The Sole of Sports

Tag : athletics shoe

By Barbara Smit
Ecco. 384 pp. $26.95
Reading at times like an absurdist farce, Barbara Smit's tale ofathletic apparel, villainy and comeuppance is bound to give youpause next time you're standing in front of the seemingly endlesswall of sneakers at the local shoe store. Sneaker Wars ventures deep into the fraternal divide that resulted in theubiquitous sports brands of Adidas and Puma and, Smit argues,invented an industry in the process.
Following the on s laught of World War I, Adolf (Adi) Dassler combed his Bavarianhometown of Herzogenaurach in search of discarded leather andfabrics. From these raw materials, he built his first athleticboots and eventually partnered with his brash, elder brother Rudolf(Rudi) to make and sell sneakers. The rise of the Nazi party -- and its emphasis on athletics as proof of German superiority --bolstered their endeavor; Adi and Rudi raced to keep up with thedemand. In one of Sneaker War s' more uplifting passages, Smit describes how Adi risked theFührer's wrath to supply Jesse Owens with spikes at the 1936 Olympic Games.
Both brothers entered military service in World War II, but Adi wasquickly released to run the increasingly popular sneaker business.Rudi, meanwhile, deserted. Rounded up by the Gestapo , the combative shoemaker insisted that his brother andsister-in-law -- a "venomous hag" -- played a key role inhis imprisonment. Following the Allied victory, the brothersformally parted ways. Adi, the skilled, quiet technician, set upAdidas on one side of the river that ran through Herzogenaurach,while his volatile, ostentatious brother established Puma on thefar bank.
Despite the brothers' personal differences, Adidas and Puma beganwith similar standards about what constituted a good athletic shoe-- durability, ankle protection and traction on dry and slicksurfaces. Rudi was more of a salesman; Adi tried to compete byingratiating himself with the coach of the German national soccerteam. Adidas's adjustable cleats -- with studs that could be addedor removed, depending upon the condition of the field -- led toWest Germany's triumph in the 1954 World Cup. Rudi, of course, wasquick to claim that the idea had originally been his.
The brothers and their rivalry hover over the majority of Sneaker Wars , but their animosity was junior varsity compared to themachinations of their offspring. Rudi's son, Armin, headed up Pumaas a sort of glorified nebbish, a cautious businessman not averseto the occasional scam if it would impress his doubting father.Then there's his cousin, Adi's son Horst, the main character ofSneaker Wars, a weird little tyrant of a man -- with charm inreserve -- who seems to have been let loose from a novel of rakesand highwaymen.
"Horst effectively resolved to compete against his parents," Smitwrites, and so he does, lifting Adidas from their control, withoutmom and dad having a clue about what had happened. But Horst is alovable villain, a profit-monger who reneged on deals without anycompunction and mounted vigils in hotel lobbies, hoping to run intowould-be clients. His business trips to Russia to sell themarketing rights to the 1980 summer Olympics -- thus overhaulingthe very business of the Olympics -- devolved into caviar and vodkabinges, complete with meetings held in the middle of hotel pools toavoid wiretaps.
Horst emerges from Sneaker Wars as one of the prime movers of our age of million-dollar Super Bowlads and staggering licensing deals. He fashioned the athlete as anautonomous entity, a brand for hire. His behind-the-scenes powerplays transformed the very concept of sports business from one ofselling tickets to a high-stakes global contest in whichcorporations battled for the marketing rights of the mostprestigious athletic events -- and the most prestigious athletes.
The athletes don't come off well in Smit's account. Once theyrealized that they were brands themselves, everyone from David Beckham to Joe Namath to Pelé demanded additional perks -- cars, money, a say in shoedesign. In one memorable instance, an Adidas employee took to thestreets of Manhattan in search of tassels and a sewing machine sothat customized boots could be made at Muhammad Ali 's insistence, just in time for a weigh-in. Ali and his massivecrossover appeal soon led Horst into the trendy fashion market,with the idea that the right sneaker might blur the line betweenwhat one wore in the gym and what one wore at the discotheque.Armin did his cousin one better with Walt Frazier -- the smooth Knicks guard -- and his "Clyde" shoe, a glossy confection whichbecame a nightlife staple for the young adult market.
By the late 1970s, the Oregon shoemaker Nike recognized that a jogging shoe could appeal to far more weekendwarriors than a hardcore athletic shoe ever would. Horst,"absorbed by his sports marketing and broadcasting rightsbusiness . . . didn't display much concern about the Nikeissue," writes Smit. Adidas, like Puma some time before, wasrelegated to secondary status.
Smit gets behind the business proposals, marketing plans andconstant dollar signs to focus on the human aspects of how thesewarring brands succeeded, and why they faded. It is that humancomponent that makes Sneaker Wars read like a modern cautionary tale for those apt to turn bigbusiness into the most dangerous of sports. ·
Colin Fleming's work has appeared in the New Yorker and Spin.