As they crossed the finish line Mills turned to Smith and asked who won. Smith pointed to himself. "You won!" said Mills.
"John won?" said Collett, groaning. "Oh, no! My coach has created a monster. I knew John was tough mentally, but damn! Next year is going to be a gas, a real gas."
A photographer asked Smith to pose for a picture. He did. "Uh," said the photographer, "what's your name?"
" John Smith."
The photographer went away in anger.
"What a tough break for Lee," said Smith. "Nobody can win in that lane. Anyplace else and he would have won. He couldn't see me and I just snuck up on him. Just like Mills did last year. And he's my teacher. He built my confidence, taught me how to run past people at the end. Then I do this to him. Damn! Anybody else! I admire Lee enough to bow down to him."
Evans walked away to be alone. Then he sat down on the second step of the victory stand. "The races I lose," he said. "One a year and it's always the big one. I just never saw John coming until it was too late."
Smith approached the stand. Evans jumped up and put an arm around him. "I'm glad it was you, baby," he said. "If it had been anybody else it would have killed me. You run so much like me now it scares me. I just didn't figure you to do it this year." He pushed Smith toward the stand. "Climb up and get your medal. And if you don't win at Munich, I'll kick your butt all the way around the block."