Olympic memories not just about medals

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By GARY SHELTON, Times Sports Columnist

© St. Petersburg Times
published February 25, 2002

SALT LAKE CITY -- Remember the medal around his neck. Or remember the metal in his hands. When you are forging memories, the choice is yours.

Do you savor the excellence? Or the emotions?

Do you hang on to the success? Or the sentiment?

Before you answer, perhaps you should check out Jim Shea, the face of these Olympics.

Shea had a lump in his throat. For some reason, it seemed to be contagious. Shea, the architect of the sweetest celebration of these Games following his performance in the skeleton, gave us another keeper of a moment Sunday.

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He stood in front of a room, his fingers running over an old, tarnished speedskate blade. Shea's gold medal hung around his neck, but all of his attention was focused on the years and memories of the blade.

The skate had belonged to his grandfather. You remember the story of Jack Shea, the first of the three generations of Shea Olympians. Jack Shea died in a car accident two weeks before the Olympics, and when his grandson won the skeleton, the outpouring of emotion eclipsed any other celebration Salt Lake would witness.

This came close, however. When Jack Shea competed in the 1932 Olympics, he traded his skates to Yamada Katsumi, an athlete in the Nordic combined. Now, the skate had found its way home.

Yamada gave the skates to the son of a friend, Kozo Yoshida, in the '50s when Yoshida began speed skating. Like most of us, Yoshida, now 62, read the stories of Jack's death and arranged to present his grandson with the skates. Sunday, on the final day of the Olympics, the skates finally arrived.

And, as farewells go, wasn't this the perfect way to say goodbye to the Olympics?

Oh, at a time such as this, in the winter of our content, it would be easy to get caught up in the euphoria. The United States won 34 medals, almost three times as many as it had ever won in a Winter Olympiad. You couldn't throw a snowball without hitting someone singing the national anthem.

Host nations aren't supposed to do this. They're supposed to be like Norway and Japan. They're supposed to win a few more medals than usual, usually in fringe sports such as cross-country (Norway) and ski-jumping (Japan) and then get out of the way.

Hah. We protected our medals like they were being kept in the U.S. Mint. And maybe that is why the world is going away mad. Russia is Russia again. Lithuania is angry. South Korea is angry. Canada was angry, too, but after sweeping the hockey golds, it will recover.

But as the Games are shut down, Shea would offer you this gentle reminder. It isn't always about the medals.

There is much to take from these Games in Salt Lake, much to remember. For instance, do not forget the faces of Canadian pairs skaters Jamie Sale and David Pelletier. If you do, they will be forced to hold another news conference to remind you what a cuddly couple they are.

Remember the dismissive laugh of German luger Georg Hackl when his bid for a fourth-straight gold in the luge failed. "If I was an American," Hackl said, "I would say '(bleep) the history.' "

There was the disbelieving look on the face of Australia's Steven Bradbury when all four of his competitors fell like bowling pins in front of him, and Bradbury breezed to the gold medal. "My God, I think I won," he said.

There was Derek Parra, a former Home Depot employee who worked in flooring, winning a gold and a silver. "Maybe they'll move me to lumber," Parra said.

Remember the artificial Spaniard, Johann Muehlegg, winning gold medals. For the record, Muehlegg is about as Spanish as lederhosen. Three times, he has competed for Germany before discovering, voila, he woke up Spanish. It worked better for Columbus. He had to return one of his golds Sunday after testing positive for a performance-enhancing drug.

There was Apolo Anton Ohno, infuriating nations as he skated. All of South Korea is mad at Ohno. If you asked, Paul Kariya is probably mad at Ohno.

Try not to forget Sarah Hughes, darned near perfect, coming from fourth place to grab the gold in figure skating. She sleeps in a Dorothy Hamill T-shirt. How sweet. Give her four more years, and Hamill will sleep in one of hers.

Remember Vonetta Flowers, lifting her arms in victory. Flowers became the first African-American to win a gold medal in the Winter Games. And she managed to do it without stabbing a partner in the back. Just before the race, in fact, mean Jean Racine had tried to recruit Flowers to abandon her parter, so Racine could abandon hers. Instead, Racine finished fifth. Footnote: When you remember this story, remember to laugh.

There was Ole Einar Bjoerndalen of Norway, who won all four gold medals in the biathlon. If you need an employee who can ski and shoot, Bjoerndalen is your man.

There was a cross-country racer from Nepal named Jayaram Khadka. He was the first competitor from his country and the last skier to finish the race. Khadka once made $3 a month working in a restaurant. He didn't seem to mind last place.

Don't worry about the Jamaican bobsled team. They have their own store in Park City, and they're doing fine. But you might recall Brian Shimer, who finally won an Olympic medal after a lifetime of bob, bob, bobbing along. Shimer carried the flag in the Closing Ceremonies. Good on ya, Brian.

Don't forget a Chinese skater named Yang Yang, who finished just ahead of a Chinese skater named Yang Yang. The finish was bang-bang.

Then there was Chris Klug, recipient of a liver transplant, taking a bronze medal in the parallel giant slalom.

Remember the Iranian athletes, who reminded writers, over and over, that peace was a good thing. And let's hope the world was listening.

Don't forget the halfpipers, sweeping the medals and showing that we have the sickest dudes on the planet. Cool.

Then there was Russia's Julija Tchepalova, who put it this way after winning bronze: "The difference between gold and bronze is only a color, not an effort."

Olympics are this way. They come at you in a rush, and it is only later that you can sort through the photos and find the moments that moved you the most.

There were so many dignitaries in this one, so many protests, some dubbed them the Crying Games. American security, and Russian insecurity, both had to be endured. For a while, it threatened to overpower what the Olympics were supposed to feel like.

In the end, however, there was magic. There were memories. There was moment.

Then there was Jim Shea, lovingly stroking a 70-year-old skate, lost in his own memories. Some metals, he reminds us, are more precious than gold.

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