Men’s Snowboard Slopestyle Final – 2026 Winter Olympics Cortina Recap

Flight and Fire in the Dolomites: A New Era in Olympic Slopestyle

CORTINA D’AMPEZZO, Italy — The wind arrived first.

It swept down from the jagged limestone peaks above the course, cutting through layers and snapping the flags that lined the finish corral. By late afternoon, the Dolomites glowed in shades of rose and amber, casting long shadows across a slopestyle course that looked less like a sports venue and more like a sculpted dare.

This was the men’s snowboard slopestyle final at the 2026 Winter Olympics, staged high above Cortina d’Ampezzo, with the Olympic spotlight shared between the alpine drama of Cortina and the cosmopolitan energy of Milan. On this mountain, though, there was nothing urban about the tension. It was raw, elemental, immediate.

Cowbells clanged. Italian flags rippled. Boots stomped against packed snow to keep warm. Every time a rider dropped from the start gate, a hush rolled downhill, followed by a surge of noise that echoed off the rock faces.

The course itself demanded audacity.

Designers had built a technical rail section that offered no safe passage — a down-flat-down with a gap option for those willing to risk it, a cannon box with a blind step-on approach, and a punishing triple kink rail that exposed even the slightest lapse in balance. Riders who survived that gauntlet carried speed into three jumps of escalating size, the last a 26-meter table set stark against the skyline. It was the kind of feature that forces commitment. There is no halfway in the air.

“You had to be perfect from the drop,” said U.S. coach Mark Delgado. “One skid on a rail and you were playing catch-up the rest of the way.”

The snow was fast but chalky — dependable on takeoff, slick on landings. Edges hummed. Boards chattered. The margin between glory and regret felt razor-thin.

The Champion’s Response

Canada’s Liam Fournier, the defending Olympic gold medalist, carried that tension differently than most. At 27, he was no longer the wide-eyed disruptor from four years ago. He arrived in Italy as a marked man, his riding studied and dissected all season.

He opened with precision: a frontside 270 onto the down-flat-down rail, pretzeling out to fakie with composure. On the triple kink, he locked into a backside lipslide and spun 270 off the end, clean and controlled. The crowd, knowledgeable and appreciative, responded to the finesse as much as the risk.

Then came the amplitude.

On the first jump, Fournier launched into a switch backside 1620 Weddle, holding the grab long enough to make the rotation feel suspended in air. The second feature saw him deliver a cab 1800 stalefish, body compact, landing centered. By the time he approached the final kicker, the wind had picked up, brushing snow crystals across the in-run.

He did not hesitate.

Fournier sent a frontside triple cork 1620 melon — three off-axis flips wrapped inside four and a half rotations — and absorbed the landing with a quiet authority that suggested hours of repetition invisible to the public eye.

He punched the air once at the bottom.

“That’s the run I came here to do,” he said later. “No scoreboard watching. Just ride.”

The judges rewarded him with a 94.20. It was a statement score. It was not enough.

The Arrival of a New Standard

Japan’s Riku Tanaka is 19 and rides as if gravity is a rumor.

After a shaky first run left him outside medal position, Tanaka stood at the top of the course for his final attempt with a stillness that belied his age. When he dropped, the mountain seemed to lean forward.

He attacked the rail section with creativity: a switch boardslide to 450 out on the cannon box, landed blind; a gap 270 onto the down rail that cleared the knuckle by inches. He exited carrying more speed than anyone before him.

The first jump brought a switch backside 1800 mute, corked and tweaked with unmistakable style. On the second, he executed a frontside triple cork 1620 with a Japan grab pulled tight to the board, body compact and controlled.

Everything built toward the final hit.

Tanaka set his edge and launched into a backside triple cork 1800 — five full rotations, inverted three times. Midway through the descent, it appeared he might over-rotate. He spotted the landing late, adjusted, and rode away clean.

For a fraction of a second, silence. Then an eruption.

His score — 95.60 — vaulted him into gold medal position. At the finish, he tore off his goggles and screamed, swallowed by teammates in a blur of boards and snow spray.

“I told myself to trust the board,” Tanaka said. “This is what we train for. To push it.”

His victory marked more than a personal triumph. It signaled a generational shift in a discipline that evolves at dizzying speed.

The Weight of Home

No storyline carried more emotional charge than that of Italy’s Matteo Rinaldi.

The 22-year-old from Trentino had electrified the home crowd throughout qualifying, his compact, stylish riding drawing chants that echoed down the valley. When he dropped for his second finals run, the noise was deafening.

Rinaldi matched the leaders through the rails and stomped a cab 1800 tail grab on the first jump. He carried that momentum into the final feature, attempting a switch frontside triple 1620 — a trick at the very edge of his competitive comfort zone.

He landed slightly backseat. The heel edge caught. In an instant, he was sliding into the netting.

A collective gasp swept the mountain.

Rinaldi rose quickly and lifted a hand to reassure the crowd. He would finish seventh, his medal hopes gone but his reputation enhanced.

“I wanted it for them,” he said, gesturing toward the grandstands. “But this is part of it. You fall. You come back stronger.”

The applause that followed felt as heartfelt as any podium ceremony.

A Sport Still Ascending

Since its Olympic debut at the 2014 Winter Olympics, men’s slopestyle has undergone a revolution. Double corks once redefined the possible. In Cortina, triple corks were routine, 1800s nearly expected. Yet amid the escalation in spin counts, judges continued to reward style, flow, and control — the subtleties that separate gymnastics from snowboarding.

Norway’s Elias Strand, who claimed bronze with a technically pristine run heavy on switch takeoffs and creative rail combinations, underscored that balance.

As darkness settled over the Dolomites and the course lights flickered on, the jumps stood silent once more. What had unfolded over two hours felt larger than a medal ceremony. It was a snapshot of a sport at full throttle — youth-driven, innovation-hungry, unapologetically expressive.

In the thin alpine air above Cortina, a new Olympic champion had taken flight. And men’s slopestyle, already one of the Games’ most progressive events, had pushed its own boundaries yet again.