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Petter Northug sacrificed his youth to say that the Norwegian people could stand on the Swedish border and shout “fucking tapera” as we waved flags and foamed with joy at victory. Was Kor Ski-Norge when he thought someone took his glass and followed him home from the party?
This is a chronicle. The chronicle expresses the attitude of the writer. You can submit articles and discussion posts to VG here.
DANIEL KVAMMEN, artist and composer
In the winter of 2020, I was standing on a dance floor in Oslo with my best friends. The people I have the most fun with, the people who love me when it’s two in the evening and it’s time to go home, the people who love me even when I’m the worst version of myself.
In the middle of one of my less impressive dance moves, I stop and break my friend’s arm. Petter fucked up Northug! One of my biggest sports heroes sat in the corner of the bar in a familiar position. The last time I saw him like this, he had just won five miles at Holmenkollen, and the people around him were wearing bubble jackets and waving Norwegian flags. Now they wore neon skirts and flags with semi-expensive champagne bottles between long acrylic nails.
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For me, he was above all a legend, between great sporting achievements and an endless series of victories. A great entertainer and eternal casualties. The one who always had such a great aura in victory as in defeat. Now the scene was quite awkward in character. Not so sure. Not so straight. I don’t think I could get rid of the idea that something was not as it should be. That something was very wrong.
When night turned to morning, I went home and wrote the song “Janteloven”. A lament for a king on the mound, the one who has it all, the one who refuses to be ignored, even though it is no longer gold to win. He’s the guy who cries inside, as his fists wave over his head in time with Tix, and old medals clink against mirrors with gunpowder.
Little did he know that the song would have a completely different meaning six months later. “Who’s taking care of Petter now?” I thought. “Do you have real friends?” Ask the neon-clad party people “how are you really like this?”
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Because let’s be honest: peripheral acquaintances are not responsible for saying a … yes, who should actually say a? The family? Where have our support staff been in recent years? Those who made a lot of money from him when he was a sports hero? Did they disappear when you rounded the finish line after the last five miles?
It’s not exactly a secret in Oslo nightlife that Northug was often in town. Did the news really come that you liked to run and fly like lightning from a clear sky? Can it really be true that the rumor swirled in the center of Oslo and never reached the Olympic summit in Sognsvann?
I think this is a pervasive problem in many talent industries. A team makes a lot of money with a star, but it disappears when they fade. All the millions who have turned to the yes-man around them to scream even more yes, shouldn’t some of this money have gone to psychologist classes, party braces, and hot hugs?
I remember when I broke with the music and got used to the shouts of the public, the big lights and a lot of partying. What is a victory? “I’ve been out a winter night before.” Because I have, like Petter Northug. When I woke up after the aftermath of times with lost hair and drunken anxiety, management, friends, and boyfriend had all left me. They were tired of the unstable, tired of my eternal quest for excitement, speed, and screaming.
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Now I won’t compare my early years in the music industry to Petter Northug’s endless extreme performances, but I still get annoyed that the team around him hasn’t taken hold before. I think Norway is good at nurturing talent, but there is no apparatus good enough to follow after success. Who is responsible for receiving those who thus come off the podium? Maybe it’s easier to stick around when everything goes wrong?
Northug has sacrificed an entire youth so that the Norwegian people can stand on the Swedish border and shout “bloody losers” as we wave flags and foam with joy at victory. Kor was skiing in Norway when he needed someone to take his glass from him and follow him home from the party, why didn’t anyone hug him and say we should find out together?
Fortunately, I have a new solder since that sequel, and good friends cheered me on. Even completely free. Think about it. It is possible to land, with the help of someone who cares.