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Johnson lived up to his billing—the biggest of the Games—by roaring through the 200 and demolishing his own world record.
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True, no man had ever won both the 200- and 400-meter races in the Olympics. But since 1990, Johnson had owned these two events, though in Barcelona he didn't run the 400, and any hope of winning the 200 was spoiled by a rotten ham. Now, without the burden of food poisoning, he had easily won the 400 and was favored to win the 200. His losing to Frankie Fredericks just four weeks earlier might have restored some intrigue to the event. But mostly, Johnson was a one-man Dream Team.
Thoughts of competition were further discouraged during his week of 200 qualifying. Each heat was about the same. He'd break ahead at the turn, accelerate briefly and then, after a casual look over his shoulder to check the field, lapse into a rolling gait that would still get him across the line first. Not a few people invoked the image of a dragster popping its chute.
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There was no letting up at the finish this time as Johnson's now-famous posture enhanced his stature: fastest in the world.
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So why the intense attraction? Johnson's mastery in these events, well established coming in, was actually growing. His famously focused look in the blocks, the slap-slap of his shiny gold shoes, even the rhythmic sway of that thick gold chain across his chest, the coasting finish—all so familiar. What were people coming to see, exactly?
Here's what: the focused look, the slap-slap, the swaying, the burst around the turn, the continued acceleration (no flaps down here) through the straightaway, the ridiculously stiff-backed passage into history. One look over the shoulder, but only at the finish and only to glance at the clock. A new world record, just as he had suspected.
As it flashed on the board, 80,000 people in the stadium remembered to breathe. Third-place finisher Ato Boldon of Trinidad, who had earlier insisted that the title of fastest man alive belongs to the 100 winner, now turned and bowed at Johnson's golden feet, unworthy. In awe, Boldon walked to the finish-line clock and pointed to the time, 19.32, frozen there. Johnson, in two stabs (including his record-breaking race in the Olympic trials), had now lowered a 17-year-old record by four tenths of a second—an eternity in this race. Who could believe it?
Everyone and no one. The record made sense, of course. You couldn't be too surprised. But watching it—the look, the slap-slap, the swaying—you were stunned all the same. Finally, you too remembered to breathe.
On a four-year mission after failure in '92, decathlete |
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In a hair-raising finale,
Mia Hamm and the U.S. team edged out China 2-1 for the inaugural gold medal in women's soccer.
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For athletes in the 1,500-meter wheelchair race, a nonmedal event, a little rain couldn't dampen their competitive drive.
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