OLYMPICS: The Games: Up in the Air

It is an Olympiad of contradictions. There she stands, poised on the balance beam—a 4-in. strip of spruce, 16½ ft. long, 4 ft. above the padded flooring. The palms of her hands are coated with gymnasts' chalk that is as white as her uniform, as white as her face. She is an infinitely solemn wisp of a girl, 4 ft. 11 in. tall, a mere 86 Ibs.; dark circles above her cheeks; a Kean-eyed elf. Then, with no more strain than it would take to raise a hand to a friend, she is airborne: a backflip, landing on the sliver of a bar with a thunk so solid it reverberates; up, backward again, a second blind flip, and a landing. No 747 ever set itself down on a two-mile runway with more assurance or aplomb. She leaps, twists, spins, and the 18,000 people in Montreal's Forum realize that they are witnessing an exhibition of individual achievement that is truly Olympian. The judges agree. Their verdict on Nadia Comaneci, 14, of Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej, Rumania: she is perfect.

Never before in the modern Olympic Games, which date back to 1896, has the performance of a gymnast been judged perfect. But within five days last week Comaneci earned the 10.00 mark seven times. Yet never before have the Olympics seemed less perfect. Plagued first by the bitter international dispute over the participation of Taiwan, then beset by the withdrawal of African and Arab countries, the Montreal Olympics have seen what could prove to be irreparable damage (see box) to the notion that nations that play together stay together.

The parade of athletes at Saturday's opening ceremonies moved in a hastily assembled new order as country after country—Algeria, Ethiopia, Kenya, Nigeria, Uganda—kept their flags furled and their representatives in the Olympic Village. This shortened the parade, which may have somewhat comforted Queen Elizabeth, who stood for an hour and 15 minutes as the banners passed in review. But the athletes involved were furious, driven to tears and even threats that they would renounce their citizenship; years of training had availed them little more than an unpack-pack-up look at the Olympic Village. There, late Saturday afternoon, a group of New Zealanders, clad in their black-blazered parade uniforms, stood with their arms around several disconsolate Kenyans, still wearing the red warmup suits they had on when they learned of their government's "withdraw immediately" decision that morning. By week's end 25 countries represented by 697 athletes were out of the Games. Gone with them were such potential gold-medal winners as Track Stars Mike Boit of Kenya, Miruts Yifter of Ethiopia and John Akii-Bua of Uganda. Gone too was any hope that such prestige races as the 800 and 1,500 meters could have the stature of world-championship events.

In the only way they could, the athletes avenged the indignity of political manipulation and the armed-camp atmosphere of the Montreal Olympics (Canada's 16,000-man security force was omnipresent); they mounted an unparalleled assault on their own common enemy, the record book.