You, uh, you wouldn't consider...
Of course not. Besides, we're in the middle of a movie, remember? FADE OUT.
Fade in on an 18-foot Hobie Cat slashing through the surf off Malibu, with one hull flying high and throwing off spray. The multicolored mainsail displays 8618 in huge white numbers that can be read from a great distance—not the registry of the boat, but the world-record point total amassed by Jenner in his Olympic decathlon victory. The hull slams down with a splash as the camera closes in and Jenner relaxes on the trampoline, one hand on the tiller.
Consider this for just a second. This is why I worked so hard at first. When the Games ended on the evening of July 30, 1976, when I had won my medal, I figured that I had four years from that moment to learn a trade. Four years and no more, because when the next Olympic. champion came along he'd obviously take my spot as the...whatever you want to call it, as the sports hero I was. I'd like always to be remembered as the Olympic champion. But now because of the boycott, us not going to the Moscow Games, I'm still the last U.S. Olympic hero of the Summer Games. Still, I can't live on just that memory. And maybe now, at last, I'm starting to look a little more human. FADE OUT.
Fade in on Sunset Boulevard at the point in Beverly Hills where it skirts the UCLA campus. It is early morning, and several joggers are laboring up Bush Hill, named for Track Coach Jim Bush, who sentences his teams to run the murderous slope in training. Gradually the camera closes in on one man: he's well-conditioned, dark-haired and in his early 40s. He's wearing a look so intense that his face seems almost aggrieved.
This gentleman-jogger is George Wallach, the agent, adviser, molder, counselor—indeed, the founder—of Bruce Jenner. Well before the Olympics, Wallach saw the luminous potential in Jenner, and he has guided Jenner's career from the moment the Games ended.
(The jogger runs up to the camera and stops, puffing a bit. He lifts the bottom of his T shirt and pats his face dry.)