Profession: U.S. Congressman
Home: Crofton, Md.
Single, no children
That was a long time ago. I don't think about it much. I didn't feel cheated. I didn't feel bitter. I just felt numb, and then life went on. Too many things have happened to me to go on thinking about that.
The only time I've ever come close to feeling that high and that low in such a short space of time was when I first ran for Congress, in 1986. It was 10 p.m., and I was losing by 10,000 votes, and Dan Rather had already declared me a loser on CBS. I'd been out that night shaking hands at the polls, I still felt we could win—and we did, by 428 votes, in triple overtime.
The truth is, that silver medal doesn't mean a lot to me. The whole issue is not a pressing concern in my life. And I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cut this short, because I have a plane to catch right now. If they want to send the medal to me, fine—but I don't want it, it's still anticlimactic. I vote no.
Profession: Sales manager of an automobile dealership
Home: Spring, Texas
Married, four children
They're ahead in the second half, but we're coming back. I rebound and dunk, and then I dunk again. They stick another guy in, and he's on my back, and then he hits me in the back of the head. I raise my fists and the ref says, "Both of you are gone." There I am, the team's leading scorer in the big game—gone.
Then I have to sit and watch them take it from us. My wife says, "Why don't you go get that medal? So your son can have it." Hell, no. He can wear my Olympic ring. I want my medal. Not no silver. I want my gold. It's probably sitting around some Russian's neck right now. That thing should be in my trophy case in my game room, dead center. I vote no.