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In all of Liechtenstein before the Games, there were only two men who had ever driven a bobsled. One was the baron himself but, alas, he had made a honeymoon promise years ago never to drive again. The other was a Liechtensteiner who, in the baron's view, broke training so enthusiastically that he had to be dropped from the squad just the day before the first trials.
It was a dark hour. Von Falz-Fein could never go back on his word to the baroness, and there seemed to be no one else to drive the sled. But at midnight, with the trials only hours away, the solution occurred to the baron. He hurried to the home of a 19-year-old Liechtensteiner named Moritz Heidegger, who, undeniably, had never driven a bob but was a demon motorcycle racer. The baron shook Moritz awake.
"How would you like to drive a bob?" he demanded.
"What's a bob?" asked the sleepy youngster.
"You drive it like a motorcycle," said the baron.
"When?" asked Moritz.
"The trials start tomorrow."
"Oh, all right. I'll try it."
"By the way," the baron added, "the bobs run on ice."
Moritz reared up in bed. "On ice?"