The greatest.
I predicted here 10 years ago that Snell would pass on in possession of the NZ NR for the 800. So he does. 57 years and 10 months on.
In tribute to the greatness of Peter Snell I quote his own words from "No Bugles, No Drums" from one of his greatest races.
Christchurch, 3 Feb 1962, 880yards.
"In less than 50 yards, I realised we were travelling at a suicidal pace and that the pace-making was going to be of no benefit to me at all. In desperation I yelled after Barry[Robinson], "Wait!" but it was futile. He didn't hear me.
The track was hard and fast and I was able to stretch out and keep him within five yards down the back straight without actually sprinting, although I was not far from it. I drew on a little more effort round the bottom curve to trail him coming up the straight. In my effort to make this contact, I completely lost track of my pace judgement and I listened hard to pick up the threads as we came up to the bell. I expected to hear the timekeeper chanting seconds beginning with "fifty..." but the first call I heard was "forty..." The fifty came up as I went past them.
Now, for some unaccountable reason, Barry moved out a lane. I was thinking with particular clarity now -- probably stimulated by the fantastic time -- and instead of being shocked into easing or coasting, I quickly realised that I was feeling as good as or better than I had in many of my other races when I'd passed through the quarter two or three seconds slower.
So, through some crazy impulse, I threw away all text-book procedure and sprinted. This was pure effort against the stopwatch now. Into the back straight, I still felt myself traveling fast I was sharply aware that I was well inside both world records as far as I'd gone. It was only a matter of being able to continue,
This particular problem didn't present itself until the bgeinning of the bottome curve. Then, like a wave, the effect of that first 660 -- run in 1:16.9 -- hit me. This was the moment when the real effort of the race was needed. I felt myself slowing. I felt I had come to the end of my run -- and I was only just swinging into the straight. In a frantic effort to keep my legs going, to maintain drive, I wobbled and I was fighting to regain control, to sqeeze out the extra ounce of speed as I struggled up the straight on dying legs.
But after going through the tapes, I didn't need anyone to tell me the times. I knew I must have gone inside the records. There were men running from all over the place, mostly with cameras, and in a semi-detatched way I watched the other runners come in. Dupree was second and then Bork. Then I ran off into a victory lap. I was unconcerned about the particular time until it came over the public address system some time later.
The most remarkable feature of the race was the speed and ease with which I recovered. I've experienced this before after good performances, which suggests the ability to recover really stems from the mind. When you know you've really achieved something, the body seems to relax into a nerveless state in which it's apparently unaware of any distress and in which functions effortlessly return to normal.
The odd way the race was run is perhaps shown most graphically by the 220 yard fractions. I ran 24.8 for the first crazy 220; 26.2 for the second, easing back then after the first mad rush but still trying ot catch Barry; 25.9 for the third, after realising that I could get th eredord; and 28.2 for the fourth, struggling to get to the finishing tapes. These added up to 1:45.1 for the half with 1:44.3 for the 800 metres on the way. I broke the half by 1.7 seconds and the 800 by 1.4 seconds.
As a performance, it was one that, right up to the final in Tokyo, I never thought I could do again."
A supreme performance, then and now.