By
Jeff Lund
It's now May and time for me to reflect on another year gone by.
Being a sportswriter, it's time to reflect on the year's greatest sporting events. There are plenty worthy of consideration.
The Yankees won the World Series, again. The Baltimore Ravens actually proved that defense wins championships. Michael Wright scored on both Collins twins to give the Cats the victory in Stanford.
Yes, it has been a very exciting year for sports, but my sporting event of the year definitely happened in March. Yes, it was a part of March Madness, but this madness had nothing to do with basketball.
In March, a champion was crowned in one of the greatest and most historic sports in history. Since 1973, this race has encompassed everything from human sacrifice to sporting and spectating pleasure.
The champion was Jeff King. The event, the Alaskan Iditarod.
On March 14, King - a four-time champion - arrived in Nome, Alaska, an old, gold-rush town of 3,600 people that lies about 100 miles south of the Arctic Circle, nine-plus days after he left Anchorage to make the 1,100-mile trip on his dog-powered sled. What's the big deal? Let me enlighten you.
First off, I cannot think of any sport with more tradition than the Iditarod. Before you start talking about how dog mushing is not a worthy sport and how the dogs do all the work, know a little about it.
In 1925, the town of Nome was stricken with an outbreak of diphtheria that threatened to wipe out the entire town. Being that there were no roads to Nome and the fierce Alaskan winter made air travel to Nome impossible, the antitoxin serum needed to be hurried there by dogsled.
The serum was taken by train to Nenana, then it was up to villagers to do the rest.
Ordinary villagers along the trail from Nenana to Nome passed on the serum in the greatest relay race in history. These brave dog mushers rescued the town by delivering serum to cure the outbreak victims and keep the heart of Nome beating.
The dog that brought the serum to Nome - Balto - is now memorialized, by a statue in New York City's Central Park.
So that's the history. Now to the modern race. Lets start with fan support.
Lana Harris, the city clerk for the city of Nome, estimated 1,000 - 1,500 people came out of their homes at the sound of the Iditarod siren to watch as King slid into history and the hearts of Iditarod fans.
It could have been 40 below zero and the crowd would have still assembled.
"So what, we're dressed for it," Harris said of waiting in the cold for the dogs to come home.
They came out to see the more than 750 dogs and 70 mushers, representing five states, start the race this year in Anchorage.
I remember when I watched the start of the Iditarod sometime when I was pre-middle school. I was surrounded by bundled up Alaskans and other fans that cheered everything from the musher to the dogs to the snow balls being flung around.
The warm Alaskan sun allowed the temperature to reach 22 degrees. It would be one of the warmest days the mushers would experience during the next week and a half.
The Iditarod has something for everyone, and a way of touching everyone that follows it.
King is not just the champion of another northern competition involving snow and cold. He - along with his competitors - braved nine days alone in the Alaskan wilderness, day and night, over frozen rivers, mountains of snow, with little sleep.
Do you think you could stand on the back of a sled being pulled by dogs for nine days through blizzards and subzero temperatures?
Before you say that Jeff King is not a worthy champion, take a ride in his parka.
