both described their breakup as very emotional, with tears, hugs and declarations of mutual love. But while Kwan claims to understand fully her own decision, she had great difficulty explaining it publicly or giving any indication of what changes might result. Carroll admitted he didn’t have a clue. “I’m in complete shock,” he said. “I didn’t expect it. I didn’t think there was anything we couldn’t work through.” Moreover, while Carroll had nothing but praise for Kwan as a skater and human being, he challenged the notion that she knew what she was doing. “I feel like she’s having a lot of trouble with her own head,” he said. “I think right now she doesn’t understand what’s going on.”
Kwan’s story is well known by now. One of the most lyrical skaters in history, she went to the Olympics in Nagano, Japan, a prohibitive favorite. She skated well and without error, but lost by the narrowest of margins to a more athletic, more ebullient Tara Lipinski. Tara walked away from the sport with her gold, but Michelle took home the affection of the fans. Her gracious and classy handling of her defeat only sparked her popularity, and three subsequent world championships did nothing to diminish it. Salt Lake City was supposed to be the perfect ending to the fairytale career. On home ice, Michelle would finally take her Olympic gold.
But what once looked like a sure thing has, of late, appeared to be anything but. Her Russian rival, Irina Slutskaya, has always outjumped her only to be bested by Kwan’s artistry. But in two meetings this season, Slutskaya has drubbed Kwan, winning the artistic mark along with the technical score. Kwan’s own performances have been dreary–lackluster and passionless. Kwan figures the judges have been sending her a message. While that may be true, it’s very possible that what’s wrong can’t be fixed just by firing her coach or her choreographer (she dispatched that person, Lori Nichol, earlier this year).
The trouble may lie within. While Kwan’s parents raised three all-American kids, Danny Kwan insisted on traditional Chinese family values. He has always said that they stuck most deeply with Michelle, his youngest. Now that she is 21, there appears to be an internal struggle between the obedient child and the increasingly independent young woman. She lives by herself in a Manhattan Beach, Calif., condo; has a boyfriend she won’t name publicly, and has attended classes at UCLA. And like most all 21-year-olds, she thinks she knows what’s best for her. “I’m not saying I’m right or Frank is wrong,” she said. “But I’m very hard-headed. Sometimes I’m so opinionated I want it my way and no other way.” In Salt Lake City, we’ll see whether Kwan’s way was the right way.
