
Shaun Botterill-- Allsport for TIME
he Olympics, to invoke a perhaps too-available and
all-encompassing analogy, are much like the Titanic, both the
movie and the ship. In other words, it's a grand, old-fashioned
blockbuster that stirs you in some primal, half-forgotten place,
however vigilant your defenses, throwing up simple human images
of panic and delight and loss; and a huge, showy, zillion-dollar
model of the family of man that, for all its state-of-the-art
grandeur and planning, cannot outswerve a block of ice. It
shouldn't work, but it does; things should work, but they don't.
As the surprise U.S. silver medalist in the doubles luge, Chris
Thorpe, said of his surprise bronze-medalist teammates, "They
don't have great lines, they don't have great form. They just
fly."
If medals were awarded for staging an Olympics, Nagano would
doubtless receive a silver, the color of its snowfall; almost
everything Japanese was delicate and accommodating except the
weather, which turned skiers on their heads when it wasn't doing
the same to schedules. In the end, however, true grit prevailed:
the fastest man on skis, Hermann Maier ("Other Name: Das
Monster," his official bio explains), confirmed his
extraterrestrial status by getting up from a horrific crash and
picking up two golds in four days; his female counterpart, Katja
Seizinger, returned to form by winning two golds in two days.
Even little Denmark claimed its first Winter medal ever, in
curling--quite a feat for a nation that doesn't have a
functioning curling rink. For Japan, the Games were a happy
windfall, as the host nation rode on the cheers of its faithful
fans to win more golds in 16 days than it had won in 70 years of
Winter Games. Ski jumper Kazuyoshi Funaki assured himself of
heartthrob status by flying away with three medals; more
movingly, Masahiko Harada, who had let glory slip away in his
final jump in two consecutive Olympics, somehow pulled off the
longest jumps in Olympic history in two consecutive events to
claim redemption. Roar after roar ran through the crowd, larger
than in all the other arenas combined, and the grand swelling of
emotion in a people not usually demonstrative touched even
foreign hearts.
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