by Rob Leachman
This Series
- Introduction
- Part I – Randy Matson
- Part II – Parry O’Brien
- Part III – Ryan Crouser
- Conclusion
Part One – Randy Matson
“Frankly, the event didn’t excite me too much,” Randy Matson offered regarding his first experience with the shot put. In his first track meet at the age of twelve, after winning the 50-yard dash, the 100-yard dash, the high jump, and the long jump, he could muster no better than a sixth-place finish in the shot put. One of the greatest shot putters of all time, the future world record holder’s debut in the event showed little evidence of the greatness that would ensue.
Growing up in the small Texas panhandle town of Pampa, Charlie and Ellen Matson’s son showed early potential for stardom in three different sports. At a tall and lanky 6-6 and 210 pounds, the humble young athlete played fullback on the Pampa High School football team, running fifty yards for the winning touchdown against archrival Amarillo High School his senior year. In a basketball career good enough to garner numerous scholarship offers, Matson led the team in scoring, averaging fifteen points a game and earning all-state honors. But it was on defense that he excelled on the basketball court, leading the West Texas State basketball coach to refer to Randy Matson as, “the best defensive player I’ve seen. He reminds me of Bill Russell.”
It was in track and field, however, that the young Texan would stake his claim as one of the greatest to ever compete in his chosen event. By the time he had graduated from Pampa High School in 1963, he had twice obliterated each of the Texas state track meet records in the shot put and discus and threatened both national scholastic records in the process. His senior year, he was named the prestigious “High School Athlete of the Year” by Track and Field News.
Becoming a Texas A&M Aggie
Such a prodigious high school talent was naturally the focus of some of the most intense recruitment of any schoolboy athlete in Texas history. He received offers to attend over 200 colleges, most for track and field, some for basketball, and several for both. Focused clearly on the shot put, Matson eventually narrowed his list of possible destinations to five schools. Texas was a natural choice given its prominence in his native state. Texas A&M offered relative isolation, a focus on his studies and training, and an emergent weight training program, something still new to track and field and a training regimen foreign to Randy Matson. Oklahoma was included because of its proximity to Pampa. Kansas had one of the top programs in the country and had been home to Bill Neider, 1960 gold medalist in the shot put, and Al Oerter, at that time two Olympic titles on the way to his record-setting four in the discus. Kansas head coach Bill Easton was the most persistent recruiter, leading Charlie Matson to comment, “I never got so tired of a man in my life. Seems like every time I looked up, he was standing at the front door.”
The early front runner was Southern California, the alma mater of two-time shot put Olympic champion Parry O’Brien, bronze and future gold medalist Dallas Long, and Rink Babka, silver medalist in the discus in 1960. As Matson later reflected, “When I was a junior, I was pretty well set on Southern Cal.” He had been impressed by Coach Vern Wolfe, and the success of Southern Cal throwers was indisputable. On his recruiting trip to Los Angeles, he toured the campus and the city with O’Brien and Long, staying in a nice hotel ($50 a night) and dining in some of the city’s best (and most expensive) restaurants, and visiting the relatively new Disneyland. Matson would later comment on the prices paid in Los Angeles, “One place they took me in California, coffee cost 50 cents a cup. I couldn’t go to school out there.”
College Station, Texas, the home of Texas A&M, is located between Waco, Austin, and Houston, but not particularly close to any of these cities. In 1963, it was particularly isolated, and for a focused student-athlete like Randy Matson, the most significant diversions were studying and training. As he later reflected with great candor, “I doubt if very many people here really like this place. But it’s a great place to train. And I’m here strictly to train and to study.”
Matson had become the best high school thrower without the benefit of any weight training, and he realized that if he wanted to become the best in the world, he needed to get bigger, packing tens of pounds onto his 6-6 frame. And to accomplish that, he needed to follow the example of O’Brien and Long and implement an intensive weight lifting program.
Randy Matson committed to attend and compete for Texas A&M in no small part because of Emil Mamaliga. The Aggie weight coach had been a swimmer of note in his younger days and was known as a reputable physical therapist. But it was as the coach who guided Randy Matson to pack on the sixty pounds of muscle he utilized to shatter world records that became Mamaliga’s signature achievement. The coach summed up the situation succinctly when he famously stated, “You can’t fire a sixteen-inch shell from a PT boat. You have to have a big, heavy ship.”
Working with his new trainer, Matson began the process of building that “big, heavy ship” immediately upon moving into his fourth-floor dorm room in College Station. He would complete a grueling weight lifting session and then struggle to make it up the stairs to his dorm room. “It was killing me,” Matson later recalled. “I was certain it was a mistake to work that hard with the weights. I was convinced I was tearing my body down rather than building it up.” He was, of course, wrong.
But Mamaliga saw something special in his new young charge. With exceptional athletes, he played a “little game of mental chess” by creating a lifting program a little more physically demanding than he believed the athlete could handle. When the athlete inevitably complained, Mamaliga would back off to a slightly less demanding program the athlete could handle, making both athlete and coach happy. As he recalled about his most famous athlete, “I kept waiting for Randy to come to me but he never did. That’s when I was certain that he had an even brighter future than some people thought. He was a great competitor, even against himself.”
That hard work paid off as Matson packed on the pounds and his performance levels in both the shot put and discus continued to improve. By the end of his first year at Texas A&M, a year in which by NCAA rules as a freshman he couldn’t yet compete in varsity meets, the youngster was amazingly a contender for a spot on the U.S. Olympic team traveling to Tokyo. Through his hard work in completing the grueling weight workouts Mamaliga put him through, Matson had added forty pounds to his lanky frame. And with the added strength and power that accompanied that increased bulk, the young nineteen-year-old continued to improve his performance. He surpassed 60 feet, then 61, 62, and 63. At the 1964 AAU Championships, the meet that would determine not only the national champion but also who would qualify to compete in the Olympic Trials, Matson reached 64-11 to win the title, defeating world record-holder Dallas Long for the only time in their short rivalry.
Teenage Olympic Medalist – Tokyo 1964
The Olympic Trials in 1964 provided for athletes to be selected for the Olympic team through a two-pronged process. First, the initial Trials were held on Randall’s Island in New York City. The top three finishers at that initial meet would then have to demonstrate at a second meet two months later in Los Angeles that they had maintained their competitive edge. In New York, on his last throw of the competition, Matson threw 62-9 to move into second place. It was a full two feet behind Dallas Long’s winning throw, but barring an unanticipated setback, the young Texan was going to Tokyo.
Maintaining a “competitive edge” is by design an ambiguous standard, and as a result, the “Final Trials” in Los Angeles provided tremendous tension. “Never before or since have I felt the pressure like that,” Matson later reflected. “My legs were actually shaking and I felt weak.” His performance that day was anything but “weak,” as he improved on his performance at the Trials meet, reaching 63-10. The team representing the United States in the shot put at the Tokyo Games remained unchanged: Dallas Long, Randy Matson, and Parry’O’Brien, a sentimental fan favorite who would be competing in his fourth Olympics.
The prohibitive favorite to win the gold medal was Dallas Long, fresh off his most recent world record of 67-10. But while Long remained in California as he finished up some dental school coursework, Matson had continued his training in the Olympic Village in Tokyo. And with some practice throws beyond 65 feet, some prognosticators were beginning to believe Matson might pull off an upset over his more established rival, just as he had done earlier that summer at the AAU National Championships. In Tokyo to work primarily with field event athletes, respected Stanford head coach Payton Jordan clearly saw the upside for the young Texan. As he said before the competition began, “(Matson’s) workout throws indicate he’s capable of throwing two or three more feet in competition. He’s the competitive type who doesn’t bend under pressure.” Randy Matson was much more circumspect in discussing his chances. “It would have to be a case of Long having a very bad day and me having a very good day for me to win it,” he reflected before the qualifying rounds.
It almost happened that way.
The Olympic Games represent the biggest and brightest stage for track and field, and in the early rounds, the young nineteen-year-old showed his age and inexperience. His initial throw in the Final barely exceeded 60 feet, then his second-round throw reached 62-11 to move him into third place behind Long and Vilmos Varju of Hungary. Before his third-round effort, Matson gathered himself (“had a long talk with myself,” as he described it) and mentally focused for a maximum effort. The result was an outstanding throw of 65-2 to put him in the lead by nearly a foot over Dallas Long.
Feeling a little less pressure in the fourth round, Matson exploded to a personal best 66-3¼, breaking the Olympic Record set by Bill Neider four years earlier and extending his lead over Dallas Long to nearly two feet. The teenager from Texas was on the cusp of becoming an Olympic gold medalist.
Randy Matson’s Olympic Record lasted all of three minutes.
Dallas Long had been considered the heir apparent to the Olympic title since finishing third to the now-retired Bill Neider and the aging Parry O’Brien four years earlier, and his world record performances had solidified those expectations. He would not cede the gold medal to an upstart (but extremely talented) teenager without a fight, as he proved with his fourth-round effort. Long claimed the Olympic Record and the lead from Matson with a 66-8½ effort that surpassed Matson by a scant but very significant five and one-half inches.
None of the top throwers improved in the final two rounds, and the medalists were Dallas Long, Randy Matson, and Vilmos Varju, who edged out Parry O’Brien for the bronze medal. For Long, it had been a brilliant, come-from-behind effort, but for Matson, it had been a harbinger of the future. The gold medalist seemed to recognize this in his post-meet comments. “I’m retiring,” he proclaimed. “And it is just as well. This guy was fantastic out there today. Two more years and he’ll be throwing the thing out of sight. He has everything – strength, timing, poise, and a great competitive spirit. I’m glad I got my gold medal this time because it’s going to be his to win four years from now.”
For his part as he reflected on his first Olympic experience, Matson said, “I’m thrilled to have been here. That I threw farther than I ever have before and won the silver medal makes it that much better.”
Long was prescient in suggesting that Randy Matson would “throw the thing out of sight,” though it wouldn’t require two years for him to do so.
Chasing the 70-foot Barrier
With Dallas Long retired and Parry O’Brien taking a hiatus from shot putting to focus on the discus, Matson had no American shot putters to provide any competition. It didn’t matter. As he continued to improve during his first season as a varsity athlete at Texas A&M, it was considered largely inevitable that at some point he would break the world record. A quadrangular meet with Baylor, Southern Methodist, and Texas scheduled for a mid-April evening at Kyle Field on the A&M campus seemed like a good opportunity for Matson to break the record on his home track.
In anticipation of a possible record attempt, groundskeepers surveyed and manicured the shot put facility to ensure it met requirements for record consideration. A yellow line was placed in the landing sector to signify the current world record distance, 67-10. The competition was hyped in College Station, and a good crowd was on hand in hopes of seeing something special.
Everything seemed right except that Matson struggled through much of the competition. “I was close to putting it together,” he reflected afterward, “but I just wasn’t throwing well. I had about given up on getting it that night.” Then came his final throw. The large crowd became silent as the now twenty-year-old positioned himself at the back of the ring. He dipped into a crouch then drove his left leg across the ring, and with one continual motion, the sixteen-pound metal ball seemingly exploded out of his right hand. The shot landed 67-11¼ away, and just like that, Dallas Long’s world record had been broken by just more than an inch. He had been winning meets by huge margins but had increasingly felt pressure to break the record. With this throw, so much of that pressure had been alleviated, and his concept of competition and of himself as an athlete had been altered. As he reflected later, “That night changed my whole attitude about competing. For the first time, I sincerely felt I was the best in the world. From that time on I had everything I could hope for except the gold medal.”
This first world record began a string of performances during the 1965 season that constituted the greatest year of improvement in the history of the men’s shot put event.
At a low-key triangular meet on the campus of the University of Texas in Austin a few weeks later, all eyes were on Matson as a few hundred spectators surrounded the shot put area. The newly crowned world record-holder was hobbled slightly by a strained ligament in his left knee, a lingering injury from his football-playing days at Pampa High School. But the knee brace he wore seemed not to bother him at all as he prepared for his second-round throw. After exploding out of his hand, the shot landed 69-¾ away, his not-yet-ratified world record surpassed by more than a foot. With that throw, Randy Matson had become the first thrower to reach both the sixty-eight and sixty-nine-foot levels.
Commenting after the meet, Matson said, “Everything happened to go just right. I felt like it might be a sixty-eight, It felt better than a sixty-seven, but I didn’t expect it to be a sixty-nine.” The recently-retired Dallas Long commented on Matson’s performance, “It really doesn’t surprise me. He’s capable of seventy feet, and it will probably be soon.” Long was again spot-on regarding his former rival’s future.
There are many iconic “barriers” in track and field that have been the subject of idyllic quests, the breaking of which have constituted historic events. In men’s track and field, such iconic marks have included the seven-foot high jump, the ten-second 100-meter dash, the 200-foot discus throw, and of greatest historical note, the four-minute mile.
Added to that list could be the 70-foot shot put. As the 1965 season began, the record in that event had been 67-10 and the record-holder had recently retired from competition. Though Randy Matson had demonstrated tremendous potential in winning the silver medal in Tokyo, most knowledgeable followers of the shot put event believed the young Texan to be a few years from reaching that iconic distance, if he reached it at all. The progression of the men’s shot put record, after all, had been steady and incremental, with occasional increases most typically of a few inches.
Matson himself seemed to share this skepticism. As he suggested, “Until I did sixty-nine feet. . . I didn’t think I could throw seventy feet. Then I thought I had a chance, but not right away.”
His performance at the Southwest Conference Championships, however, would permanently alter that line of thinking. In a competition he would win by more than fifteen feet, on May 8, 1965, Randy Matson made history.
Performing again at Kyle Field on the Texas A&M campus, Matson on his first throw reached 68-8, a huge throw that decimated the Southwest Conference meet record. Perhaps as an indication that something special was on the horizon, Matson suggested his initial effort had come off the side of his hand. Knowing there was more distance within him, the young sophomore impatiently paced around the infield as he waited for his second attempt. With the crowd of around 8,000 focused intently on him, Matson entered the ring for his next throw. He drove across the circle and released the shot with a loud shout, watching it land well past the line signifying the current world record of 69-¾. With officials meticulously measuring the throw to ensure there were no discrepancies for record consideration, the measurement took longer than usual. When the distance was announced, 70-7¼, Randy Matson had attained his third world record and, more notably, had shattered one of the sport’s iconic barriers.
To put this performance in perspective, that throw had broken his still fresh world record by more than a foot-and-a-half, a huge increase. When the season had begun, Dallas Long’s record had stood at 67-10. On this day, at a time when other top throwers in the world struggled to reach 64 feet, the five legal throws in Randy Matson’s series had averaged 68-10, a foot longer than Long’s previous record.
Of perhaps even greater significance, in one month, Matson had increased the world record by almost three feet, a historically unprecedented string of improvements for any athlete. Randy Matson was only twenty-years-old and his future in the event seemed to have no ceiling. (Virtually unnoticed that day was Matson’s performance in winning the Southwestern Conference title in the discus, throwing 199-7½ to break the collegiate discus record in the process.)
What qualities contributed to Randy Matson being such a dominant shot putter, a young athlete throwing nearly three feet farther than any other thrower in history? As with most top athletes, there were several. Compared to most of his contemporary rivals, Matson was tall, 6-6, and by the time of his record-breaking streak, he had lifted his way to a lean 255 pounds. By comparison, his chief rivals in the early part of his career (Parry O’Brien – 6-2½ and 245; Dallas Long – 6-4 and 260) were significantly shorter. Even Bill Neider, the Olympic champion and world record-holder before Long, was 6-3½ and 250. A taller thrower has an inherent biomechanical advantage over a shorter individual, with the shot released from a higher point and naturally traveling a longer distance. Adding to that advantage, Matson had what biomechanics experts call “long levers,” basically longer arms and legs from which to add force behind the implement.
Using the glide technique all top throwers utilized in the mid-1960s, most shot put experts considered Matson’s technique solid if unspectacular. Watching video of Matson in his prime viewed at regular speed, it would appear that the huge, young athlete was rather slow across the ring. But Matson was actually very agile and surprisingly quick as he moved from the back of the circle to the throwing position. His size and those long levers helped to create an illusion of slowness that belied the 10.2 speed in the 100-yard dash he had demonstrated in high school.
For Randy Matson was a truly explosive thrower, enough so to differentiate him from his contemporary rivals in the eyes of many knowledgeable observers. As Payton Jordan, the Stanford coach who had worked with the young A&M Aggie at the Tokyo Olympics, suggested as Matson was beginning his world record spree, “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he exclaimed. “His foot explodes, his calf explodes, his thigh explodes, his hip, his back, his shoulder, his triceps, and right out to the very tips of his fingers. It’s like a whole string of firecrackers going off.”
As Matson himself explained after his seventy-foot throw, “I use my fingers a lot more than Dallas Long and Parry O’Brien. I like a lot of wrist action.” With his youth and relatively recent initiation of a weight training program, Matson lacked the strength these Olympic champions had brought to the event. As he commented shortly before his first 70-foot throw, “. . . I’m not as strong as guys like Parry O’Brien and Dallas Long. My best bench press is 350 pounds. Long’s is 510. My advantage is in height and reach.”
Strong or not, Randy Matson used sound technique, deceptive speed and athleticism, and an extended pull through his long legs and arm to put the sixteen-pound shot almost three feet farther than had any other thrower.
The “Alphabet Wars”
Amateur athletics in the United States in the 1960s were characterized in part by conflict among the various governing bodies, with top athletes like Randy Matson caught between two forces seeking to solidify power. The National Collegiate Athletic Association, or NCAA, governed intercollegiate athletics while the Amateur Athletics Union, or AAU, governed various sports, including track and field. In 1965, Matson planned to represent Texas A&M at the NCAA Championships where he was heavily favored to win national titles in both the shot put and discus. Then there were the AAU Championships at which overall national champions would be crowned, and of course, the world record-holder was just as heavily favored to win the shot put at this open meet. Matson was particularly looking forward to competing in the AAU meet because the results of that competition would determine the team that would represent the United States in a dual meet against the Soviets in Kiev (now Kyiv), a huge event during the heart of the Cold War.
An edict was issued from the top leadership of the NCAA declaring that any collegiate athlete competing in the AAU meet would risk losing his or her scholarship and having his or her university placed on probation. Conversely, AAU by-laws suggested that any athlete competing in a competition not sanctioned by the AAU could risk his or her amateur status, and by extension the opportunity to represent the United States in international competitions, including the Olympics. It was like a game of chicken between two unreasonable competing governing bodies, with athletes like the top shot putter in the world caught in the middle.
As Matson later commented, “Had it been just me involved, I would have competed in both meets and let them worry about it, but the possibility of the school being placed on probation was a factor.” In the end, some persistent bursitis in his knee nullified the need to decide between the two competitions, as he competed in neither the NCAA nor the AAU meet, national titles he would have easily won.
Defeating the Soviets was very important to the American public in 1965, and having on the sidelines an athlete virtually guaranteed to outthrow any Russian shot putter was untenable. So an impromptu “trial” was scheduled at a junior high school practice field in Houston where Randy Matson could demonstrate his competitive fitness. He threw relatively well, and his shortest throw was still over three farther than any other athlete in the world had thrown in 1965. As a result, he was placed on the team traveling to Kiev to battle the Soviets, a competition he would win by nearly four feet.
In time, Congress would step in to end much of the nonsense of what became known as the “alphabet wars.” But the episode had somewhat soured Randy Matson on track and field and contributed to a decision that would alter the trajectory of his skyrocketing career as a shot putter. He received an invitation to appear before a special committee of the United States Senate that was investigating the ongoing conflict between the governing bodies. When asked by a reporter if he would appear before this committee, Matson responded, “I don’t think so. I may go home and just play basketball or something.”
After returning from the European tour that included the U.S.-U.S.S.R. dual, Matson returned to the Texas A&M weight room, and again under Emil Mamaliga’s tutelage, his weight increased to a solid 265, his heaviest. But after working toward an Olympic medal, and then toward a world record, and then toward the first 70-foot throw, the still only twenty-year-old phenom was beginning to struggle. “For the first time in my life,” he later reflected, “I felt as if maybe I was getting a little stale.” Men’s basketball coach Shelby Metcalf, who had participated in the recruitment of Randy Matson to Texas A&M, believed he had a solution for the young athlete’s staleness, and welcomed one of the greatest track and field athletes in the world onto the Aggie basketball team.
Though he struggled in early season workouts, Matson was ready when the first game came around, scoring fifteen points and pulling down eighteen rebounds in an A&M win. He had a solid season, using his size and athleticism to become a standout defender and rebounder. He was voted the Sophomore of the Year in the Southwest Conference.
Basketball was an effective if somewhat costly diversion for the world record-holder. When Matson had reported for the first basketball practice, his weight was at 265. During the basketball season, there was a tremendous amount of running and little time for weight training. As a result, by the time the first track practice rolled around, his weight was down to 235. At the first meet of the year, just a week after the end of basketball season, the best throw Matson could muster was just over 62 feet. He was no longer the “big, heavy ship” that Emil Mamaliga had envisioned.
He regained the lost weight, and the strength slowly returned, but Randy Matson lost the better part of a year of intense training to pursue his basketball quest. His foray into an alternative sport served a purpose, but it would be difficult to quantify the impact of that season on Matson’s quest to continue the steady improvement he had demonstrated the previous year.
Additionally, Randy Matson now had a worthy rival, or at least one more worthy than he had faced since the retirement of Dallas Long. Neil Steinhauer of the University of Oregon had reached 62-6 to win the 1965 NCAA title in Matson’s absence and had shown consistent gains during the 1966 season. Early in the outdoor season, he had increased his personal best to 65-3, making him the fourth-best shot putter in history. With Randy Matson off of peak form, it appeared that what had been unthinkable the previous year was suddenly possible; the world record-holder was in jeopardy of being defeated . . . in this case by another college athlete.
Steinhauer had rapidly developed from a modest thrower at North Eugene, Oregon High School, with a sixth-place finish at the Oregon state high school track meet that showed little indication of his potential to become, at his peak, the second-longest shot putter in history. The 6-5, 270 pound Oregon Duck competed against Randy Matson for the first time in the 1966 Coliseum Relays in Los Angeles. Steinhauer had upped his personal best to 66-10, taking over the yearly lead from the world record-holder. In the eyes of many, Randy Matson was primed for defeat at the hands of this upstart rival.
Matson relished the underdog role. As he later reflected, “Really, it was kind of a relief. For a while, the pressure was on the other fella.” Steinhauer further increased that pressure when he showed up sporting a football jersey adorned with the number seventy. When he was asked, “Think it will come tonight?”, Steinhauer answered, “Maybe,” leaving unspoken the “it” he was referencing.
But Randy Matson was ready, perhaps more ready than he had been for any competition in his career. On his first throw, the slimmed-down Matson reached 69-2, easily the best throw of the tough 1966 season. Considering his weight and lack of shot put-specific training during the long basketball season, it was an effort he considered the best throw of his career. In this long-awaited match-up, Steinhauer’s best effort was 64-6, giving Matson the win by a mammoth four-and-a-half feet. The two would meet again at the NCAA Championships, which Matson won by three feet (coupled with his discus title to give him the first shot put-discus double at the NCAAs in thirty-five years) and at the AAU National Championships, at which Matson eked out a two-inch win over his new rival.
Matson opened his 1967 season with an indoor meet at the famous Cow Palace on the outskirts of San Francisco. With the Mexico City Olympics just a year away, he opted not to continue his basketball career at Texas A&M, focusing instead on his last collegiate track season and a long build-up to the 1968 Games. As he warmed up for this early season tussle with Neil Steinhauer, he had not lost a shot put competition since his silver medal performance at the Tokyo Olympics three years earlier, winning most of those meets by several feet. That long streak ended in the Cow Palace, with Steinhauer winning by more than two feet.
The two throwers were the best shot putters in the world in the latter 1960s, and Steinhauer would defeat Matson again in future competitions. But the Texan dominated a rivalry that provided a needed spark when he needed it, a motivating rivalry that helped to alleviate the staleness Matson had experienced as he had dominated every competition he entered.
The Greatest Shot Put – Discus Double in History
Neil Steinhauer as a motivational force for Randy Matson would perhaps peak later that year during the early 1967 outdoor season. As athletes from Texas A&M, Baylor, and Texas Christian arrived at Kyle Field in College Station, news had arrived that Steinhauer had increased his personal best to 68-11, an impressive effort that brought him much closer to Matson’s world record. As he suggested to some of his Aggie teammates, “That is what I need to get me going again.” With Steinhauer present only in the back of his mind, Matson exploded with a series that included three throws over seventy feet and averaged 69-6, well beyond the Oregon athlete’s just-established new personal best. Far from satisfied, if anything, Randy Matson was angered by his record-setting series, believing that in any set of consistent results, there should be at least one outlier. As he suggested, “I was over 70 three times and couldn’t get the big one. I should have thrown 71 feet.”
His frustration seemed to carry over to the discus ring as Matson reported for his second event. A contributing factor in his less-than-enthusiastic approach to the discus was the impact upon results in that event of wind speeds and direction. The wind in College Station that day was gusting up to thirty miles an hour and was coming from a favorable direction, what throwers refer to as the “right quarter.” With a favorable wind, the discus acts like an airplane wing, the resulting lift causing the implement to travel farther. As a result, record-setting throws are typically aided by such breezes.
No doubt bolstered by the wind as well as his frustration with his stellar performance in the shot put, this amazing thrower, for whom the discus was little more than an afterthought, on his third throw spun across the ring more quickly than usual and launched the discus on a high arc. It landed 213-9½ away, adding nearly eleven feet to his personal best when the day had begun. Much more notably, his performance added more than three feet to Jay Silvester’s American record and came within two-and-one-half inches of Ludvik Danek’s world record.
In the modern era, no athlete had ever approached the men’s world record in both the shot put and discus throw. At this otherwise obscure triangular collegiate meet in College Station, Texas, Randy Matson, whose personal best in the shot put was already nearly two feet farther than the next best performer, had come within inches of adding a world record in a second event. His shot put dominance was already spectacular, making him one of the greatest track and field athletes of all time. But added to that years-long supremacy in the shot put, this stellar performance in the discus is perhaps the most amazing indication of Randy Matson’s true greatness.
Matson’s quest for an “outlier” throw would last only two more weeks. Texas A&M was scheduled to host a triangular meet with Baylor and Texas Tech at Kyle Field, the home venue where Randy Matson had so often performed at his best. In his senior season, it would be the last time the local legend would perform before his home crowd, and Matson was nervous but otherwise ready. The mayor of College Station had declared that day, April 22, 1967, as “Randy Matson Day,” an effort to thank the Olympic silver medalist and three-time world record-holder for his many contributions to the community and Texas A&M University.
Matson recognized the significance of the day and the opportunity that accompanied his last chance to compete at Kyle Field. As he commented after the competition, “I need to have something special pushing me. I sure had it this time, and I just had to do something.” But with that special atmosphere came the added pressure from increased expectations. “I felt more pressure before this meet than I have felt since the 1964 Olympics.”
It didn’t show, as Randy Matson was keenly prepared from the start. With a crowd estimated at over 3,000 on hand to watch him perform, he stepped into the ring for his first throw. He cradled the shot on the right side of his neck, dipped at the back of the ring, and hurled himself across the circle with a consistent motion honed from thousands of virtually identical throws. This one, though, was different, the shot exploding out of his hand with greater force than usual. Sensing they had witnessed something historic, the crowd waited patiently as meet officials meticulously measured the distance. When the result was announced, 71-5½. Randy Matson and his fans realized that the iconic world record had been shattered by over ten inches. Having broken through the sixty-eight, sixty-nine, and seventy-foot barriers, Matson had now added seventy-one feet.
It was Randy Matson’s fourth and last world record, and he would come to regret focusing more on defeating the competition rather than on extending his record as his career continued. But regardless, with this astounding performance in his last appearance before the home crowd, Matson had thrown nearly three feet farther than any other thrower in history.
The Struggle for a Gold Medal – Mexico City 1968
Having missed the 1965 NCAA Championships due to injury (and fallout from the “alphabet wars”), Matson concluded his athletic eligibility at Texas A&M with his second NCAA shot put title along with a second discus title. He followed that with his third AAU shot put title to complete what, with a world record in the shot put and a near-world record in the discus, was arguably the greatest season in the modern history of the throwing events. He was awarded the 1967 James E. Sullivan Award, presented annually by the AAU to the most outstanding amateur athlete in the United States. A fourth world record following a return to form after his foray into basketball and the realization that, when he was anywhere near his top form, he was virtually unbeatable, left Randy Matson with just one remaining goal to reach, the attainment of which seemed to many to be inevitable. Matson would find winning that Olympic title to be more challenging than most had anticipated.
Though he would continue to take courses at A&M toward the completion of his degree in marketing, 1968 represented Matson’s first year of competition as a post-collegiate athlete. Unlike those who followed a couple of decades later, athletes like Matson had to operate under strict rules of the AAU and the International Olympic Committee that prohibited any sort of payments or prize money to athletes. While current-day athletes can receive sponsorship money, prize money, and other forms of payment directly related to their performance levels, track and field athletes in the 1960s had no legal source of income related to their sport. They often found themselves lacking the structure, coaching, room and board, and other support that being a part of a college program provided. Many struggled, and it was not uncommon for top athletes to soon leave the sport.
For Randy Matson, the prospect of competing for a gold medal in Mexico City was a sufficient driving force to keep him in the sport for at least another year; he would actually compete through the 1972 Olympic cycle.
The Mexico City Olympics were scheduled for October, relatively late in the year for the quadrennial Games. With such a potentially long season, athletes like Matson needed to be ready to compete for a spot on the U.S. team at the Olympic Trials and then “peak,” or be at their highest competitive level, at the actual Games. Performing too well, too soon, and the athlete’s performance in Mexico City might be diminished. But train too hard through the Trials, and they might find themselves watching the Olympics from home.
After some uneven performances during the indoor season, Matson performed relatively well in winning the Texas Relays and Kansas Relays. But a significant early-season outdoor meet was on every top American shot putter’s calendar, the Mt. SAC Relays in Walnut, California. All of the top contenders for spots on the U.S. shot put contingent to Mexico City, as well as for medals at those Games, were scheduled to compete. The anticipated confrontation lost some of its luster, however, when Neil Steinhauer suffered a back injury that largely ended his quest for an Olympic berth.
Nonetheless, Randy Matson was ready. Perhaps, at least in his mind, too ready. In a competition he would win by four feet, the world record-holder opened with an impressive 69-10 throw. Fearing he had performed too well, too soon, the largely self-coached Matson decided to back off on his training schedule. In a long season with a two-step Olympic selection process, that decision nearly jeopardized his spot on the U.S. team.
Several factors served to complicate the process for selecting the track and field team that would represent the United States in Mexico City. The Games were scheduled for mid-October, several months later than the late June-early July dates at which national champions and Olympic team members were typically selected. The challenge for governing officials was ensuring that an athlete selected in early- to mid-summer was still in good form when the Games occurred in October. A second factor involved the location of the Olympics at the 7,300-foot elevation of Mexico City. Exercise physiologists had learned a great deal by 1968 about the impact of altitude upon performance in all events, but particularly in distance running events. Somehow the selection process needed to ensure that selected team members were well-prepared to handle the challenges presented by high altitude competition.
A third factor was more nebulous but potentially even more impactful. The late 1960s represented one of the greatest periods of political strife in the history of the United States, with issues of civil rights and the Vietnam War creating huge rifts in American society. Led by Harry Edwards, a former discus thrower and sociology instructor at San Jose State University, black track and field athletes were threatening to boycott the Mexico City Games. Given that the top sprinters and jumpers in the United States were African-American, this threatened boycott, which in the end did not materialize, would have decimated the American team. Perhaps the most significant outgrowth of this boycott movement was the protest of Tommie Smith and John Carlos after they received their medals in the 200-meter dash. This threat of a boycott, and the uncertainty about the selection process that accompanied that threat, complicated how that process evolved.
The AAU implemented a two-tiered process for selecting the team to represent the United States in Mexico City. The initial phase, which became known as the “semi-trials,” was conducted in the Los Angeles Coliseum in late June. In time, these semi-trials were deemed to be largely meaningless. The actual selection occurred in perhaps the most idyllic and picturesque location in the history of U.S. track and field. To as closely as possible emulate the altitude of Mexico City, a Tartan track was constructed at Echo Summit in the parking lot of a ski area just west of South Lake Tahoe, Nevada. It was a stunningly beautiful setting, with huge boulders and evergreen trees not only surrounding the track but remaining inside the oval as well. By the time these “final trials” occurred, it was apparent that the top three finishers in this competition would be on the Olympic team.
In Los Angeles at the semi-trials, despite a relatively poor performance, Randy Matson threw 67-1 to win easily over former University of California athlete Dave Maggard and former Southern Illinois Saluki, George Woods, a 300-pound behemoth who was a rising star in the sport.
If any men’s track and field gold medal was considered a foregone conclusion, it was the shot put being won by Randy Matson. Though the world record-holder didn’t necessarily share this belief, clearly the Olympic title was his to lose.
With nearly two-and-a-half months between the semi- and final trials, athletes took different approaches in preparing for the meet at which the Olympic team would ultimately be selected. The AAU invited athletes who had qualified for the final trials to attend a weeks-long training camp at altitude in South Lake Tahoe, and some, particularly distance runners, took advantage of that opportunity. To assist in athletes staying competitively sharp, several exhibition meets were scheduled around the country, and many athletes competed in those pre-trials competitions.
Matson remained largely focused on training for the final trials in relative isolation, returning to College Station and competing in only one exhibition meet, a competition at Mt. SAC that he won easily with a throw of 67-11. He had not planned to compete again until the final trials. No longer officially affiliated with Texas A&M, having exhausted his athletic eligibility and recently completed his degree, he was competing as part of the Houston Striders, a post-collegiate club team.
During this period of relative inactivity, as Matson would later reflect, he had become a bit complacent. “During that period of no competition, I had lost a little weight and was having trouble keeping my strength up.” He came to this realization shortly before the final trials after being asked to compete in an exhibition meet in Houston. Ticket sales had been disappointing, and promoters believed that an appearance by the world record-holder would provide needed publicity. As none of the other top shot putters were scheduled to compete, the meet would put little pressure on Matson as he completed his final preparations.
When he arrived in Houston, much to his consternation and surprise, he learned that George Woods had been added to the competition at the last minute. Not at all prepared mentally or physically for such a high-level confrontation, Matson could reach only 65-5 and lost to Woods by more than a foot-and-a-half. Such a loss that close to a truly critical competition could serve as a wake-up call for the athlete to refocus and work harder. Or it could cause the athlete to enter a pessimistic spiral in which he questions his preparation and loses confidence. Randy Matson’s reaction to his unexpected loss to George Woods tended more to the latter. As he later reflected, “A loss that close to the final trials didn’t help my outlook any. In Houston, I was six feet off my best—six feet! I began to worry. The pressure was building, and I found myself thinking in negative terms. . . I had thought about winning the gold medal every day for four years and I could just see myself letting it all get away from me.”
Perhaps those who had already bestowed upon him the title of Olympic champion had been a bit premature.
But once he arrived at South Lake Tahoe and began to again work with Payton Jordan, a watchful set of trained eyes assisting Matson in alleviating technical flaws the coachless thrower had acquired, Matson’s confidence returned. His throwing workouts were going well, he had returned to an ideal competitive weight, and his weight workouts suggested his strength had returned to the levels of earlier in the year. As he later reflected, “I was as mentally ready for the final trials as I have ever been.” In fact, in the finals that would identify the three athletes heading to Mexico City, Randy Matson was going to throw 72 feet.
In an incredibly frustrating manner, it did not happen.
In the first round, Matson’s close friend Dave Maggard reached a personal best throw of 67-4 to take the early lead. George Woods followed with a huge throw of 68-0 to take a lead he would not relinquish. Neither thrower would improve through the end of the competition.
Matson had planned to start easily in the first round then build through the next five throws as he approached what he hoped would be his record-setting performance. But Maggard’s and then particularly Woods’ early throws put a great deal of pressure on Matson, and his second-round throw of 67-1 was his best throw of the day, well below his expectation but good enough to secure the third spot to Mexico City.
The loss was devastating to Matson, at least initially. As he suggested later, “I was embarrassed over the loss and really shouldn’t have been. I got beat by good men.” More than frustrated by his loss, he was disappointed in the way he had competed. “A great athlete should be able to do whatever it takes to win. If it takes 72-73 feet, he should be able to get it. That’s the sign of a great competitor.” As he continued, “I didn’t have it that day and it worried me sick. More so than anything has ever worried me in my life.”
His unexpected third-place finish served as a wake-up call for the athlete who, a few months earlier, had been among the most prohibitive favorites in the men’s track and field competition. Randy Matson had just a few weeks to work out his technical flaws and regain his competitive edge.
By the time the athletes marched into the Olympic Stadium for the men’s shot put final, Randy Matson was in a much-improved state of mind. In the month between the final trials and opening of the Games, he had been able to place his unexpected loss in better perspective, his training was back on track, and he had reached a confidence-renewing 68-4 to win his only competition three weeks before the Olympic preliminary rounds. In qualifying, Matson had thrown 67-10¼ to break Dallas Long’s Olympic record by over a foot.
His focus wasn’t on setting a world record, reaching a certain distance, or making any sort of statement. After largely dominating the men’s shot put for four years, Randy Matson’s goal was simply to win the gold medal. And in part hearkening back to his loss in the final trials, he believed it imperative that he get a good throw early. As he said afterward, “I felt that if I were to win I’d have to do it on the first throw. It was my intention to get one out there in a hurry and let the rest of them shoot at it.” A good early throw would put the pressure on the rest of the field; otherwise, he might be pressing to overcome a good early throw by George Woods or Dave Maggard, as had occurred at the final trials.
Adorned in white shorts and the dark blue team singlet with “USA” emblazoned across the chest, Matson stepped into the ring as the first thrower in the finals. The result was modest compared to some of his mammoth throws at Kyle Field on the Texas A&M campus, but his 67-4¾ was on this day good enough to win the gold medal. George Woods reached 66-¾ on his first throw to secure the silver, fouling, passing, or throwing poorly on his last five throws as he struggled to catch Matson. Also in the first round, Eduard Gushkin of the Soviet Union threw 65-11 to surprisingly win the bronze. Dave Maggard reached 63-9 on his initial try but could not improve, finishing a disappointing fifth. Among the top five finishers, there were no improvements after the first round. Echoing his strong early start strategy in his post-meet press conference, Matson said, “I knew I had to get my first throw out there.”
Once he realized he had won the gold medal, Matson’s initial reaction was one of relief, that the competition was concluded and that he had won. “Then it finally began to soak in that I had done what I had set out to do,” he later recounted. “For the first time in my life I felt like maybe I should jump in the air and yell real loud or something. . . I’ve never been quite as proud of anything before.”
A newly-crowned Olympic champion known for his power and athleticism, as the 1968 season ended, Randy Matson was at a crossroads athletically. Though his dominance of the event was beginning to wane, he was still the best shot putter in the world with no obvious rival to threaten his supremacy. Still only twenty-three when he won in Mexico City, it would be natural for him to continue to compete through another Olympic cycle. And there was a sense that the still-young athlete had untapped potential. As his former rival Parry O’Brien suggested after the 1968 Games, “. . . there’s no telling how far it can take him if he sticks with track.”
But Matson and his schoolteacher wife were far from wealthy, and track and field in the 1960s still offered little opportunity to legally earn a living. Complicating his decision was seemingly genuine interest from professional sports franchises. In the 1968 NFL draft, he was selected by the Atlanta Falcons, whose general manager suggested of him, “Randy has the size, speed, and power needed to play any of five positions in pro ball.” That same year, he was drafted by the Seattle Supersonics of the NBA and the Dallas Chaparrals of the newly-formed American Basketball Association. But the interest of these franchises only went so far, and less than lucrative contracts were offered contingent on him surviving training camp and actually earning a spot on the team.
Partly because there was no viable option in professional sports, Matson accepted a position with a stock brokerage firm in Houston, a job that would allow him to continue training for the shot put. Though four years is an eternity in the life of a young athlete, Randy Matson was positioned to compete for another Olympic medal in four years in Munich.
The Shot Put World Catches Up
In many respects, his time atop the medal stand in Mexico City represented the apex of Randy Matson’s career. He competed sparingly in 1969 as he transitioned into his position in the stock brokerage firm and devoted his available time to training in a Houston YMCA and honing his shot put technique at a nearby junior high school. He confided to his friend and former Olympic teammate, Dave Maggard, that he was thinking about ending his career. Maggard, who had become the track coach at his alma mater, the University of California, implored him to continue, suggesting that he keep seeking to reach the potential most believed he had not yet attained. “Get the record out there to 73-74 feet. Maybe 75. . . Give them something impossible to shoot at. Something they’ll never forget.”
Matson would not approach those lofty distances, though in 1970 he approached his previous peak. Competing in late May at the Kennedy Games in Berkeley, a meet directed by Dave Maggard, Matson threw 71-4¼, just over an inch short of his world record. It was the second-best throw in history, his second 71 foot performance at a time when his rivals were still struggling to be the second thrower to reach 69 feet.
For his bounce-back season, Matson was named the Track and Field News “Athlete of the Year,” the first thrower to receive this prestigious honor.
In time, Matson transitioned from his job in finance to a fund-raising position at West Texas State University in Amarillo, just down the road from his hometown of Pampa. As executive secretary of the Buffalo Booster Club, his official title, Matson would have ample time to train and travel to compete, perks that had not been readily available in his position in Houston. In time he would move to a similar position at his alma mater, and he would remain at Texas A&M until he retired.
Randy Matson continued to compete for a few more years, still the best shot putter in the world but less and less dominant. New rivals arose, like Hartmut Briesenick of East Germany, Wladyslaw Komar of Poland, and of course George Woods of the United States. But perhaps none were more surprising than a relatively small (6-1, 247) athlete who had won national NAIA small school titles at Emporia State College in Kansas. In 1971, Al Feuerbach threw 68-11 to defeat Matson and break his indoor world record. Two years later, Feuerbach would reach 71-7 to break Matson’s long-standing outdoor world record.
Though other athletes were slowly catching up with him, other than in the shortened 1969 season following his Olympic gold medal season, Randy Matson was the top-ranked men’s shot putter in the Track and Field News annual rankings every year from 1965 to 1970, falling to second in 1971.
At the 1972 Olympic Trials at Hayward Field in Eugene, Oregon, the amateur track and field career of legendary Randy Matson came to an end. In the qualifying rounds, the defending Olympic champion reached an impressive 69-0¼, suggesting he was in good enough form to defend his gold medal. In the finals, he continued to demonstrate good form in the warm-ups, bombing two throws out to the 70-foot line. But when the actual competition began, Matson struggled. With George Woods having reached 70-1¼ in the second round, Al Feuerbach 68-10 ½ on his initial throw, and the flamboyant but incredibly athletic Brian Oldfield spanning 67-10½ on his first attempt, Matson struggled to catch the three early leaders. He came close in the third round, a sub-par 67-5¾, but could not improve. He finished a disappointing fourth.
In Munich, George Woods won his second silver medal, reaching 69-5½ to lose to the Pole, Wladyslaw Komar, by a half-inch. Feuerbach (68-11¼) and Oldfield (68-7¼) each threw well, finishing fifth and sixth respectively.
Though his quest for a second Olympic gold medal had ended, Randy Matson’s career as a shot putter unexpectedly continued. In 1972, the move to allow track and field athletes to legally make a living through the sport was more than a decade away. As such, prominent athletes had to forfeit their amateur status, and in the process relinquish their eligibility to compete in the Olympics and related athletic events, to earn money through endorsements, commercials, and other similar arrangements.
Then, just after the Munich Olympics, another avenue became available for top track athletes to earn money directly from competing in their sport. The International Track Association, or ITA, was formed in 1972 and lasted for four years, providing top track and field performers the opportunity to earn money as professional athletes. Though the ITA proved to lack long-term viability, it made an initial splash in signing some big names who had achieved great success in amateur track and field.
In a famous promotional photo with ITA founder and president Michael O’Hara presenting an oversized check to some of the most noteworthy early signees, included in the photo were sprinter Lee Evans, pole vaulter Bob Seagren, miler Jim Ryun, hurdler Richmond Flowers, miler Marty Liquori, and towering over the rest of the group, Randy Matson.
Matson competed well against other shot putters in the ITA, athletes like former University of Texas-El Paso star, Fred DiBernardi, and former Kansas Jayhawk, Karl Saab. The throwers would complete the shot put competition and then often compete in a forty-yard dash against the winner of the women’s sixty or participate in a mixed 4 x 100 relay.
But Matson and the other shot putters were soon overshadowed by an athlete considered by many to be one of the most amazing in the history of track and field.
At 6-5 and with a thirty-seven-inch waist, Brian Oldfield looked far lighter than the 280 pounds he put behind every throw. With a mop-top head of hair, Oldfield wore Speedo-style shorts and tie-dyed shirts to competitions and chain-smoked cigarettes between throws. Oldfield was anything but traditional, and track fans were drawn to his iconoclastic demeanor. Rivals like Randy Matson, who Oldfield had defeated for the third and final spot on the 1972 Olympic team, were amazed by his athletic ability. “Brian’s crazy living takes away from the public’s knowledge of his ability as an athlete,” Matson explained, believing Oldfield to be able to run faster and jump higher than any other man his size.
Adapting a form of the discus spin to the shot put, Oldfield popularized what became known as the rotational style, the technique that is now the predominant form for top international shot putters. And in 1975, he performed at an amazing level. As a professional athlete, his performances were not eligible for ratification as world records. But in April of 1975, he extended the world indoor record to 72-6½, the first 72 foot throw. Then at an outdoor ITA meet in May at a high school stadium in El Paso, Texas, Oldfield first extended the outdoor record to 71-11¾, then 73-¼, then finally a gargantuan 75-0. In one afternoon, in a high school stadium, against minimal competition at such lofty distances, Brian Oldfield became the first to exceed outdoors 72, 73, 74, and 75 feet.
Skeptics immediately began to question the legality of Oldfield’s performance, particularly as it wasn’t completed under conditions that would allow for IAAF ratification of the throw as a world record. Randy Matson was not one of these critics. As he suggested, “The first question they ask is whether his style is legal. But nothing’s been wrong with it. He holds the ball high enough, he’s not hitting the rim of the circle and he’s sure not cheating on the weight of the thing. Nobody’s going to slip in a light shot on me.”
Despite some impressive performances and decent crowds, the ITA ceased operations in 1976, in part due to the inability to sign new stars following the Montreal Olympics. Though Brian Oldfield was able to eventually regain his amateur standing with the IAAF, Randy Matson’s storied career came to an end. He continued his work with Texas A&M University for another three decades, retiring in 2007.
Conclusion
So, what do we make of the career of this remarkable athlete? In evaluating Randy Matson’s career, in terms of Olympic success, he won a silver medal in 1964 (at the age of nineteen) and a gold in 1968 before finishing fourth at the Trials in 1972, failing to make the team traveling to Munich. He retired eleven years before the first World Championships were conducted.
In terms of his performance against his rivals, in the annual Track and Field News world rankings, Matson was top-ranked in 1965, 1966, 1967, 1968, and 1970. His stretch of being considered the top shot putter in the world was interrupted only by the post-Olympic season in 1969 in which he competed only sparingly. As an example of his dominance at the peak of his career, in his breakout, three-world record-season of 1965, his top throw of 71-5½ was over seven feet farther than the top performance of the next best thrower in the world that year. From 1965 to 1967, he was virtually unbeatable, winning most competitions handily.
In terms of the longevity of his career, not including his years in the International Track Association, he was collegiately or internationally active from 1964 to 1972, or nine seasons, a fairly long career in the era in which he competed. Regarding his impact on the shot put event, Randy Matson had limited technical influence on the event, utilizing the technique and training methods that were in wide use at the time. He did, however, push the event to new heights much more quickly than could have been anticipated, becoming the first athlete to reach 68, 69, 70, and 71 feet, all within just a couple of years. In that respect, Randy Matson had a transformative impact on the men’s shot put.
Regarding performance-enhancing drugs, Randy Matson’s relationship with steroids was not unlike that of many athletes of this era. It was a time when the identification of such substances and the rules outlawing them were ambiguous at best, and when the effects of such drugs, both positively for performance and negatively toward the health and well-being of the athlete, were just beginning to be understood. Though the IAAF Handbook in 1928 included a statement outlawing the “use of any stimulant not normally employed to increase the poser of action in athletic competition above the average,” the International Olympic Committee first approved a ban on doping in 1968. It wasn’t until 1975, however, that the IOC added anabolic steroids to its list of banned substances.
Matson has been open about his brief dalliance with the use of steroids. As an example, in an interview conducted in 1984 for the Abilene Christian University Library, Matson explained, “I tried steroids to see if I could get bigger and stronger after the (1964) Olympics. I took them for three weeks and I didn’t see any effect. And then somebody came out and said they may be bad for you. At that time they were not illegal, it was like taking vitamins. But when you start talking about the side effects. . . there’s other things more important to me, and I didn’t want to do anything that. . . would hurt me.”
There is no other evidence of Matson utilizing performance-enhancing drugs beyond what he described in this interview, a brief period of usage during a time when the impact of such substances was just being uncovered. Considering the timing, brevity, and circumstances of the steroid use he discussed in this interview, and the unreasonableness of applying contemporary standards about PED usage to a time fifty years earlier, in the view of this author, such utilization is insufficient to diminish the significance of the accomplishments of this iconic athlete. He was truly one of the greatest men’s shot putters of all time.
Regarding the question of whether Randy Matson is worthy of the title of greatest men’s shot putter of all time, one athlete whose competitive record and contributions at least rivaled those of Matson was Parry O’Brien.
References
Stowers, Carlton, 1971, The Randy Matson Story, Tafnews Press,1971
Shrake, Edwin, 1965, “Record-Slinging in the Rain,” Sports Illustrated, May 3, 1965
Putnam, Pat, 1965, “A Bunch of Big Shots,” Sports Illustrated, May 3, 1965
Putnam, Pat, “No Practice Makes Almost Perfect,” Sports Illustrated, February 8, 1971
United Press International, 1972, “Matson Breaks Own World Record With 69-3/4 Shot Put,” The New York Times, June 19, 1972
Litsky, Frank, 1965, “Super Matson,” The New York Times, July 30, 1965
Litsky, Frank, 1965, “Matson, Ryun Strengthen Super-Hero Image,” The New York Times, July 30, 1965
Time, 1965, “The Champ from Pampa,” April 30, 1965
The New York Times, 1965, “A Shot-Putting Giant,” May 10, 1965
Track and Field News, 1967, “Triangular: Matson’s 70-5, 213-9 Just Miss,” April 1967
Track and Field News, “World Rankings – Men’s Shot,” downloaded from https://trackandfieldnews.com
United Press International, 1967, “World Record Broken,” The New York Times, April 23, 1967
The New York Times, 1965, “A Shot-Putting Giant,” May 10, 1965
Time, 1967, “Track & Field: Real Pressure,” April 28, 1967
Kirkpatrick, Curry, 1975, “Coming on Strong,” Sports Illustrated, September 1, 1975
Amdur, Neil, 1968, “World Mark Tied by Sprinter’s 9.9,” The New York Times, October 15, 1968
Hymans, Richard, 2008, The History of the United States Olympic Trials – Track & Field, USA Track & Field, 2008
World Athletics, 2006, “A Piece of Anti-Doping History: IAAF Handbook 1927-1928,” worldathletics.org, May 15, 2006
Sports Illustrated, 2008, “How We Got Here,”, March 11, 2008
Sports Illustrated, 1967, “Now Two Wizards of Oomph,”, February 13, 1967
Matson, Randy and McCaleb, Gary, 1984, “Interview with Randy Matson,” Abilene Christian University Library, video, 1984, Abilene, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/6
Copyright 2022 by Rob Leachman – All Rights Reserved
