The floor final was more of what we saw in the beam final with complete routines full of expression, musicality, and interesting tumbling.

Sadly, it seems politics often got in the way of having fair and just results.

Birgit Senff, third coming into the final, opened with an exquisite routine—arguably the best of the entire final. The musical selection was PERFECT, especially for the setting of Madrid. The expression, choreography, and musicality? No notes. She had strong tumbling, good gymnastics elements, and a great dramatic flair. SO GOOD!

Therefore, it seemed quite surprising when her score of 9.5 flashed—a full 0.2 lower than she’d scored in the AA. Hmmm. I'm hoping she missed a special requirement, and this wasn't a matter of two DDR athletes not being allowed on the podium. Because surely that would never happen. Ever.

“What’s that, Dörte? You’d like a word? “

[redacted German]

“OK, yes I do remember.”

[redacted German]

I guess it turns out it might happen. Who knew?

Many will remember this competition as Maxi Gnauck at her peak. Later that fall, she would begin to suffer from an ankle injury that I’m not sure she ever fully recovered from.

Performing a full-in and a triple full as her first two passes made Maxi at the cutting edge of difficulty in 1981 (and even more-so in 1979, when she first did it). While personally I find her a bit stiff and less of a natural mover than many from this era, there is no denying she deserved this title. Another great routine.

Alla Misnik won the silver medal with a gorgeous routine that showcased many Soviet hallmarks. The music is unique and inspired, her choreography and interpretation was splendid, her tumbling was innovative and difficult (two whips to double tuck, handspring + front tuck (!), whip-full to full, double tuck dismount), and it was a complete and incredible performance. I legitimately get goosebumps with every subsequent viewing.

The main issue was her landings were not the best—particularly on her mount, where she was short and had to stumble a bit forward. Her double tuck dismount also lacked control.

Like Alevtina Pryakhina, whom I wrote about a few weeks ago, Alla Misnik's career highlight would be one great showing at one Europeans. She won three medals here—despite going on to have the least decorated career of the Soviet Madrid trio of herself, Ilyenko, and Bicherova.

Speaking of that trio, it’s obvious the Soviets were in a bit of a panic following the 1980 Olympics and many of their stars retiring. They appeared ill-prepared for the new rule that increased the minimum age for seniors from 14 to 15 by year’s end, which had come into effect at the start of the year. As such, all three of the Soviet athletes here in Madrid had their ages falsified by one year to make them eligible for senior competition. I’m not sure how much advance notice this rule had received, but really—is there ever an excuse for age falsification?

Misnik died prematurely of a stroke in 2006, aged just 38. I’ve found that sometimes the best floor routines take a while to grab ahold of you, and I think Alla’s is one of those. I didn’t think much of it when I first saw it a few years ago. But now, I am absolutely obsessed. I think it’s brilliant. She left this mortal coil far too soon.

Radka Zemanová had an odd mesh of musical selections, but her routine itself was lovely. I enjoyed her eye contact and the way she utilized her relatively taller frame to showcase nice flexibility.

Galina Marinova had some really nice moments, including a variation on a full-twisting handspring (she did the twist after her hands made contact with the floor, as opposed to Olga Mostepanova—who did the twist first). The section between her second and third passes was especially nice. I think she did a great job of expressing the character of the music through her arm movements and choreography.

Despite having one of the least successful routines here, I did enjoy Erika Flander's choice of music. The idea of this Hungarian teenage girl employed at a car wash in an urban area of, say, Detroit is high-key camp, honestly 😭.

Irene Martínez had another wonderful routine. There was a kind of sweeping freedom in her movements that I loved. Her interpretation was also lovely. Unfortunately, like Marinova, her routine was greatly marred by an error on the dismount.

After seeing the incredible range of Cristina Grigoraș' work on beam, I was excited to see what she had in store for us on floor. And she did not disappoint.

She followed in Gnauck’s footsteps and mounted with the only other full-in of the final (granted, many may argue that skill was easier for Cristina to do at age 13 than it was for Maxi at 16—but still… impressive nonetheless). Her double tuck dismount was huge; she actually over-rotated it. Incredible!

What I found less incredible were the choreography and dance elements in the exercise. If one imagines a Romanian Choreography & Dance Tier List with 1996 Marinescu at the top and 1978 Comăneci at the bottom, Grigoraș is definitely closer to Nadia than Alexandra.

But it would be insulting to insinuate this routine was anywhere in the neighborhood of Comăneci's routine from Strasbourg. It was fine. It would be considered good by 2026 standards. I imagine some of the bullet points from the current artistry checklist were even met.

We must remember that everything is relative. And, in my opinion, Grigoraș and Flander stood out as the weak links of this floor final in terms of their overall routines.

The scoring at these Europeans was pretty tight for the most part (although Maxi did manage to sneak in one ten during the bars final). Excluding Maxi, who scored 9.85 and 9.80 for her two routines, no one scored higher than 9.75 on floor for the duration of the Championships.

I’m not exactly sure why, because it does a discredit to how good some of these routines actually were. After weighing out the strengths and weaknesses (anyone who’s watched any of my judging videos knows the whole spiel), I would have Senff and Gnauck both at 9.90 followed by Misnik and Grigoraș at 9.80. This means factoring in the carryover scores, my podium would be 🥇Gnauck 🥈Senff 🥉Misnik. This is a bit different than the real one which was Gnauck, Misnik, Grigoraș.

I do feel Senff was lowballed—severely—to allow Grigoraș on the podium. And because Birgit had already medaled on vault, I don’t think the judges even felt bad about it.

Earlier I wrote about two East Germans not being allowed on a podium together, and while it was partially meant to be tongue-in-cheek, I absolutely think the fact that Senff and Gnauck had already stood on the vault podium together made it highly unlikely it would happen again on floor. Romania had completely usurped East Germany by this point as the second most powerful federation in WAG.

Because of Misnik’s landing issues, I think Senff likely should have been second. Instead, she was paid nooch. That is a crying shame because it leaves an incredibly sour taste in my mouth regarding what was otherwise an absolutely glorious final, one of the best I’ve seen in recent memory.

That July, Shannon again attempted the vault during finals at the Goodwill Games in Saint Petersburg.

She became the first gymnast to land this new vault, narrowly losing the vault title to Podkopayeva. However, it could not be named for her until she'd successfully performed it at a Worlds or Olympics. (Thankfully, that rule has become less restrictive in recent years.)

Shannon didn't know it at the time, but she had already missed her chance.

Six months later, Jaycie Phelps submitted the same vault in Shannon's absence. She stood it up and the WTC somehow deemed it close enough to the text of the vault submitted to receive credit.

Over the next six years, it became difficult to watch a competition without hearing Jaycie’s name, even long after she stopped competing.

But imagine if, despite the aforementioned circumstances, everyone called that vault “the Miller” instead of “the Phelps”?

Let’s go further. Imagine Shannon had never actually landed the vault at Goodwill Games. How much sense would it make to refer to a vault by the name of a gymnast who had never successfully done it?

Not much, right?

But this is precisely the predicament we have found ourselves in concerning Denisse López and a vault she never stood up—a vault she was never even credited for attempting.

Somehow “the López” has become synonymous with a layout Podkopayeva for over a quarter-century now. How exactly did this happen?

The short answer is a series of confounding and inexplicable (one could even say incompetent) decisions at the hands of the Women’s Technical Committee. But if you've been following me for a decent period of time, you likely have already surmised this.

The long answer? Well, I don’t know that there is one. Or, a logical one at least. But please join me on a comprehensive fact-finding mission that will hopefully, at the very least, put an end to some of the misinformation continuously propagated around the Internet.

But first, some introductions.

The Vault in Question

In gymnastics, skills tend to progress in a way where a new element is created by modifying an existing one—making it more difficult by changing the body shape or the manner of entry.

A “Podkopayeva” is a fairly complex vault consisting of a round-off to the springboard, a half turn on to the table, and a piked front with a half twist in the after flight.

The “López” is the same vault, only in a layout shape in the post-flight. Here is 2025 World silver-medalist Lia-Monica Fontaine performing it at the 2026 Commonwealth Games.

The WTC

For those who don't know, the WTC (or Women's Technical Committee) is responsible for everything pertaining to how skills in gymnastics are evaluated and judged. They have long been known for their inconsistency, double standards, and overall general debauchery.

Denisse López

Denisse López is a Mexican gymnast who competed twice at the Olympics (in Barcelona 1992 and Sydney 2000). I believe her nationality has a lot to do with why her name continues to be attached to a vault she never landed successfully.

This is a sport where the history has predominantly consisted of Europeans, East Asians, and North Americans. For a long time, having any kind of important contribution from a Latin American gymnast was invaluable to many fans.

Timeline

There have been a number of competitions where Denisse is alleged to have done this vault, so I think it’s important to go through them, one by one.

1999 Worlds (November 1999)

If I’m being perfectly honest, I’m unsure why this competition is on the list. Those of us following the 2000 Olympics in real time knew that the vault in question was a brand-new vault that had never been attempted or submitted prior to that competition.

However, a Mexican poster recently stated on Facebook that Denisse did it there. That likely means he isn't the only one making this assumption.

Denisse did make the vault final here and stood up both vaults to finish sixth. She vaulted a handspring layout barani and an Omelyanchik (round-off half-on piked front).

2000 Cottbus (March 2000)

A man who knows more about the COP than anyone I’ve ever known, gymdecoder, states he’s seen allegations of Denisse performing it here at Cottbus.

Denisse performed the same layout barani first vault. But, in an upgrade from Worlds, she does a Podkopayeva second vault. We can definitely see how this could lead to a layout Pod by September.

The reason we know she was attempting a Podkopayeva is because before her second vault, she changes her vault number to 4511, which was a Podkopayeva in the 1997 COP. This lets the judges know the vault she plans on competing.

2000 Pacific Alliance (April 2000)

While I have not seen anyone claim López competed this vault here (YET, anyway), it is another competition where Denisse planned a Podkopayeva second vault. (Again, you see her change the number to 4511.)

Unfortunately, she has to balk out of it and tuck her legs.

Denisse’s vaults during the team competition are also available on YouTube; she showed two handspring layout baranis.

2000 Copa Gimnàstica (June 2000)

Footage from this competition was used in a fairly popular YouTube video about Denisse as proof of her ability to do the layout Pod. But again, the vault did not exist until later that year. Also, as we saw in the prior video, Denisse was working a Podkopayeva second vault during this time. While it’s evident she plans on eventually laying it out, this is not a layout Podkopayeva. Expert commentator Kathy Johnson-Clarke says as much.

2000 Olympics (September 2000)

OK so this is where we have to get down to the nitty gritty because it can become rather confusing.

Prior to the Sydney Games, there were two similar vaults in the Code. We’ve already been talking about the first one, a Podkopayeva. It is a round-off half-on piked barani off. Its sister vault, so to speak (although technically it would be the older sister as it came first) was the Khorkina I vault. Everything prior to contact with the horse is the same. But in the post-flight, the gymnast does a piked cuervo instead of a barani (meaning the half twist comes before the flip).

At the 2000 Olympics, both of these vaults were submitted to the WTC in layout position and given a provisional 10.0 start value (the piked counterparts were valued at 9.9). López submitted the layout Podkopayeva and Ester Moya from Spain submitted the layout Khorkina I.

If you have a better memory than me and can remember back to the beginning of the article, it is required that a gymnast successfully perform the vault as described in order to have it named for her.

For Moya, this was no issue. She did it on the very first day to qualify first into the vault final. Per the WTC rules, she should now have an eponymous vault.

During this quadrennium, gymnasts were allowed to do the same vault twice during the qualification round. Hampered by a recent knee injury, López chose to do two handspring layout baranis during QF, planning on unveiling her new vault during the final.

Only things did not go so well for Denisse in the vault final. She really decided to go for broke, upgrading not only her second vault but adding a half twist to her first vault as well. She fell on both attempts.

Not only that, but her second vault was downgraded, meaning she did not get credit for the layout shape her new vault was based upon. Here are the protocols for the vault final. Denisse was credited with a 9.9 for her second vault.

As an aside (and this is neither here nor there when it pertains to what counts officially—many will remember Yelena Shushunova showing a near perfect DTY in training at the 1988 Olympics, only to miss it spectacularly in the final), López was able to land both of her vaults during warm-ups (albeit with a spot). The angle makes is difficult for me to see if the layout Pod would have been credited, but it looks pretty good.

Incidentally and ironically, Andreea Răducan actually successfully performed the vault Denisse had submitted—but did it under Moya’s vault number.

So, based on what we saw in Sydney, I would expect the 2001 FIG Code of Points to show two new vaults, one named and one unnamed. The named one (for Moya) would be a round-off half-on half twist backwards salto stretched. The unnamed one would be a round-off half-on forwards salto stretched with half turn.

Now. Is that what we saw? I’ll give you one guess.

Of course not.

Oddly, the two vaults have been combined into one number (which is how it would be done now, but at the time they would have been considered two distinct vaults; the Podkopayeva and Khorkina I remained two separate vaults in the 2001 COP).

The conspiracy theorist in me thinks it could be a cover-up for not taking the mandatory 0.3 deduction every time Răducan flashed the wrong number in Sydney. #JusticeForKatya

But more importantly (and bizarrely), the vault has been given López’s name. This is the origin of 99% of the issues surrounding the misnomer of the vault. Because it is now literally in black and white in the Bible of women’s artistic gymnastics that this vault is now called a López. Technically, does it even now matter if she didn’t actually compete it?

Well, of course I would argue it most certainly does. Primarily because Ester Moya is the one who deserves that credit. The way Moya has been almost erased from this conversation is incredibly sad and frustrating. She earned that named vault. And for the WTC to not only snub her but give it instead to a gymnast who didn’t even perform it is a figurative slap in the face.

In my humble opinion, it sends the message that the FIG doesn’t care about its athletes; they are just interchangeable parts in a cog of a machine to them.

Look at Sabrina Voinea in Paris—when the FIG decided having humans down on the floor calling the lines was too unsightly and that should take precedence over accuracy.

We saw how that turned out.

The FIG has recently rebranded itself as World Gymnastics, with one of its priorities being to expand global participation in the sport. If this truly is one of the goals, history has shown to view it with a critical eye.

This brings up an interesting point. The FIG was quick to let us know when they decided to re-brand. (I believe it’s likely in hopes of disassociating themselves from the huge scandals of both the 2024 Olympics and 2025 Worlds—where the federation they chose to host the event denied visas to athletes based on political decisions made by those athletes’ government and completely out of their control.)

But where was the press release in 2006? You know, when the new Code came out and the issue concerning this vault was partially rectified? Although Moya’s name was not rightfully included, López’s name was finally removed.

This lack of promoting the correction of a pretty big oversight is absolutely why the vault is still referred to as a López, despite it not being listed as such in the Code for 20 years now.

In my view, if there is one thing that the FIG is good at—it’s failing at forcefully and loudly taking accountability.

Were I a betting man, I’d say there is a 50/50 chance they will ever bother fully fixing their mistake. (Poor Carly Patterson, a literal Olympic all-around champion, has her name misspelled in the Code of Points to this very day).

On the slim chance they ever do, we will not hear a peep from them about it.

After all, nothing has changed in the past 20 years regarding how the FIG advertises corrections. Nothing was said when López’s name was correctly removed from a vault she was never credited with, let alone landed. Earlier this spring, no announcement was made when Svetlana Khorkina was finally given back one of the skills that (in my opinion) had been cruelly stolen from her two decades ago in appeasement of a megalomaniac.

I find it rather fascinating what is listed as the first bullet point in the press release regarding the FIG rebrand:

I have a question for you, World Gymnastics. Does “strengthening athlete visibility and safeguarding” have a statute of limitations? If not, it would be invaluable to show an actual commitment to this principle and that it’s not more lip service.

Ester Moya’s vault is on page 70 of the 2025 Code of Points, number 5.31. It still does not have her name. There is an easy way to rectify that.

Personally, I have a difficult time calling something by a different name if I don’t agree with what that change is purported to represent. For example, Twitter will always be Twitter to me.

Until I see Ester’s name (and also Svetlana Khorkina’s for her first eponymous vault that was taken from her in 2006 and unfairly credited to Liliya Podkopayeva in various ways over the years—vault number 4.20), “World Gymnastics” doesn’t exist as far as I’m concerned. You will remain the FIG to me.

[Again, I cannot thank gymdecoder enough for the assistance he provided with the research of this article. I feel incredibly fortunate to have him as someone in the gymnastics community I am able to consistently rely on.]

Note: to avoid confusion, I will be using “Ónodi” throughout the article to refer to the skill in question.

But wasn’t Henrietta Ónodi, like, 9 years old in 1983? How is that possible?

We’re about to find out.

In the 1979 Code of Points (which Mostepanova competed under), there is a skill very similar to the one she introduced. It was valued at C, the highest category at the time.

When you take into consideration a potential Russian translation of the Code of Points, it’s very possible her coaches thought the skill she performed was already in the Code. Of course, I haven’t seen enough gymnastics from this era to know how prevalent the skill as described actually was. In later years, it was performed by Lyubov Sheremeta and Huang Mandan.

Starting with the 1985 Code of Points, a new skill more akin to the one Mostepanova performed (obviously not credited to her) was introduced—valued at a D (the new most difficult category). This is true of the 1989 COP as well.

Henrietta Ónodi performed the skill that would eventually bear her name as early as 1986. Monica Phelps pointed it out at that year’s Kraft International in the most Monica way possible.

At the conclusion of every Worlds, the FIG would release a list of new elements. Following 1989 Worlds (where Ónodi first performed the skill at a meet eligible for named distinction), the skill was not included. This makes sense, as it was not a new skill.

The 1989 Code also utilized a bonification system largely based on originality. There were specific skills and combinations gymnasts were allowed to use in order to get credit towards this bonus.

The Ónodi was included on the list, but it was not credited to her. (By comparison, we can see that Chen Cuiting’s eponymous skill is attached to its submitter, although not as explicitly as some skills—such as the Garrison.)

So up until this point, there is no confirmation that this skill was ever submitted to be named for Ónodi, nor that it was accepted by the WTC.

So, let’s move on to 1993, the next inception of the Code. This is where things start to get a bit ‘girl, so confusing‘.

Ónodi’s name appears for the first time with the skill. It’s also curiously an E element—a new category created for this Code to further differentiate the most difficult skills.

However, as you may have noticed for the entirety of this skill’s lifespan up to this point, it has been described as an Arabian HANDSPRING. A handspring implies flight—that the gymnast’s arms and legs are not on the beam simultaneously. This is not how Ónodi (and practically everybody else) performed it; her hands were still touching the beam as her foot made contact.

In fact, most people would describe an Ónodi as a walkover-type element. I am insanely curious to know the exact wording Ónodi and her coaches used to describe the skill when having it evaluated. I can only speculate (which is always dangerous when it comes to the WTC), but I would lean towards the submission mirroring the element already in the Code (apparently this was permissible at the time). If that is the case, Ónodi never actually competed the skill she submitted.

This is relevant because things are about to get a wee bit chaotic. But don’t worry, I’m here to hold your hand and walk you through it, step by step.

With the arrival of the 1997 Code, suddenly there were two Ónodis. Well, technically just one, in terms of named skills. But a separate, slightly less-difficult sister skill had been introduced: a walkover version… aka the skill Ónodi actually performed. Possibly to keep up appearances, her name remained on the handspring variation she never competed.

Therefore, 1997 marks the first time that the Ónodi as we know it today (and frankly, as it’s always been known) appears correctly described in the Code of Points. Just minus her name. Because, of course.

The WTC has a long and questionable history of deleting skills from the Code of Points. Sometimes there are reasons; often there are not. I’m convinced at times it has been the result of literal clerical errors.

But the removal of the Arabian handspring from the 2001 Code was absolutely a deliberate and intentional choice.

First, no one was really performing it. Second, it was extremely confusing to have two not easily distinguishable skills with two different ratings. It was a no-brainer to remove the redundant element.

Unfortunately, there are two completely new reasons why it being introduced this way is incredibly confusing.

You may have noticed the walkover variation is the second of two skills sharing a box with one number. The first element is a front aerial—a skill the Ónodi has little in common with. Also, Henrietta’s name went missing alongside the skill with which it was attached.

Let’s tackle the second part first. I have personally seen this happen many times (notably with Svetlana Khorkina). What’s interesting here is that Ónodi never actually performed the skill her name was attached to. It would make logical sense to just transfer it over to the walkover version, which is why earlier I was questioning the exact verbiage of the skill when it was submitted.

If it was submitted as an Arabian handspring but never performed as such, is she entitled to named recognition for a different skill—especially when it had already been first performed at Worlds in 1983? By someone else?

And while you’re pondering that, let's address the other point of confusion. I do know that 2001 was the first Code where a front aerial was (somehow) deemed worthy of a D value. Why didn’t get its own box, instead of sharing a number with “jump backward with ½ twist (180°) to walkover forward”? I have no idea. Probably a matter of kicking it down the road four years until finding the time to “fix” it.

But it would actually turn into five years, because the open-ended Code came to fruition and was not unveiled until 2006.

When the new Code was finally published, that is precisely what happened. The two unconnected skills were separated; the front aerial now had its separate box, 5.417.

Also, apparently the open-ended Code meant there was no need to continue separately categorizing Rolls, Walkovers, and Saltos; they were now all rolled into one category (Acrobatics), no pun intended.

Note the skill was still unnamed. And it would remain nameless for a while.

As an addendum to the Code of Points, the WTC created a Named Skills List in 2009— probably because they figured it was easier than bothering to pretend fixing the myriad mistakes in the COP. (As we all know, changing “Karly” Patterson to “Carly” is incredibly labor intensive.) The Ónodi was credited on the list.

However, it wasn’t until the 2022 Code of Points where Henni was finally and properly united with the skill she is probably best known for. I really love the expeditious nature with which the FIG conducts itself.

So, while technically, the Ónodi remained unnamed for 12 years, in the Beam Elements section of the Code—it was actually 25. That's an entire quarter-century. I don’t think an excuse or reason has ever been given, making it all the more challenging to draw meaningful conclusions for this article.

As with most things in life, common parlance is reality. What’s colloquial is true. It didn’t matter that the skill everyone knew as an Ónodi wasn’t “officially” an Ónodi, regardless of how long that was actually the case. It was still an Ónodi.

But, the real question is—should it be the Mostepanova? I fear just like the number of licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, the world may never know.

[Many thanks as always to the lovely @gymdecoder on Reddit who provided much assistance and patience while researching this article.]

thesovgc is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Quality-wise, there was a clear division (as often happens in beam finals).* There were five gymnasts who got through their routines relatively free of major breaks and the three hopeless ones... who did not.

Placing last in the event was Yulia Lozhechko from Russia. Her demise was the least surprising, considering how much difficulty she had packed into this exercise. She is like if Lyudmila Yezhova, Yelena Produnova, and Yekaterina Lobaznyuk had a baby... somehow. She performed (in no particular order): standing Arabian, straight jump 1 ½, an actual tour jeté (i.e. showing 180°, Sveta Khorkina—eat your heart out!), standing front tuck, and a Patterson dismount. This is in addition to the side aerial + side somi connection she biffed.

Most devastating of The Hopeless was reigning World champ Fan Ye. I am beginning to think perhaps her EF performance in Anaheim was a fluke, because she has seemed to buckle in every other high-pressure situation to which I’ve borne witness. She collapsed to the degree that she somehow ended up with a 9.2 SV 😬.

The third Hopeless was our beloved Anna Anatolyevna Pavlova. I largely checked out of gymnastics for a good two years after Athens (which is why it took approximately 18 years to discover Anna’s incredible floor routine from 2006 Worlds). It didn’t help that in the US, Worlds got delegated to an obscure network with the dislikes of Tasha Schwikert allegedly providing expert commentary.

I also was discouraged by Anna’s lack of results from this time frame, including here. She doesn’t appear to be in peak form, but she still should be making her Mostepanova 😪. Bless.

Moving on to The Contenders.

Monette Russo, the AA bronze medalist here in Melbourne, delivered a solid routine. But as LEGENDARY commentator Liz Chetkovich points out, she really needed to be error-free to get into the medals, as her start value was only 9.8. The standard was high at the top.

Olympic all-around bronze-medalist Zhang Nan was the first competitor; she also took out her layout stepout mount for some reason, instantly losing a tenth in start value that would have given her the silver. Very demure. Very mindful. Otherwise, she was incredibly strong aside from her typical pauses, and was rewarded with a 9.487 from a 9.9 SV.

This is probably the best beam routine I have seen Chellsie Memmel do, although the lower-quality footage definitely plays to her strengths. It was interesting to see Liz mention that Memmel possibly submitted the piked barani for naming consideration; I’ve no idea what exactly came of that, but apparently the WTC reneged. Shocker.

Similar to Lozhechko, Memmel has lots of big-ticket items. And she is🎵solid, solid as a rock🎵on all of them. Just the most minuscule of hops on her double pike, but otherwise no execution deductions.

The not-so-great news is that her score is 9.512 out of a 10.0 SV, meaning there are some built-in things the judges honed in on. But Memmel sets the mark to beat early.

Immediately following Chellsie is the myth, the legend—iconic icon Cătălina Ponor. She looks as though she’s just come off the plane from Ibiza, and apparently that may not be too far from the truth. I guess Cătă hasn’t exactly been on her best behavior of late. It surely seems as though her hair has a story to tell.

Reading between the lines, Liz and companion imply Ponor hasn’t exactly been prioritizing preparing for Worlds. (And it definitely showed during the prelims on floor.)

Still, I am shook to see her miss her very first acrobatic connection. That’s so NOT CĂTĂ.

Now, my memory may be acting up again, but I believe Ponor shows a new combination of Kochetkova through to whip. Also a new tuck jump full, done very nicely.

All in all, she gets through the rest of the routine near-faultlessly (as even Ponor at 85% on beam is low-key God Tier). Just a slight check on the whip and a little chest down on the double pike.

But she’s left the door as wide open as Cristina Bontaş’ legs on a Yurchenko preflight entry. The Olympic beam champion is likely getting dethroned.

Sure enough, the broken connection costs her 0.1 in SV and her score is 9.500—barely putting her just behind Memmel. Predictably, Cătă is not happy.

The ranking of the first three gymnasts holds all the way until the final competitor, Nastia Liukin, prepares to mount the beam.

Nastia was in the midst of a whirlwind of a World senior debut. She had just won her first World title on uneven bars, days after being placed second in the all-around. This was despite mathematically receiving the identical all-around total score as gold medalist Chellsie Memmel. And unlike the bars situation in Beijing, it wasn’t a nonsensical tie-break at fault here. No, it was even worse—the FIG and their insistence on truncating scores three places after the decimal point instead of accurately using all four.

A class act, Nastia handled the situation better than the FIG deserved. I would have started a riot—or at least pulled a Surya.

Liukin scored a 9.587 (9.5875 to be mathematically exact) on beam during the all-around after qualifying with a 9.262 (9.2625). Obviously, a repeat of her AA performance would be good for gold; replicating her routine from prelims leaves her off the podium.

And almost as if she was bred for this type of situation, Nastia is cool as a cucumber. She hits everything. Back-handspring into two layout stepouts. Pristine. Side somi. Gorgeous. Mostepanova into wolf-full. Lack of amplitude on the jump, but the connection was cleanly done. Front aerial + 🐑 jump. Clean as a whistle. Switch + switch side. Молодец. And she is giving us all the extension, all the flexibility, all the artistic merit. It’s loverly.

All that’s left is her dismount. Round-off + triple full. She needs to get within ¼ of rotation on the landing, or else it will get devalued and she will lose a tenth in start value—in addition to whatever landing deductions are incurred.

It’s a squeaker, but I’d say she got 2 ¾ around. There will be a mandatory 0.2 deduction for being less than 90 but greater than 45 degrees short of rotation. (It would almost be safer to take the 9.9 SV and do a clean 2 ½ twister, honestly.) But it should easily be above a 9.512.

Everyone seems to understand as such. The camera flashes to the Memmels—Wisconsin Nice and politely clapping for her.

Then we pan to Cătă. And to say she is displeased would be the understatement of the century. She is almost slouched in defiance, an expression on her face that can be mistaken for nothing but pure, unadulterated disgust.

Liz even says, “If looks could kill.” Yikes on bikes.

And it’s interesting because she’s not even losing gold. She’s going from second to third. But it has been a good 20 minutes or so since she competed. Maybe she had already tried to make the most of her disappointment by envisioning a complementary silver to match the one she’d won in Anaheim?

But who knows? Emotion is rarely a logical animal. And the way Cătă disapprovingly looks at Nastia is my Roman Empire. Comedy gold each and every time.

I made a couple of videos about Cătă a few years ago (of course this incident was included), and I had no luck trying to locate footage from the medal ceremony. But either my research was horrible back then or the footage has surfaced since. In any case, at long last, I finally found some pics!

Cătă is serving exactly as I expected, barely a whisper of a smile to be found.

But all in all, this was an enjoyable final with good gymnastics shown—even from the gymnasts who made mistakes. I love Cătă to death, but ultimately I have no issue with Chellsie beating her here. And not gonna lie, I kind of thought I might.

In all these years, I’d seen Nastia’s routine many times, and Cătă’s routine at least twice. However, I do not recall watching Memmel’s routine prior to this. Perhaps I just assumed the broken connection was the difference, and there was no other value to be found; and while that is true (the broken connection part), it definitely discounts how good Chellsie’s routine was.

Also, like Cătă, Chellsie is a survivor of the beam final at 2003 Worlds in Anaheim. Only she didn’t medal; she actually fell, scoring 8.837 (8.8375 to be exact, #NeverForgetTheFive).

So this is actually quite the redemption story for Chellsie Memmel, honestly. I try to give gymnasts their flowers when deserved, and Chellsie absolutely deserved them here 💐💐💐.

*[Full final can be found on my Instagram here.]

The line-up order was so perfect as to have been preordained by Aliya herself. First up was Shawn Johnson, the kind of athlete advertisers would walk on hot coals to work with. I imagine she was a hit with the key demographics. A 2008 Sydney Sweeney, if you will—only seeming to actually be genuine and sweet.

As the reigning World Floor Champion, Shawn qualified third into the final, but had extra difficulty planned that she didn’t perform in the preliminaries.

Performing to the soundtrack to August Rush (a confounding music selection that at one point includes sirens or siren-esque sounds that are not-at-all distracting), Shawn gets down to business. Her Pryakhina is solid as a rock. There is a charm to her work that feels very sincere, and it comes to her quite naturally. And there’s absolutely a charismatic quality to her gymnastics.

Yet on the other hand, there are also moments of befuddling skill selection—such as the “switch ring” leap of such questionable quality that it has to be put in quotation marks. Her second pass of whip + triple full is also sometimes shaky; this time it appeared fully rotated, but she had a large, uncontrolled step out of it. But overall, a solid hit routine.

She scores 15.500, setting the benchmark for everyone else to catch.

NBC commentators Tim Daggett, Elfi Schlegel, and Al Trautwig state this will be very difficult to beat (conveniently ignoring that Sandra Izbașa and Cheng Fei have already both done that twice).

Russian Katya Kramarenko delivers a sublimely beautiful exercise, but a costly out-of-bounds coupled with her mid-level difficulty will find her in the purgatory known as fifth place.

NBC says nothing during her routine—other than Al helpfully pointing out her out-of-bounds to possible visually impaired viewers. The routine is treated as fodder to further amplify Shawn’s alleged supremacy. “And this should certainly not pass Shawn Johnson. No way,” Tim confidently retorts. Well, duh.

We have now reached the Highway Robbery portion of the competition. Jiang Yuyuan performs the hell out of her extremely well-choreographed and polished routine. All of her landings have zero or minimal deductions, unlike the turbulent journey that was Shawn’s second pass. Yuyuan also has the emphatic home-crowd support behind her, the ooohs and ahhhs a perfect complement to her star-quality presentation.

The only visible issue is the excessive preparation for the triple turn, which is not ideal. But otherwise, what an absolute delight!

As we wait for Jiang’s score, Al uses this moment to tell us that Shawn had the entire house in the palm of her hand—a laughable assessment when we literally just saw that with Jiang. He then makes yet another needless comment, comparing Shawn’s “great smile [she’s had] for years” to Yuyuan’s “non-traditional smile, like many of the women from Asia”. ???

To quote drag great Yvie Oddly, “What does that have to do with anything, b****?”

Jiang’s score of 15.350 comes up, and it’s not just the difficulty score where she is behind Johnson. Her execution is judged inferior as well. I call bullshit. For penance, those judges should be forced to watch slow-motion footage of Shawn’s “switch ring”. On loop. Forever.

Brazil is still awaiting its first Olympic medal, and I fear that wait will continue after Daiane dos Santos’ performance. Daiane actually gets off to a fabulous start with her first two landings, but you can see her inner saboteur surfacing as she prepares for her double layout.

She haphazardly flies out of bounds as though landing on a trampoline. For good measure, she racks up another OOB on her double pike dismount. Oh Daiane.

For NBC, everything in this Final is narrated from the perspective of Shawn Johnson. And I know she currently is the leader, but this is a deliberate choice. For example, the BBC coverage does not use this framing technique. They don’t appear to have a team of producers and writers to create narratives and build storyboards. Probably more cost-effective, in addition to being… you know, a better way to cover sport.

Perpetual Robbed Goddess Anna Pavlova is next—but not before Al inappropriately mentions Nastia Liukin’s “slender balletic body”. Face-palm.

Anna is now advanced enough in her career that it’s not only the judges she’s fighting against; the Russian coaches have her out there counting A dance skills. Literally throwing away tenths.

Because of that (and her refusal to tumble a double twist for peasant points), Anna Anatolyevna is not in medal contention. Yet her Exodus routine is typically the star of the show regardless.

Not tonight, though. She badly under-rotates her whip + triple full, falling forward like a newborn fawn taking its first steps directly upon freshly fallen snow.

This is only the second-worst mistake of the routine, as she goes into complete Tatyana Lysenko IDGAF mode and falls to her knees on her double pike. Thank God for that bronze on vault from Athens.

Next is Cheng Fei, who literally has an entire nation rooting for her. But did they want it too badly for her? In an unprecedented and strange decision, the organizers had changed the order in which the Event Finals would be competed—which had always followed what is known as Olympic Order (vault, bars, beam, floor).

Instead, vault and floor were scheduled for the first day. Allegedly this was in hopes of facilitating a “China Day” coronation of sorts for Cheng Fei on her two best events.

Something tells me you shouldn’t attempt to mess with the natural order of things like that, because the universe will fight back. And in this case, Fei Fei had to pay the price for China’s presumptuousness.

This plan had already backfired on vault, where she had put both hands down on her second attempt. Controversially, she had still won the bronze medal. Did a similar fate await her on floor?

As she begins her exercise, she is focused to the point of it being distracting to the flow of her routine. The telegraph is telegraphing. This isn’t the same fresh-faced ingénue who barely missed the podium four years prior in Athens. This is a woman who carries the burden of a nation on her face. Visibly.

Under that kind of pressure, it’s unlikely she even had a chance—but she fights through the first two-thirds of her routine as best she can. She stumbles out of her triple turn, but that isn’t a deal-beaker for her medal chances.

No, that comes on the fourth and easiest pass in the routine—a 1 ½ + front full. She underrotates, her knees buckling under her as she falls back and touches both hands to the floor.

The entire arena is in shock, and I feel so horrible for her. I just want to give her a hug.

Two gymnasts to go.

Next is Люкина Анастасия Валерьевна. Also known as Nastia Liukin. Nastia was born in Moscow but moved to the US as a toddler. As such, she is culturally American. But her gymnastics? It’s low-key more Russian than the Russians, honestly.

This routine is a work of art. The choreography is incredibly intricate, the timing—impeccable. Her amazing flexibility is highlighted to great effect throughout. Just look at this switch ring—no quotations necessary!

And while not a powerhouse like Shawn Johnson, her tumbling elements and connections have been selected with clear intent. Her father/coach Valeri can be visibly heard rooting her on, and it’s giving Bela Karolyi—in a good way.

Nastia hits her final pose, having delivered a stunning exercise. Tim calls it a royal routine. After 16 years of doing NBC’s bidding, Elfi lashes out and states she never tires of watching routines like this. This is a “display of true women’s artistic gymnastics” and Nastia has it all. Hmmm, almost makes you think that in some hypothetical fictional universe that is not at all this Floor Final, there just might be some not-so-true women’s artistic gymnastics on display.

Also… careful Elfi, you wouldn’t want to lose your job to the woman you are currently fighting the narrative by defending. Oh, the irony.

Now Elfi is really going off the plantation, calling the gold for Nastia before her score has even come up.

Then it does. And boy it must have been such a mess cleaning that egg off her face.

Nastia had 0.2 less difficulty than Shawn, but her superior execution was just not enough to make up the difference. Her score is 15.425. I’m 100% with Elfi though. I would have Johnson third right now behind Liukin and Jiang.

Tim and Al are right there to get things back on script. Tim reasons Shawn having “a little more difficulty” for maintaining her lead.

Al again just blathers. Something about what are the chances that a Chinese émigré would coach his American athlete to the Chinese Olympics? In China?

Anyway, crisis averted.

Closing the show is Sandra Raluca Izbașa, pre-glow-up. (There is little resemblance between this person and the young woman who competed using the same name two years later in Rotterdam.)

A couple years ago, I made a video ranking the choreography of all the routines in this Final—and I had Sandra fifth. My biggest issue is one of composition; she does two full-twisting double backs as her first two passes (first piked and then tucked) with little time in between the two.

It’s not until right before her fourth pass that she really lets her hair down and actually perform. But it is definitely worth the wait. This routine is well-constructed, and it helps that she has a great piece of music to work with.

In real time, I remember her preparing for her final pass, a triple twist, and praying for a stick. This moment held such weight in my mind. So much about the sport I had loved for 16 years had been completely upended—very much to its detriment.

For me in 2008, Shawn Johnson embodied everything about this new post-2005 gymnastics world. Her lack of flexibility, the improper technique, the artistry that left you starved—no, FAMISHED. How could this be what the judges wanted to reward??

Sandra wasn’t Natasha Ilyenko. Hell, she wasn’t even Nastia. But she was our only hope to deny a victory to Nellie Kim and her Intelligentsia Incompetencia.

Izbașa stuck her dismount and nailed her ending pose—the crowd erupting in delighted approval.

Tim has the audacity to say that Sandra’s routine was not better than Shawn’s. Once her winning total of 15.650 comes up, it’s his turn to look foolish.

The excuses start flying fast and furious. Izbașa had an advantage because she went up last. The judges respected her for leading Romania to an unexpected bronze in the team event (?).

Of course, Sandra also scored higher than Shawn in both the qualification round and Team Final, but whatever. It’s all a conspiracy to not reward Shawn and her amazing difficulty. (Don’t be fooled by the fact that Izbașa had a tenth higher D score—that must be some kind of optical illusion.)

It’s also interesting that during the BBC commentary, Johnson isn’t even mentioned as a contender in their introduction. Christine Still and Mitch Finner logically predict a duel between Cheng and Izbașa, with Liukin as a dark horse. Funny how things look without the bias of American jingoism blinding your eyes.

As the years have flown by, I have found myself disliking Shawn Johnson less and less. Maybe it’s just the general resignation and cynicism that comes with age. Or possibly it’s because the sport has become even more unrecognizable with each passing year.

When I re-watched this for the aforementioned video I made, I was shocked at how much I sort of liked Shawn’s routine. It seemed silly how invested I was in its demise all those years ago. Of course, it’s always easy to see that in retrospect, but at the time I really felt I was Artistry’s Strongest Soldier. Cringe.

I still feel she should have finished off the podium, but it really goes to show what a high-quality floor final this was—and delivered under the harshest of Olympic pressure. Kadooz to these eight young women for putting on one hell of a show!

*[The entire Final can be found here.]

I have had many arguments about age limits in gymnastics. I have included my thoughts in many videos over the years. I wrote an essay about it, via the angle of race and racism. (You can find it here.) I'm familiar with all the talking points, and have ambivalent feelings, at best, about the more "the higher the minimum age, the better" arguments.

Basically, I've always found myself in the position of defending younger gymnasts competing. It has been especially mind-warping to find myself now in disagreement with people who have a similar opinion.

Where we agree is that the history of gymnastics is rich with incredible performances from athletes who would now be age-ineligible to compete, and that this is a bad thing. Also, every gymnast is different and while some gymnasts have the luxury to compete as long as she wishes (thanks to the incredible developments in science and sports medicine, which have made it more and more viable), that is not true of everyone.

Some gymnasts, through no fault of their own and purely due to biology, legitimately peak at 14 years of age. I know many will vehemently disagree with this statement, but it is what I feel to be true.

So, it is a sad reality that those gymnasts are just out of luck now beyond possibly a fruitful and (likely) mostly anonymous junior career. Despite what any of us want or think is feasible, the FIG will never revert to the old age limits. And I am perfectly fine with the current rule of 16 being the minimum age. It wouldn't be my rule, but I think it is a perfectly reasonable one.

My issue with this whole, "Who Cares?" philosophy is that it is extremely short-sighted. It does not acknowledge the evolution of the sport and its current implication in today's climate. Why should one country get to play by their own set of rules to the detriment of fairness in sport? How is that fair?

There seems to be an unwillingness to separate the issue that 14- and 15-year-olds at one time could compete (legally) from the morality of breaking the rules to continue to do so. This is where I part with a surprising amount of people in thinking.

I don't think it's fair that one country can continue to use the old rules when I think the sport would be better if everyone could. Maybe it's the perpetual bitterness seeping deep within me, but I don't like that China clearly has had a systemic decades-long issue of falsifying ages (with no known or probable end) and has received next to zero punishment for it. Gymnastics-history.com has been writing incredible articles on this topic, with receipts. gymnasticshistory.com/age

Yes, China was stripped of their team medals from the 1999 Worlds and 2000 Olympics. But that felt more like a compromise because the FIG was unable to do anything about the actual pressing issue of the time—He Kexin had miraculously gone from 14 to 16 in the span of less than one year and was only rewarded for it.

Punitive measures are often looked down upon as not really solving anything, and maybe it wouldn't. The FIG has made it even easier for China to compete underage gymnasts until the end of time. But at least it would show the FIG has a backbone. That they actually believe in the rules they've instilled. Because their actions show that it's merely lip service.

After all, what even are rules if they're merely window-dressing? The FIG has shown time and time again an inability to effectively enforce their own scripture. If this practice continues (and I see no reason why it wouldn't), then just abolish the age limit altogether.