U.S. OLYMPIC FESTIVAL : COMMENTARY : They Have an Edge When Sameness Counts

From the moment they first tumbled into the same chlorine pool together, Karen and Sarah Josephson were synchronized swimmers. They had no choice in the matter. There was no other way around it.

Karen was born on Jan. 10, 1964, in Bristol, Conn.

Seven minutes later, so was Sarah.

Today, Karen stands 5-foot-4, smiles a lot and wears her bright red hair in a short bobbed cut.

So does Sarah.

Karen holds a 1985 bachelor of sciences degree from Ohio State, where she was a four-time Outstanding Scholar-Athlete.

So does Sarah.

Karen teaches math and science as a substitute in the Mt. Diablo High School District in Northern California.

So does Sarah.

As identical as two twins are likely to be, Karen and Sarah Josephson had their future mapped out at an early age. If they swam, they were synchronized. So, at 6, with an interest in Esther Williams movies and a mother who had dabbled in water dancing as a teen-ager, Karen and Sarah took the plunge, diving wholeheartedly into a strange world of sequins, nose plugs, greasepaint and bad show tunes.

For 20 years now, they have been at it. That’s a long time to spend underwater with a funny little party hat on your head, but Karen and Sarah are hopelessly hooked. After the 1988 Olympics, where they won a silver medal, they tried to quit.

“We just figured that was it after ‘88,” Sarah says. “We’d been to the Olympics. We won a medal. It seemed like a natural stopping point.”

The idea didn’t last a year.

“We did some (exhibition) shows, some traveling, some relaxing and a little living,” Sarah says. “We were out of it two months when we started thinking, ‘Maybe we’re not ready to be out of it.’ ”

Already this year, the Josephsons have won the United States National Duet Championship, the gold medal at the Mallorca Open in Spain and, Saturday, the gold medal in duet competition at the U.S. Olympic Festival.

It was the Josephsons’ fifth festival, but only their first gold. At 26, they were the oldest entrants in the field--they are among the oldest world-class tandems anywhere--but everything about the twins’ routine Saturday was in sync, even the scores: 9.9, 9.9, 9.9 . . . “That was pretty close to our best ever,” Sarah said.

“But it’s hard to say,” Karen interjected, “because we didn’t see it. We still have to look at the video.”

“But,” Sarah chimed in again, “from what other people said, it looked good.”

Sarah smiled. So did Karen.

It was only a matter of time before synchronized swimming reached this point, taken to its illogical extreme by two identical sisters. They walk alike, they talk alike, sometimes they even back-pike alike.

It would seem to be an unfair advantage, too, in a sport where success is measured by how perfectly you mimic your partner. Height counts in basketball, strength in weight-liftness, but sameness is the key in synchro.

“We have been asked that before, you know,” Sarah said, laughing.

“In some respects, yes, it is an advantage. It makes choreography easier.

“But it also has its disadvantages. If you do something different, it’s more obvious to the judges. If another team is a little bit off, they might get away with it. But we look the same. Judges expect us to be perfect.”

Karen and Sarah have a sense of humor about their field of expertise, basically because it’s a requisite of survival. Unless you’re a comedian, you don’t last 20 years doing something that makes other people laugh. Synchro remains the most ridiculed of Olympic events--and with its splash and whirl of wide eyes, frozen smiles and exaggerated gestures, it’s an easy target.

Now, it’s almost impossible to watch a routine without flashing back to the Saturday Night Live parody a few years back, with Martin Short and Harry Shearer--strapped in life jackets--flailing and fawning as pioneer male synchronized swimmers.

“Yeah, we’ve seen it,” Sarah says. “I think it was funny. It made fun of it, but it also gave the sport some recognition. It’s our sport, but they make fun of other sports, too.”

Besides, the Josephsons insist, their sport has come a long way.

“We’ve seen the whole sport change,” Sarah says. “In the very beginning, there was Esther Williams and the routines were very ‘theme-y,’ with very elaborate costumes.

“Our first costumes were little cats. We wore ears and tails and leotards. It’s pretty hard to swim in that.”

Today, they look like figure skaters after the ice has melted.

“Today,” Karen says, “coaches and swimmers have learned about training. We now lift weights and take aerobics classes. We stay underwater longer and lift ourselves out of the water higher. There’s more of an emphasis on being in shape.”

Karen and Sarah hope to stick around long enough to see one more thing: A gold medal draped around each other’s neck come 1992 in Barcelona.

“We’re shooting for the Olympics,” Karen said. “We came so close in Seoul, we were near perfect. We want one more chance.”

Saturday was one more rung in the ladder, one more medal in the collection, one more experience to store away for ’92.

Saturday, Minneapolis belonged to the Josephsons. For one day, it was the twins’ city.