CASE CLOSED ABOUT 1980 Olympia?

[alexxx]

I would say so.

[evolutnbatista]

not by a long shot!

[pumpster]

Yet another desperate attempt by "Alexxx" to bring up anything to do with Schwarzenegger worship.

[alexxx]

Yet another desperate attempt by "Alexxx" to bring up anything to do with Schwarzenegger worship.

No worshiping here. Just the truth. Arnold dwarfed them all!

[evolutnbatista]

No worshiping here. Just the truth. Arnold dwarfed them all!

put up some pics provening your statement

[alexxx]

put up some pics provening your statement

[swilkins1984]

No worshiping here. Just the truth. Arnold dwarfed them all!

Arnold didn't "dwarf" anyone in 1980. He was just good emough to edge out a win. IMO it could have been Zane or Mentzer easily.

[Vince B]

Danny Padilla was the biggest competitor but was never compared. Arnold had the biggest arms and chest. It helped that he was personal mates with all the judges.

[pumpster]

It helped that he was personal mates with all the judges.

The degree of naivete on getbig concerning contest politics is striking.

[The Enigma]

No worshiping here. Just the truth. Arnold dwarfed them all!

1980= G4P Arnold Victory. 

[chainsaw]

Danny Padilla was the biggest competitor but was never compared. Arnold had the biggest arms and chest. It helped that he was personal mates with all the judges.

Come on bro,  thats the name of the Game tooooo!!!

[lastrep]

case closed 

[Pollux]

Say what you want, blah, blah, blah... history will always have him as 7 time Mr. Olympia. 

[Vince B]

No one was better than Arnold the bodybuilder at that contest. It was close, though, and the judging wasn't very good. Too many gave too many perfect scores in each round. The result was they left the judging to the few who managed to separate them. Brendan Ryan was a mate of Arnold and he represented Australia when Peter McCarthy missed the judges' meeting. Pete was talking to me and Frank Burwash at the time and didn't know when the meeting was to be held. He arrived late so wasn't an official judge. He did judge but as an extra in case anyone didn't do the right thing. The ironical thing is Chris Dickerson would have won if Peter's score had counted and not Brendan's. Something stinks about what happened that day. Peter won Mr Australia several times whereas Brendon won a controversial junior title. How on earth was he invited to judge at a Mr Olympia contest? It was a travesty. I have the judges sheets somewhere so will have to find them and publish my story here on Getbig because no one would publish it after the Mr Olympia contest.

[The Enigma]

The degree of naivete on getbig concerning contest politics is striking.

Amen Pumpster!!

[The Ugly]

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago- never mind how long precisely-  having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to  interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see  the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the  spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself  growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly  November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing  before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral  I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me,  that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from  deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking  people's hats off- then, I account it high time to get to sea as  soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a  philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly  take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but  knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish  very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.   

 There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by  wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs- commerce surrounds it with her  surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme  downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and  cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of  land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.   

 Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from  Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall,  northward. What do you see?- Posted like silent sentinels all around  the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in  ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon  the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China;  some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better  seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath  and plaster- tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks.  How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here?   

   But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water,  and seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but  the extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of  yonder warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the  water as they possibly can without falling And there they stand- miles  of them- leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys,  streets avenues- north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all  unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the  compasses of all those ships attract them thither?   

   Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes.  Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in  a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic  in it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest  reveries- stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he  will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that  region. Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try  this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a  metaphysical professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and  water are wedded for ever.   

   But here is an artist. He desires to paint you the dreamiest,  shadiest, quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all  the valley of the Saco. What is the chief element he employs? There  stand his trees, each with a hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a  crucifix were within; and here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep  his cattle; and up from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke. Deep  into distant woodlands winds a mazy way, reaching to overlapping spurs  of mountains bathed in their hill-side blue. But though the picture  lies thus tranced, and though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs  like leaves upon this shepherd's head, yet all were vain, unless the  shepherd's eye were fixed upon the magic stream before him. Go visit  the Prairies in June, when for scores on scores of miles you wade  knee-deep among Tiger-lilies- what is the one charm wanting?- Water-  there is not a drop of water there! Were Niagara but a cataract of  sand, would you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why did the poor  poet of Tennessee, upon suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver,  deliberate whether to buy him a coat, which he sadly needed, or invest  his money in a pedestrian trip to Rockaway Beach? Why is almost  every robust healthy boy with a robust healthy soul in him, at some  time or other crazy to go to sea? Why upon your first voyage as a  passenger, did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration, when first  told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? Why did the  old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a  separate deity, and own brother of Jove? Surely all this is not  without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that story of  Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image  he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same  image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of  the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.   

   Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I  begin to grow hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious of  my lungs, I do not mean to have it inferred that I ever go to sea as a  passenger. For to go as a passenger you must needs have a purse, and a  purse is but a rag unless you have something in it. Besides,  passengers get sea-sick- grow quarrelsome- don't sleep of nights- do  not enjoy themselves much, as a general thing;- no, I never go as a  passenger; nor, though I am something of a salt, do I ever go to sea  as a Commodore, or a Captain, or a Cook. I abandon the glory and  distinction of such offices to those who like them. For my part, I  abominate all honorable respectable toils, trials, and tribulations of  every kind whatsoever. It is quite as much as I can do to take care of  myself, without taking care of ships, barques, brigs, schooners, and  what not. And as for going as cook,- though I confess there is  considerable glory in that, a cook being a sort of officer on  ship-board- yet, somehow, I never fancied broiling fowls;- though once  broiled, judiciously buttered, and judgmatically salted and  peppered, there is no one who will speak more respectfully, not to say  reverentially, of a broiled fowl than I will. It is out of the  idolatrous dotings of the old Egyptians upon broiled ibis and  roasted river horse, that you see the mummies of those creatures in  their huge bakehouses the pyramids.   

   No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the  mast, plumb down into the fore-castle, aloft there to the royal  mast-head. True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump  from spar to spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow. And at first,  this sort of thing is unpleasant enough. It touches one's sense of  honor, particularly if you come of an old established family in the  land, the Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes. And more  than all, if just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot,  you have been lording it as a country schoolmaster, making the tallest  boys stand in awe of you. The transition is a keen one, I assure  you, from a schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires a strong  decoction of Seneca and the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear  it. But even this wears off in time.   

   What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a  broom and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to,  weighed, I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think  the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I  promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular  instance? Who ain't a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old  sea-captains may order me about- however they may thump and punch me  about, I have the satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that  everybody else is one way or other served in much the same way- either  in a physical or metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the  universal thump is passed round, and all hands should rub each other's  shoulder-blades, and be content.   

   Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point  of paying me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a  single penny that I ever heard of. On the contrary, passengers  themselves must pay. And there is all the difference in the world  between paying and being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most  uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon  us. But being paid,- what will compare with it? The urbane activity  with which a man receives money is really marvellous, considering that  we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills,  and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! how  cheerfully we consign ourselves to perdition!   

   Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome  exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck. For as in this world,  head winds are far more prevalent than winds from astern (that is,  if you never violate the Pythagorean maxim), so for the most part  the Commodore on the quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at second hand  from the sailors on the forecastle. He thinks he breathes it first;  but not so. In much the same way do the commonalty lead their  leaders in many other things, at the same time that the leaders little  suspect it. But wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt  the sea as a merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to  go on a whaling voyage; this the invisible police officer of the  Fates, who has the constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs  me, and influences me in some unaccountable way- he can better  answer than any one else. And, doubtless, my going on this whaling  voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was  drawn up a long time ago. It came in as a sort of brief interlude  and solo between more extensive performances. I take it that this part  of the bill must have run something like this:   



   "Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States.
                   "WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL."
                   "BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN."   



    Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers,  the Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage,  when others were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies, and  short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces-  though I cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall  all the circumstances, I think I can see a little into the springs and  motives which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises,  induced me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling me  into the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own  unbiased freewill and discriminating judgment.   

   Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great  whale himself. Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all  my curiosity. Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his  island bulk; the undeliverable, nameless perils of the whale; these,  with all the attending marvels of a thousand Patagonian sights and  sounds, helped to sway me to my wish. With other men, perhaps, such  things would not have been inducements; but as for me, I am  tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail  forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts. Not ignoring what is  good, I am quick to perceive a horror, and could still be social  with it- would they let me- since it is but well to be on friendly  terms with all the inmates of the place one lodges in.   

   By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome; the  great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild  conceits that swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated  into my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale, and, mid most  of them all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air. 

Basile! For the love of God!

[alexxx]

Basile! For the love of God!

ROLF!!!!!!!!  Spot on!

[TheAnimal]

hhahahahaha good post "the ugly"

[Pollux]

Arnold didn't "dwarf" anyone in 1980. He was just good emough to edge out a win. IMO it could have been Zane or Mentzer easily.

Over runner-up Chris Dickerson? Boy, you smokin' crack!

[donrhummy]

Basile! For the love of God!

Perfect!

[ToxicAvenger]

umm look ayt metzer and then look at arnold..look at the legs..look at the abs..hell look at the whole package..

arnie = pwned

[Condor]

umm look ayt metzer and then look at arnold..look at the legs..look at the abs..hell look at the whole package..

arnie = pwned

Arnold gets the edge on delts, pecs, and arms.

Metnzer cannot come back from this deficit.

[AlliedPowers]

the best man doesn't always win.  if an arnold win would have done more to grow bodybuilding than a padilla win, and it's close, it might be in the interests of some to just give him the win.

Besides, if he had lost, that's all us Arnold fans would hear today...  "Yeah, but remember when Padilla and Mentzer schooled his ass in 1980..."

[roc]

alexx mentzer in my opinion won the show, arnold was not in shape especially by arnold standards. nice try though

[dseiler]

80 Olympia wasn't solely about bodybuilding. It was about Arnolds comeback and how Weider (and the sport) could benefit by giving him the title.