Perhaps one day this whole age of football will require an asterisk

I n 2008 Speedo introduced the LZR Racer, a body-length swimsuit lined with stiff polyurethane plastic panels that dramatically reduced drag in the water. Essentially it turned the swimmer into a smooth aerodynamic tube, trapping little pockets of air to improve buoyancy. The technology was introduced in time for the Beijing Olympics, where 23 world records were set by swimmers wearing the LZR.

The impact on the sport was cataclysmic. Athletes who enjoyed the benefits of the new “super suit” described the sensation as like flying. Those who had signed deals with other manufacturers were faced with the choice of breaking their contracts or seeing their careers ruined. And, of course, the records continued to tumble. After Michael Phelps – wearing the LZR – was beaten at the 2009 world championships by the unknown Paul Biederman, wearing a successor suit made entirely of polyurethane – his coach Bob Bowman threatened to pull him out of swimming entirely. In the space of 17 months in 2008 and 2009, a total of 140 world records were set using the LZR. Fifteen still stand. As Bowman put it at the time: “We’ve lost all the history of the sport.”

For some within swimming, the super-suit era remains something of a taboo these days, an embarrassing family secret, a period in the sport’s history that many would prefer to be consigned to oblivion. Yet some also idly wonder what swimming might have looked like had Fina (now World Aquatics) not chosen to ban plastic-based swimsuits, as it did in 2010. What might have happened if an entire sport had basically chosen to legitimise the pursuit of a grotesque advantage through whatever means possible? Perhaps, on reflection, it might have ended up looking a lot like football.

“Lance