Rowing Showdown: USA vs Serbia at the Lenny Peters Cup

OPINION By Pete Sheppard

The Serbian double sculls crew of Martin Mačković and Nikolaj Pimenov is a pair of rowing machines so well-oiled you’d swear they came with a lifetime warranty and a gallon of 10W-40. They are the World Silver Medalists, which is a polite way of saying they spend their lives looking at some other guy’s back while making the rest of the planet look like they’re rowing a bathtub with a leaky bottom.

They arrive at the starting line with the kind of icy, Balkan composure that suggests they aren't here to race you—they’re here to foreclose on your house.

Across the lane, we have Jacob Plihal and Caleb Nollenberger. They represent the Stars and Stripes, which in the sport of rowing, usually means they’ve got a lot of heart, a lot of Ivy League diplomas, and a very uphill climb against guys who grew up pulling oars through the Danube before they could ride a bike.

Plihal is a giant of a man who looks like he could row a boat across the Atlantic using only his hands if the oars snapped. Nollenberger is the guy tasked with making sure all that American horsepower doesn't just result in a very expensive circle.

The Tale of the Tape

• The Serbians: They row with the rhythmic monotony of a metronome in a tuxedo. It’s beautiful, it’s efficient, and it’s about as much fun to compete against as a root canal. They don't beat you with a sprint; they beat you by existing at a higher lung capacity than is legally allowed in most states.

• The Americans: They are the "Why Not Us?" kids. Plihal and Nollenberger are trying to prove that the U.S. hasn't forgotten how to move a small boat without thirty-four other guys in it. They’re the long shots, the underdogs, the guys the bookies in Vegas wouldn't give a free drink to.

The Outlook

Rowing is a sport of controlled agony. It’s the only sport where you go backward to get where you’re going and pay for the privilege by feeling like your chest is being squeezed by a boa constrictor.

If the probabilities were a betting line, the Serbians would be the house, the dealer, and the guy who owns the parking lot. They have the hardware and the history. But Plihal and Nollenberger have that dangerous American trait: they don't know they’re supposed to lose.

The Serbians will try to turn the race into a funeral procession by the thousand-meter mark. The Americans will try to turn it into a street fight.

It’s the Classic vs. the Corvette. The Silver Medalists vs. the Silver Linings.

If you like your sports with a side of oxygen deprivation and a dash of "U-S-A" hope, keep your eyes on the water. Just don't blink—at this level, the difference between a gold medal and a "thanks for coming" certificate is usually about the length of a well-chewed fingernail.

Serbia's Martin Mackovic (right) celebrates after racing. 

High Performance Coach Josy Verdonkschot and Team USA at the 2025 Lenny Peters Cup