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That the tricksters and cheats are strutting their stuff at all is some-thing of a miracle on ice and snow. The sudden admission of cheating as an Olympic sport threw Salt Lake City into a tizzy of frantic preparation to cram in a heavy schedule of new events before the Games' official close. A special commission, many of its members flaunting forged credentials, worked through the night at an improvised headquarters in the costliest suite in one of Salt Lake City's plushest hotels, reportedly paid for with a stolen credit card. By dawn the next day, they had drawn up a complete list of events fit to challenge the creme de la creme of the international sporting community's champion fixers and manipulators at their own game, and organized the venues, before vanishing with an estimated $5,000 worth of hotel bedding, silverware and towels.
All for the glory of the gold, the silver, the bronze--well, sort of. "You wouldn't expect real gold, silver and bronze, would you?" chortles one shameless rule bender. "The medals issued to winning cheaters are actually pot metal, painted. So afterward, when they sell them to some unwitting dupe for big bucks, it'll be a memory to last a lifetime."