In many competitions, the favourite may fail to perform due to the pressure from their own expectations and those of others. That is not the problem...

A scene from the last Winter Olympics really struck me.

Ilia Malinin, an American figure skater born in 2004, was considered the favourite to win the gold medal in the individual event. The son of parents who were skating champions in Uzbekistan, he had racked up so many victories before moving to the United States that he seemed unbeatable to his rivals. He is, in fact, regarded as one of the greatest sporting talents of his generation and holds the record for the highest score at junior level.

But during his performance, the unthinkable happened: he fell. It is well known that the perfection of jumps in figure skating lies in the ability to find the right balance on landing: if you are too tense, or if your foot is even slightly tilted, you slip. And Ilia Malinin fell, as can happen to anyone, but it should not have happened to the ‘perfect one,’ capable of executing quadruple jumps like no other.

In many competitions, it can occur that the favourite, under the pressure of their own and others’ expectations, does not perform as expected. What surprised me was not this outcome, but rather the reaction of the father-coach. When he returned from the track, he gave his son a look as cold as the ice on which he had skated. There was no hug, no pat on the shoulder, and no words of comfort—just a disappointed gaze heavy with reproach. Typically, when an athlete fails to achieve their goal, I have always seen coaches embrace them and offer words of encouragement. I think of those moments when a gymnast awaits the judges’ decision, and her coach holds her hand, whispers supportive words, and reassures her regardless of the outcome. In this case, however, there was none of that.

In Ilia Malinin’s case, the father-coach is not just a technical mentor; he is the authority who assesses, corrects, and demands. It was clear that the father had projected his expectations, demands, and hopes onto his son. The glare he gave revealed his disappointment—a sort of punishment he was inflicting on himself as well: they had both lost the gold medal, both had fallen, and both were sinking into despair. No one was there to wipe away the tears of this defeated young man. In figure skating, a fall is not merely a technical error; it ruins the performance and disrupts the harmony. If a father-coach reacts to a mistake with such obvious despair, the athlete may internalize an implicit message: I have failed not only as an athlete but also as a son. Ilia’s tears expressed his despair at having let his father down.

At that moment, I thanked God for the gift of my dad, who would always whisper to me when I came home from school with a bad mark: “Better a live donkey than a dead doctor!” He never made a big deal out of my disappointment. More importantly, this experience showed me the difference between my earthly father and our Heavenly Father. In the parable of the Merciful Father (Luke 15), Jesus reveals a Father who waits for His son, ready to embrace him upon his return. He wipes away failures, celebrates even the smallest signs of repentance, and encourages every small step forward.

With God, we can always differentiate between saying, “I’ve made a mistake” and “I am a failure.” We can fail without feeling like failures, and we can be disappointed in ourselves without the fear of having disappointed Him. God is like a great coach who loves us not for who we are, but for who we can become. With Him, we can experience setbacks and still feel confident that we are never truly lost!