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Let the Jokes Begin
Snippet of conversation overheard between two workers at a bagel shop on Peachtree Street:
Worker 1: "Did you hear?" Five vital questions still lingering after Friday night's opening ceremonies: 1) If IOC president Juan Antonio Samaranch wasn't 75, would he still have referred to Atlanta's competitors—who include a 63-year-old Puerto Rican shooter, a 50-year-old U.S. fencer and hundreds of thirty- and fortysomethings—as "the youth of the world"? (Answer: ¿Como?) 2) Was it mere coincidence that a McDonald's sign loomed behind the athletes' ramp, giving spectators the sense that the Olympians were emerging from the restaurant's drive-thru window? (Answer: Do you want fries with that?) 3) Which of the following lasted longer—a typical visit to the concession stand or the Parade of Nations? (Answer: The 197-nation parade, barely, at about two hours.) 4) Will we ever see another opening ceremonies in which more pickup trucks (30) take part than past Olympic champions (21)? (Answer: Yes, when Cody, Wyoming, hosts the Games.) 5) Will we ever see another opening ceremonies in which costumed dancers form the words "How y'all doin'!"? (Answer: God willing, no.)
Italy's Yuri Chechi Compulsory exercises may be the essence of gymnastics, as purists believe, but they are not nearly as dazzling as the optionals. That's why the International Gymnastics Federation has decided that after today, compulsories (such as the ring routine performed by Italy's Yuri Chechi, above) will no longer be part of international competition. Compulsories have never drawn TV interest and in recent years have played to sparse crowds. Yet because compulsories—the piano scales of gymnastics—test basic skills, some fear their elimination will cheapen the sport. "Gymnastics will become more a feat of physical skill and lose its artistry," laments U.S. men's coach Peter Kormann. "Many teams will concentrate only on tricks." Tricks, however, are exactly what people want to see.
Yes, there are still tickets available to some of the Games' less glamorous events, but that's not to say buying them at ACOG's ticket center is easy. And it's certainly not pleasant. The line that wrapped around the corner from 270 Peachtree Street for much of yesterday produced scenes of relentless antagonism, partly because of frazzled ticket sellers, partly because some visitors apparently don't understand what a ticket center is. One woman complained that she couldn't find her brick in Centennial Park. "We ordered it two years ago, and nobody can find it for us," she sniped at a supervisor. When she asked his name, the supervisor shielded his badge and said, "You don't need to know my name, just that we're doing the best we can." The secretive supervisor then dismissed a Michigan woman who said she was supposed to receive her tickets by mail but that they hadn't arrived. "We have tickets for many sessions available," he told her. "I can make sure you get a good position on line."
"All I do is wait on lines!" the woman shouted. "I want my tickets."
Iranian Air Rifler
Like all devout Muslim women from Iran, Lida Fariman, 24, prays five times a day and keeps her head and body covered with a hood and a long dress wherever she goes—even to the Olympic shooting range. Fariman (above), the first woman to compete in the Olympics for Iran since the Islamic Revolution in 1979, had a short, well-chronicled Olympic stay that ended when she failed to advance in yesterday's air-rifle qualifying. Fariman admitted that wearing the shooting jacket and leather pants over her dress affected her shooting. She also made a startling claim: "In Iran, we women have the same opportunities as men." No one believed that, but the sight of her firing away provided a resonant first-day image.
Not even the most optimistic rooter for the underdog would waste much energy pulling for an upset of the Dream Team; the U.S. men's basketball team is too overpowering to bother rooting against. But fans eager to see a preening overdog take a fall may want to cheer on Japan in its preliminary-round soccer match today against tournament favorite Brazil at Miami's Orange Bowl. Even before the first booted ball, the Brazilians alienated their opponents. Shunning the athletes' village at Nova University, the team took over two floors of the posh Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables, where the players have been relaxing in their own private game room and frolicking in North America's largest (22,000-square-foot) pool. "It's like the Brazilian Fun Center over there," says Rhonda Price, director of the Orange Bowl press center. The Brazilians apparently feel their real fun will take place on the field. They have repeatedly boasted that they will need to put up only one goal in any game because no one will be able to score against them. Hey, maybe they should take on the Dream Team. Defending heavyweight champion judoist David Khakhaleichvili of Georgia has staked an early claim to the Rey Robinson-Eddie Hart award for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. While yesterday morning's weigh-in was taking place in the athletes' village, Khakhaleichvili was at the World Congress Center, site of the judo competition but not—as he thought—of the weigh-in. He was disqualified. Meanwhile, an ACOG bus driver got lost while carrying athletes to the World Congress Center, which is also the site of fencing and several other sports. By the time the bus reached the fencing venue, Canadian James Ransom's épée match was due to start in 10 minutes. He lost to Michael Marx of Pittsford, N.Y. Even before he arrived in Ducktown, Tenn., for the Olympic whitewater competition, kayaker Samir Karabasic of war-ravaged Bosnia had endured a boatload of troubles. He was drafted in 1993 and spent two years in the Bosnian army; he did his Olympic training on the Una River, which coursed through the land-mine-laden front line between Bosnian Serb and Bosnian government forces; he was bedridden for six months last year with hepatitis; and, to cap it off, the war destroyed most of his country's kayaks. Members of Karabasic's home club in Bihac pooled their money to equip him for the Games, but the best they could provide was a boat with a hairline crack across the deck; the crack was patched with silver duct tape. Those are hardly the raw materials from which to forge a medal. Karabasic's woes didn't end when he made it to the Games. In a training run on the Ocoee River, his boat hit a rock, fell apart and sank in the whitewater. To the rescue paddled U.S. kayaker Scott Shipley, who gave Karabasic the custom-designed kayak Shipley had used to win the 1994 World Cup title. Karabasic, who speaks no English, thanked Shipley through an interpreter, and the gesture has made a big splash in the media, but to Shipley it was just part of the sport. "I've been amazed," he says, "at the reaction to what seems like just a natural thing to do, to help somebody out."
SI Olympic Dailies
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