David Leggat: Suits transform mere mortals into dolphins

Sport's most famous asterisk once belonged to baseball.

When Babe Ruth slugged 60 home runs for the New York Yankees in 1927, the record stood until 1961 when Roger Maris went one better at the same club.

However the American League had expanded from eight to 10 teams that season and Maris played 162 games, eight more than the Bambino. Baseball's commissioner at the time was Ford Frick, a former sports hack whose jobs once included ghosting Ruth's autobiography and who was at Ruth's bedside when he died. Therefore he was, shall we say, not an entirely neutral observer.

So Frick insisted an asterisk sit alongside Maris' record, a mean-spirited way of undermining a remarkable feat. It lasted until 1991 when it was removed.

Now swimming needs a giant asterisk. It should sit alongside the world records established while swimmers were wearing the polyurethane suits which have turned talented mortals into fish, most notably during this week's world championships in Rome.

Over 100 world records fell last year. There were 29 records set in the first five days of the championships, equalling the all-time record of the Montreal Olympics 33 years ago, when goggles were introduced.

Some records which had stood for years were washed away in minutes.

Swimmers talked of feeling no pain, and therefore being able to keep their technique intact through the final stages of their races. No pain and strong technique equate to cutting seconds off world-best times.

The skintight suits also trap air, which aids flotation, and reduce vibration on muscles. If swimmers don't tire thanks to artificial assistance, it's no wonder the record book has been chewed up. As American great Janet Evans put it, it's technical doping.

For example, German Paul Biedermann has whipped the old marks of Australian great Ian Thorpe in the 400m freestyle and Michael Phelps in the 200m freestyle, while wearing an Arena X-Glide suit.

Biedermann was honest enough to admit the suit helped, describing the sensation as being like a human speedboat.

Then there's China's Zhang Lin. Contesting the 800m freestyle, Zhang sliced six seconds off Australian Grant Hackett's record, despite being unable to keep up with Hackett's training programme on the Gold Coast while preparing for the world champs.

Sport has always been loaded with new technology, as athletes, coaches and scientists have searched for ways to extend boundaries, to go further, faster and higher. You might not like it, but you won't stop it.

Take golf and the bazookas available to players as they take the world's toughest courses apart.

Or tennis. Remember wooden rackets?

Cricketers are using bats with two flat sides in the search for an edge, so to speak, as the march of Twenty20 gains momentum.

What's so different about swimmers using new gear? After all, couldn't all swimmers use the polyurethane suits, then it would be a different sort of even field and the best would still win out?

It's this: they've made a joke of the sport.

When you yawn to match the tedium of another world record, something is wrong. Forget for a moment the issue of success achieved through drugtaking.

Producing a time/distance/margin that has never previously been achieved should be an event which gives pause for thought, allowing an appreciation of what that athlete has done.

That's not happening in Rome where the hapless world governing body Fina has allowed this farce to dominate the sport.

Yesterday it said the rules would change next year, with a return to textile-only outfits and specific cuts for men and women. But they haven't specified a date, other than "April or May". Swimsuit manufacturers will be given specifications by the end of September.

When Phelps' coach Bob Bowman said his most famous pupil would not be swimming competitively again until the new togs were thrown out, it sounded rather like the toys had left the cot in a hurry.

But if you'd spent years getting to a point where you can do what the Hacketts, Thorpes or Phelps have done, you too might feel seriously aggrieved that your finest moments have been done in by a collection of two-footed dolphins.