Tug-of-War—A Serious Medal Event in the Early Games
Tug-of-war may conjure images of summer camps and schoolyard games, but from 1900 to 1920, it was a no-nonsense Olympic sport—complete with medals, national teams, and international controversy. Officially classified under the athletics program, Olympic tug-of-war demanded far more than brute strength. Teams of eight (a standard formalized at the 1908 London Games) battled to pull their opponents six feet across a central line. If neither side accomplished this within five minutes, victory went to the team that had gained the most ground—a rule that added strategic nuance to the seemingly straightforward contest.
The event’s debut at the 1900 Paris Olympics saw a combined Swedish-Danish team defeat the host nation France for the gold. But it was in 1904 that the United States flexed its dominance—American teams swept the podium, taking gold, silver, and bronze. Things got more contentious in 1908 when the U.S. team withdrew in protest, citing the British teams’ heavy footwear as unfair. That year, Great Britain claimed all three medals, further stoking debates about fairness and form.
Despite its drama and physical spectacle, tug-of-war was dropped after the 1920 Antwerp Games, part of a broader IOC effort to streamline the Olympic program. Still, the sport lives on at the World Games and under the governance of the Tug of War International Federation, proving that even a relic of Olympic history can still hold its ground—literally and figuratively.
Live Pigeon Shooting—Replaced After Just One Bloody Appearance
In the long, strange history of Olympic sports, few events have sparked as much immediate outrage—and lasting disbelief—as live pigeon shooting. Held only once, at the 1900 Paris Olympics, this event was exactly what it sounds like: competitors took aim at live birds released from traps, with the winner being the one who killed the most. It was the first and last time the Olympics featured an event with live animal slaughter as its central mechanism—and for good reason.
The event was split into two major competitions: the Centenary Grand Prize on June 19, and the World Expo Grand Prize from June 25 to 27. According to historical records, 166 shooters entered the first contest, while 54 participated in the second. Donald MacIntosh of Australia claimed victory in the former with 22 kills, while Belgian marksman Léon de Lunden took gold in the latter by downing 21 pigeons. In total, the event left nearly 300 birds dead, their remains scattered across the competition grounds of Paris’s Bois de Boulogne.
The backlash was swift. Even by turn-of-the-century standards, the spectacle was seen as excessive and grotesque. The International Olympic Committee (IOC), which does not officially recognize this event in its medal records, quietly shelved it. In its place, clay target shooting was introduced, marking a pivotal shift toward more humane practices in Olympic shooting sports. As one of the most controversial moments in Olympic history, live pigeon shooting stands as a stark reminder of how quickly public ethics can evolve—and how some ideas, no matter how competitive, are simply too brutal for the world stage.
Solo Synchronized Swimming—A One-Person Performance in Perfect Sync
At first glance, “solo synchronized swimming” sounds like a contradiction in terms—how can you be synchronized when you’re the only one in the pool? But from 1984 to 1992, this paradoxical event was a legitimate Olympic sport, and it was taken very seriously. Introduced at the 1984 Los Angeles Games, solo synchronized swimming was one of three disciplines in the sport’s Olympic debut, alongside duet routines and (eventually) team competitions. The twist? Here, synchronization referred not to coordination with other swimmers, but with music—every leg extension, arm flourish, and underwater spin had to align perfectly with the rhythm and mood of the soundtrack.
Over its three Olympic appearances—Los Angeles 1984, Seoul 1988, and Barcelona 1992—the event showcased athletes performing elaborate routines judged on technical merit, artistic impression, and musical synchronization. The performances were both athletic and theatrical, requiring breath control, core strength, and an uncanny ability to make the impossible look effortless. Yet the conceptual oddity of a “solo” synchronized event eventually caught up with it. After the 1992 Games, the International Olympic Committee dropped the solo category in favor of duet and team events, which better embodied the collective nature of the sport.
Still, solo routines remain a staple in non-Olympic competitions, including the FINA World Championships, where athletes continue to push creative boundaries. And in 2017, the sport was rebranded as “artistic swimming” to better reflect its expressive, performance-based identity. So while solo synchronized swimming may no longer have a place in the Olympic spotlight, its legacy lives on in shimmering sequins, underwater ballets—and the enduring question: can one really be synchronized alone? Turns out, for a while, the answer was yes.
Rope Climbing—Grading Athletes on Speed and Form
Rope climbing might conjure images of elementary school gym class, but from 1896 to 1932, it was a serious Olympic event—complete with medals, national pride, and a surprising amount of drama. Introduced at the first modern Games in Athens, the event required athletes to climb a vertical rope using only their hands, starting from a seated position on the floor. But this wasn’t just about brute strength. In its early years, rope climbing was judged on both speed and form, meaning athletes had to look good while hauling themselves up a 14-meter (46-foot) rope. Nikolaos Andriakopoulos of Greece won the inaugural event in 1896, clocking in at 23.4 seconds and earning one of the host nation’s first gold medals.
The event evolved over the years—though not always consistently. By the 1904 St. Louis Games, the rope had shrunk to 25 feet (7.62 meters), and American gymnast George Eyser famously won gold in just 7 seconds—despite competing with a wooden leg. Later Games saw the rope shortened even further: 10 meters in 1906, then 8 meters in both 1924 and 1932. The final Olympic rope climbing gold went to Raymond Bass of the U.S., who scaled the rope in a blistering 6.7 seconds in Los Angeles.
Why did it disappear? As Olympic gymnastics began to favor more dynamic, visually engaging events, rope climbing—with its vertical monotony—fell out of favor. Still, its legacy endures. The sport has deep roots in Ancient Greek gymnastics and 19th-century European fitness systems, and it remains a staple in military training and fitness competitions today. For a brief, gravity-defying moment, climbing a rope wasn’t just a test of strength—it was a path to Olympic glory.
Club Swinging—An Early Form of Rhythmic Gymnastics
At first glance, “club swinging” might sound like something you’d do at a jazz-era speakeasy—but in the early 20th century, it was a serious Olympic event judged on grace, rhythm, and upper-body finesse. Club swinging made its Olympic debut at the 1904 St. Louis Games and returned for a final bow in 1932 in Los Angeles, both times as part of the gymnastics program. The sport involved athletes performing choreographed routines with a pair of wooden clubs—visually similar to modern juggling pins—executing intricate patterns without ever letting go of the apparatus. Think of it as the elegant precursor to today’s rhythmic gymnastics, minus the glitter and floor music.
Historically, club swinging had roots in ancient Persia and India, where it was used for strength training and military conditioning. The British adopted the practice in the 19th century, dubbing them “Indian clubs,” and the exercise quickly caught on in Europe and North America as both a fitness regimen and a performance art. By the time it reached the Olympics, the routines had become highly stylized, with athletes judged on symmetry, fluidity, and synchronization of movement—despite being a solo event.
The 1932 gold medalist, George Roth of the United States, reportedly won the event just before heading back to his job as a gas station attendant—an anecdote that captures the odd juxtaposition of athletic excellence and everyday life common in early Olympic history. Despite its brief Olympic tenure, club swinging laid the groundwork for apparatus-based artistic gymnastics and remains a fascinating chapter in the evolving definition of sport. And while it may never return to prime time, you’ll still find echoes of it in today’s fitness trends and circus-inspired workout classes.
