FLEXTRAINING FLEXFEATURE

FLEX FEATURE
TRAINING
1
1- 1989 inaugural
winner Rich Gaspari
2- Arnold
Schwarzenegger
3- Peter McGough
and Chris Cormier
2
PHOTOS: (TOP LEFT) J.M. MANION;
(bottom left) tiffany mortensen
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FLEX Tales From Columbus
Two contests, two positive results
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The test results sent shock waves through the
sport and proved to be a major black eye, as NBC
TV had filmed the event for later broadcast and
had to hastily re-edit their footage. The postcontest
winner’s interview of Ray by Arnold Schwarzenegger had to be scrapped and after a frantic search
for original runner-up Mike Ashley, the victory
interview was restaged.
To say that Ray was devastated by these developments is akin to saying that Amy Winehouse blows
her nose now and again. Initially, it seemed he may
even quit the sport, but Ray quickly regrouped to
set his sights on the 1990 Mr. Olympia. His Ironman win had qualified him for the big show, and
even though his Arnold winnings were taken back,
he never faced suspension — and neither did any
of the other offenders.
Nineteen-ninety was a watershed for bodybuilding, as it was the year in which a program of drug
testing at men’s pro contests was launched. After the
Arnold, though, the Mr. Olympia was the only other
contest in which a wee trip to the boy’s room was
mandatory. To forestall a repeat of the Arnold PR
disaster (where drug-test results came after the contest), the Olympia competitors were tested on the
Thursday before the event and the results were
announced Friday, 24 hours prior to prejudging. At
the 1990 Mr. O in Chicago there were four failures
(Momo Benaziza, Vince Comerford, Berry DeMey
and Van Walcott Smith), but due to the pre-emptive
nature of the tests, none of them appeared in the
lineup. Shawn Ray did and eked out third place.
When Ray returned to Columbus on March 2,
1991, in many ways we witnessed a rerun of 1990.
He took straight firsts, and with the only doping
issue being who granted my press pass, he left
Columbus as 1991 Arnold Classic champion without the pause of waiting for any other shoe to drop.
Ray eventually retired from the sport in 2001 after
12 consecutive Mr. Olympia top-five finishes. Married, with two children, he works for Muscular
Development.
2
3
1- Shawn Ray’s
winning form
2- Ray and runner-up
Mike Ashley
3-Ray with Joe Weider
photos: (top three) courtesy of weider health and fitness
t seems like such a long time ago. It was a
time when, if someone mentioned a 20"
Mac, you might have thought they were discussing a dwarf’s raincoat; a time when
Barack Obama sounded like a place where soldiers
lived; a time when no one had heard of MuscleTech;
a time — so help us — when Shawn Ray, the heir
apparent to the Olympia, had hair (a time when
Shawn wasn’t shorn?). That’s how long ago 1990 is.
On Friday, March 9, 1990, Shawn Ray was in
Montreal to fulfill a guest-posing spot. Now, let it
be said that Montreal in March is cold, but it’s not
the North Pole. Nevertheless, the 24-year-old
Californian felt on top of the world. Six days prior,
at the Arnold Classic, he had taken the top spot
and an accompanying $60,000 check. His Columbus success had come a week after he had tasted
victory at the Ironman Pro Invitational.
Yes sir, he was on a bigger roll than a 50-pound
cheeseburger, and seasoned experts (and me, as
well) predicted he was now ready to fulfill the
prophecy foisted on him when he took the overall
at the 1987 NPC Nationals — namely, that the
owner of the most famous flattop to come out of
the Hollywood area since Olive Oyl would succeed
then-Mr. Olympia Lee Haney.
As he contemplated that he needed more room
under his bed to store his fresh winnings (jeez,
you knew he wouldn’t spend it), Ray was in “you’re
in the money” mode. But before you could say
“banned substance,” it was a case of “urine, the
money,” because on that Canadian spring evening, a call from the IFBB informed the 1990
Arnold Classic winner of March 3 that as of today,
March 9, he wasn’t. The contest was the first men’s
pro show to be drug tested and his sample had
proved to be more positive than an Anthony Robbins seminar. He wasn’t alone. Those who also
tested positive from the 13-man Columbus shooting match (what am I saying?) were Samir Bannout (fifth), Nimrod King (eighth) and Ralf
Moeller (12th).
1
FLEX Tales From Columbus
A story of passing interest
contacted the IFBB and an
investigation was launched to
determine whether the drugtest appointment of bodybuilding’s golden girl had been
fulfilled by Quinn’s Goldin girl.
Knight, after some stalling,
admitted to the stall deception.
For her indiscretion, the whizgirl was suspended from competition until December 31, 1990,
with the added proviso that she
pay back the combined $12,000
she had earned at the 1988 Ms. Olympia and 1989
Ms. International contests.
Knight returned to competition at the 1991 Ms.
International and her victory there was deliverance,
and the highpoint of the Oregon native’s career. Two
years later she bowed out of competition with a third
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place at the Jan Tana Classic and relocated to
Kansas to marry one of the heirs of the DuPont
chemical empire, John Poteat. Despite his
background, the chemistry didn’t work this
time; they divorced and Knight never returned to
the bodybuilding scene. She remarried, but again it
went the way of a bodybuilding routine: splitsville.
Hey, Tonya, you were always a joy to work with ­—
give us a shout. With your 43rd birthday looming on
March 24, we’d love to know what you’re up to these
days, so (final pun), give us a tinkle.
1- Tonya Knight with Rick Valente
2- (From left) Jackie Paisley, Knight and Laura Beaudry
photos: (left page, top two and right page, top) courtesy of weider
health and fitness; (right page, bottom) robert reiff
Levrone speaks out . . . sort of?
PHOTO CREDIT
onya Knight first broke into pro prominence with fifth place at the 1988 Womens
Pro World in Nice, France. With her
blonde, all-American-girl looks and general marketability, more ink was splashed on her than an
exploding Biro factory — and for many, those PR
aptitudes seemed to count more than her general
muscularity. That debate escalated to me-oww
proportions five months later, when she took
fourth place at her Ms. Olympia debut. At 22, she
truly was bodybuilding’s golden girl, not to mention professional and easy to work with.
In March 1989, she won the Ms. International
contest and assumed the mantle of being thenMs. Olympia Cory Everson’s successor. Knight’s
future seemed brighter than Stephen Hawking’s
IQ. Then, in June of that year, like a corrupt landlord’s attempt at home improvement, the roof fell
in. On a fateful afternoon in Gold’s Gym, top pro
Mike Quinn told reigning Ms. Olympia Everson
that his then-girlfriend (and
somewhat Tonya
look-alike) Dana 2
Goldin had stood
in (or, maybe more
pertinently, sat in)
for Knight at the
random drug test
that Knight had
been required to
attend several weeks
before the 1988
Ms. Olympia contest. Quinn told Everson that his conscience
made him articulate the “vial” assertion,
although others spoke of the cause being a
business altercation between Quinn and
Knight’s then-boyfriend Rick Valente. For
her part, Knight, in regard to Quinn’s motivation, offered the premise that the Mighty
One morphed into the might-he one when
she commented, “I politely declined his
romantic overtures and I suppose he didn’t
like that.”
Jeff Everson (Cory’s then husband)
evin Levrone has always been hit-or-miss with
interviews. Either you get the whole giant-size
enchilada or you get a mini grain of rice. As
the clock nudged midnight, at the conclusion of the
1994 Arnold Classic, I talked to winner Levrone in
the Weider backstage studio. Here is a transcript of
that conversation.
PM: Your reaction to winning the contest?
KEVIN LEVRONE: Superb.
How do you feel?
Happy.
Was this the result you expected?
Yes.
Did you come in the way you
wanted?
Yes.
Er, Kevin can you give us something
a little more to work with?
OK! [Levrone grabs the tape player.] This is Kevin
Levrone being interviewed after a sleepless night,
after two hours of prejudging, after a show being
delayed for 40 minutes, after a two-hour evening
contest, after a 35-minute backstage photography
session and other stuff that has been dragging on all
day long. And all this has been done at maybe a little
less than 3% bodyfat without any carbs in me, so what
you’re gonna get from me right now are short, direct
answers.
You tell me my car’s been stolen,
I’m gonna say, “How ’bout that?”
You tell me I ain’t got a hotel room
for the night, I’m gonna say, “Shucks!”
You tell me Joe [Weider] ain’t gonna
renew my contract, I’m gonna say,
“That’s cool!” I can’t remember how
much money I won. I can’t think how
I’m gonna spend it — I can’t think about anything
right now. So whatever you ask me . . . I’m happy!
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FLEX Tales From Columbus
1
2
Not a dry thigh in the house
1- From left: Chris Cormier,
Paul Dillett, Achim Albrecht
and Vince Taylor
2- Dillett (left) and Kevin
Levrone
Dillett reassuring
the crowd at the
evening finals
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n the hours preceding the 1994 Arnold
Classic, massive Paul Dillett — in pursuit of
being drier than a Jon Stewart monologue
— was experiencing severe bouts of cramping.
The 270-pounder’s outward confidence as he
walked onstage for the prejudging at 11:55 AM belied
the acute discomfort he was undergoing. At 12:29
PM, during the last callout of the symmetry round
(the other two protagonists being Vince Taylor and
Kevin Levrone), Dillett, with his back to the judging
panel, tried to hit an impromptu double-biceps pose.
He raised his left arm and then locked it above his
head as the oblique muscles on his left side went into
a horrendous spasm. Unable to flex or lower his arm,
Dillett lurched from the stage and slumped onto his
back on a table in the recesses of the theater. Very
soon, the stricken athlete was surrounded by a wellmeaning group, among them a noncompeting Flex
Wheeler who advised instant fluid intake. Dillett
assured everyone that he was all right. “I’m not
delirious or anything, you know,” he said. “It’s just
a muscle spasm.”
A full 25 minutes elapsed before Dillett walked
onstage again to execute his individual compulsories. His reappearance was greeted by tremendous
applause and all hoped the crisis point had passed.
With some difficulty, he completed his front doublebiceps, front-lat and side-chest poses. Then, as he
went into a back double-biceps pose, the 4,000
attendees gasped in horror as the distressing scene
they had witnesses 25 minutes earlier was repeated.
Dillett grimaced and half screamed, “Oh, God!”
— more in despair than pain — as a backstage marshal rushed to his aid. He still had his back to the
audience as the marshal positioned himself to face
Canada’s biggest export since John Candy went Hollywood. Paul took this as his cue to slump forward
into the arms of the marshal, who was about six or
seven inches shorter than the man he now fought to
support. Three more marshals poured onstage and
each grabbed a mighty Dillett limb and lifted him
up. Unfortunately, he was facing downward,
marooned in an ugly tableau of head-to-toe cramps
that rendered him rigidly immobile. In this ungainly
mode, Dillett’s 270-pound physique was awkwardly
lugged offstage. As an exit, the scene lacked the
grace and poise of the Pope being carried around
St. Peter’s Square in a sedan chair.
Stretched out behind the stage curtain, Paul was
attended to by paramedics, who, with great difficulty, found a vein (Dillett was so dehydrated, all
his surface veins had collapsed) in which to insert
an IV drip. Throughout the trauma, Paul was completely coherent, and at no time did he display false
heroics by talking of going on with the contest. It
was his decision to be taken to the local hospital,
to which he was ferried to at 1:25 PM (with the
prejudging in progress). He was released after
three hours, and later appeared at the night show
to tell the audience how disappointed he was that
he couldn’t finish the contest.
In my original report of the incident, I wrote:
“It can be argued that whatever torment Paul Dillett had endured, he inflicted it upon himself. (As
well as his physical discomfort, there is the fiscal
pain of the potential $90,000 winner’s check that
could well have been his.) But during the last two
years, there has been a succession of bodybuilding
casualties of varying degrees due to the demon of
excessive water depletion. In the hunger for glory,
competitors are willing to up the ante to any level
in pursuit of first place.
“Is the fault solely that of the athlete? A personal view is that, directly or indirectly, we all must
share some responsibility for what happened to
Paul Dillett at the 1994 Arnold Schwarzenegger
Classic. Magazine personnel, judges, fans and
competitors have all contributed to encouraging
the ripped look that now so dominates success or
failure. In the past Mike Matarazzo and Edgar
Fletcher nearly killed themselves for that look;
Mohamed Benaziza did!
“Would we rather see Paul Dillett compete at 280
full pounds or 270 ripped pounds? Would we rather
see Dorian Yates compete at the 269 pounds he
carried seven weeks prior to last year’s Olympia (the
photos of which caused a sensation in the December
’93 FLEX) or the shredded 257 pounds with which
he earned his second Sandow? The thought arises
that the term ‘ripped’ doesn’t equate in a literal
sense to the phrase bodybuilding, and perhaps it’s
time that paradoxical situation was re-evaluated.”
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FLEX Tales From Columbus
Wheeler visits the dark side as Levrone sees the light
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winner and the following discourse took place.
PETER McGOUGH: The consensus is that Flex
Wheeler should have won the show. Your response?
KEVIN LEVRONE: The judges judge the contest.
The reason for the dissent was the lighting. The
contest was lit like an MTV special. I think the bad
lighting during the prejudging worked to Flex’s
advantage. It favored the darker-skinned guys. The
lighting was much better in the evening, and then
it was clear that I was much bigger than Flex. I
overpowered him. Yeah, he might have had pretty
lines, but the bottom line is that he didn’t have
enough muscle to beat me. I don’t see where he
beat me. I don’t see that he was harder than me. I
don’t think he posed better. What did you think?
As soon as you walked out, it seemed clear you were
holding water. You were big, but there was no separation in your legs and back like there was in Flex’s.
Maybe ’cause my skin tone was lighter [the lighting] kinda washed me out. The game is about
competing, and as the show went on, I got better
while Flex’s condition faded a little. It could have
gone either way, but I got the nod ’cause the judges
were up close and could see certain things others
couldn’t. I don’t think I would have won the mostmuscular award if I wasn’t the most muscular.
Who did you have first?
Flex!
Really? I was shredded and hard, but that damn
lighting made everything look bad. I wanted to
come into the Arnold and just blow everybody
away, but now I hear all this negative stuff. To
have a hundred grand and the trophy and then to
hear people think you don’t deserve it makes the
win not worth having. For me to win the show and
then pick up a magazine a month later and read
stuff like “Levrone was off, his condition hadn’t
improved since the Olympia.” That’s more
depressing than actually losing the damn competition. You still think Flex won?
Yes.
I was bigger and thicker than Flex. If he feels he’s
the better bodybuilder, then I’m doing the San Jose
show [seven days afterward] and we can go do it
again. I’m ready to go again, but he ain’t doing a
The moment
of truth: Flex
Wheeler and
Kevin Levrone
photos: (top right and bottom center) robert reiff
he most controversial result in the history
of the Arnold Classic was the 1996 rendition, when a seemingly off Kevin Levrone
bested a decidedly on Flex Wheeler. As he was
announced second, Wheeler’s eyes bulged as if he’d
been the recipient of a surprise prostate examination and large sections of the audience broke into
a chorus of boos.
Twenty minutes after the result, as I made my
way out of Veterans Memorial Hall, I espied
Wheeler sitting in the empty theater with his support group. Flex doesn’t wear his heart on his
sleeve; he wears it pumping away like a neon sign
on his forehead. He was almost in tears as he
reflected on what had transpired. I told him I
thought he was the clear winner. He told me: “I’m
very disappointed. Kevin wasn’t in shape; I was in
shape. They looked for certain improvements in
me from last week’s Ironman and I delivered.
[Although Flex won the Ironman, he was not at
his best.] I was 230, ripped; day and night from
last year’s Olympia [where he was eighth]. Kevin’s
a great competitor — nothing personal toward
him — he just didn’t hit his peak. No separation
in his legs or back. He’s massive, but judging is
supposed to be more critical than that.
“Coming into the show, Paul [Dillett] and I
figured Kevin would be the biggest threat because
he had the name and we knew he could come in
shape. Backstage, Paul and I looked at Kevin and
thought, OK, Kevin is off, the door is open. But as
the prejudging went on, it was clear Kevin wasn’t
being looked at as if he was off. When there was
just me and Kevin left, I feared the worst. He had
just won the most-muscular trophy, and I thought,
How do you get the most muscular when you have
no definition and are not in condition? Vince [Taylor] laughed and told me, ‘It’s a consolation prize
to Kevin ’cause he ain’t gonna win the show.’ ”
Wheeler’s next contest was to be the May 18
Night Of Champions. Asked whether he would
make further improvements by then, he replied,
“Based on tonight, what difference does it make?”
Levrone, of course, had an entirely different
take on the outcome. I duly spoke to the contest
show that’s just a short hop from his front
door. So seriously, who do you think won
the show?
Flex.
Really?
For three months afterward, Levrone would
call me once every couple of weeks and ask me
that same “Who do you think won?” question.
I would always answer, “Flex.”
Finally, I said, “OK, Kevin, you convinced
me — I’ve changed my mind about the result.”
A buoyed Levrone enthused: “So, finally you
agree I won.”
“No,” I answered,
“I think you should
have been third,
with Paul Dillett
second and Flex still first.”
With that, the Maryland Muscle Machine (a
name I gave him) told me to do something with
my computer that is not only anatomically impossible, but also surely illegal in most states.
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FLEX Tales From Columbus
Paula Bircumshaw leaps into infamy
“new” judging initiative — to curtail the
overly muscular look among women professionals that had marked 1991 — was
introduced at the 1992 Ms. International contest.
The fact that this initiative was only outlined to
the competitors and officials — there were no
prior press releases or announcements to the
audience — led to, in every sense of the phrase,
mass confusion.
Because what the “new” judging initiative didn’t
need was the mass confusion component of a 5'7",
155 pound, ultramuscular and symmetrical female
package, possessing more cuts than an Arnold
Schwarzenegger suit retailored for Danny DeVito.
Cue Paula Bircumshaw, who was to British female
bodybuilding at the time what Dorian Yates was to
the men’s sector.
That the redoubtable mass of the Blonde
Shocker (a title awarded by your humble scribe in
1989) was not going to leap to the forefront on this
leap year day (February 29, 1992) was clear from
the way the callouts went at the prejudging. Bircumshaw wasn’t called out until the sixth comparison in the symmetry round, where she was
finally adjudged eighth. In the symmetry round,
overall shape and proportion are assessed, while
muscle accumulation and definition are very much
secondary considerations.
At the time, I wrote: “Although Paula and I
share the same nationality (and I trust, a friendship), personal bias does not prompt me to state
that if there is a more head-to-toe symmetrical (i.e.,
every muscle group proportionately developed on
a balanced frame) female bodybuilder than Paula
currently competing, I have yet to see her!”
In the evening, Bircumshaw’s prejudging fears
were confirmed when she was not one of the six
called out for the final posedown. I went backstage
to see how she was taking it. As I did, the audience
started chanting, “Paula! Paula!” I got back and
she was standing there, fully dressed in sweats and
holding her training bag. She looked toward the
stage and said in her strong East Midlands accent,
“Eeee, I can’t leave it like that — here, hold me
bag.” Thrusting the bag into my arms, she proceeded to the side stage area, poked her head
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around the curtains and smiled cheekily at the
chanting audience, who erupted at the scene being
played out before them. She then, with hands in her
pockets, swaggered out onstage as the collective
jaws of the posedown finalists (who were doing
their mandatories) dropped faster than Nasser
El Sonbaty bungee jumping. She then held out both
hands toward the finalists (who comprised and
finished in this order: Anja Schreiner, Debbie
Muggli, Laura Creavalle, Sharon Bruneau, Nancy
Lewis and Tonya Knight) and then pointed toward
herself. The audience went nuts. Casting a mischievous smile toward the judging panel, she then made
a certain unmentionable obscene gesture. By now
many of the audience were on their feet applauding
and the decibel rating kept ratcheting up.
With the audience still baying, Bircumshaw
slowly left the stage. As she came up to me she said,
still grinning, “I’ll get suspended for life won’t I?”
I answered, “Nah — I don’t think anyone really
noticed. Let’s go get a drink.”
To leave the theater, we had to come out of a
door that opened to the side and front of the auditorium. We came through the door with me carrying Paula’s bag. As soon as the spectators nearest
the door saw her, they began to raucously call her
name and clap. She reacted by walking along the
aisle on the right of the auditorium waving both
hands in the air and blowing kisses. The posedown
finalists were still onstage. By now, the entire theater could see her and row after row jumped to
their feet to give her a standing ovation. But she
wasn’t finished. She began to jog and then ran to
the front and center of the theater, and right in
front of the VIP section jumped up and down (it
was leap year day) punching the air with her fist.
The atmosphere was pure bedlam. With the noise
unabated, she then made her way back to her training bag and me. “Well?” She asked.
So as to make her hear, I had to scream back. “I
think they noticed this time.” To thunderous acclaim,
Bircumshaw — accompanied by a bag-carrying
McGough — then walked, with her head held high,
out of the theater and seemingly out of bodybuilding. The tableau she played out appeared suicidal,
but such was the furor it created that the whole
(From left)
Nancy Lewis,
Tonya Knight
and Paula
Bircumshaw
episode made a Viking funeral seem passionless.
In the bar afterward, I asked her, “When you were
at the front of the stage, why didn’t you whip your top
off and show them some muscle?”
“Eee lad, ’cause I didn’t have a bra on.” She then
paused and with a quizzical look said, “Perhaps I
should have . . . shall I go back?”
Postscript 1: The IFBB was — for the times —
extremely lenient with Bircumshaw. For the most visible episode of athlete dissent ever recorded, she was
handed a six-month suspension. She competed two
more years, but a back injury and a dwindling hunger
for the sport meant she never again hit her peak.
Today, she lives in her hometown of Mansfield, England, owns a gym and runs local bodybuilding contests. She is married with one son.
Postscript 2: For being very visible and supportive
throughout Bircumshaw’s whole lap of dishonor, and
for accompanying her to the banquet (with my wife
Anne), I was told by a senior Weider employee that
my days working for Joe would soon be over almost
before they had begun. Well, I never heard a word of
reprimand from my bosses. Two years later, Mr. Negative was invited to leave the company.
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FLEX Tales From Columbus
Who’s on first . . . not The Real Deal
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FLEX | mar. ’09
2004 (5): This was the one that Cormier so nearly won
— and maybe should have won. Although Cutler
claimed to be 266 pounds, he appeared flat and smaller
than the previous year. By comparison, Cormier was 260
full pounds, which, distributed over his classic frame,
offered the promise that his second-best streak would
end. In fact, Cutler won the first two rounds; in the eve1 ning, Cormier won the last two. It wasn’t
enough, as The Real Deal would finish just one
point behind his blond foe. Backstage, Cormier
asserted, “Five times, man, five times in a row
I’ve been second. I beat him, everyone knows
I beat him.” Then he cried.
2 2005 (6): Cormier returned a little lighter,
but just a tad less impressive, to face a new
adversary for top spot: Dexter Jackson.
Eventually, the latter took it and Cormier,
for the sixth consecutive time, stood
onstage as a spectator as Governor Arnold
Schwarzenegger interviewed the winner.
3 It is, thus far, his last Arnold Classic appearance
and how good it must feel now that he has
stopped banging his head against a wall.
A measure of Cormier’s unprecedented Arnold
record is that five of his defeats were against
men who have won the Olympia. The sixth was
to Wheeler, who many feel is the best
4
to never win the Olympia.
Postscript: A few weeks after the 2005
event, Cormier in a philosophical mood
5
opined: “In a way, finishing second so
many times is also a backhanded compliment. One
of the marks I plan to leave on this sport is the fact
that I was a top competitor for so long. Many
bodybuilders today have short, meteoric careers.
They do well during one season, and
6 then they never regain their former conditioning. So I take pride in that.”
“So,” I asked, “you’ve come to terms
with finishing second six times in a
row?”
He paused, before exploding with laughter, “Fuck,
no! Six fuckin’ times man! Can you believe that, Silver
Fox [his pet name for me]? Can you fuckin’ believe it?”
Ladies and gentlemen, say hello to the one — or six
— and only Chris Cormier.
PHOTOS: (second from top) robert reiff
magine going to the altar, and at the point at
which the bride is expected to answer, “I do,”
she instead retorts, “You must be bloody joking.” Oh, the agony of such rejection. Now imagine it
happening six times in a row, and you begin to get an
insight into the trauma experienced by Chris Cormier as he finished runner-up in six consecutive Arnold
Classics from 2000 through 2005.
Here’s a year-by-year account of
Cormier’s unparalleled six-year run.
2000 (1): A week earlier, Cormier
had beaten a not-at-his-best Flex
Wheeler at the Ironman Pro. The latter had been too heavy and carried
more water than the Hoover Dam. For the
next seven days, Wheeler was on a treadmill
for about three hours a day — rubber suit
and all — and went through hell to whip his
body into shape. The outcome was that he
beat precontest favorite Cormier in Columbus, and The Real Deal’s unwanted
second-best run had begun.
2001 (2): Is Chris Cormier unlucky?
Are Bob Cicherillo’s threads so loud
that he’s being sponsored by a megaphone company? At the 2001 Arnold
Classic, for the only time in its history,
the reigning Mr. Olympia entered the contest.
Not only that, but said Mr. Olympia, Ronnie
Coleman, was in the best shape of his career,
before or since. Now that is bad luck.
2002 (3): Fresh off of his controversial second place to Coleman at the
2001 Olympia, Jay Cutler entered
his first Arnold Classic and, at 260plus pounds, he was just too big for
Cormier, who came in at 253 pounds.
Cormier commented, “I’ve got more
detail than Jay, a more classic physique.
My muscle insertions go all the way down.
All in all, I think I presented a superior
physique at the Arnold.”
2003 (4): For their rematch, both men reduced bodyweight: Cutler to 257 and Cormier to 241. At that
weight, The Real Deal was more of a flat deal and
Cutler took his second Arnold title while Cormier
banked his fourth runner-up check.