Tom Friend got to know Marion Jones and C.J. Hunter while researching a 2000 cover story for ESPN The Magazine. He shares his reaction to Marion's defeat.

I do not know what happened behind closed doors between Marion Jones and C.J. Hunter.

But I know what happened in front of the closed doors: she'd always win.

He would stand a half-mile from the starting line, but this man had lungs -- he'd shout, "Let's ride," and she'd hear him clear as day.

And then she'd go 0-to-60 in a nanosecond.

Like it or not, Marion Jones and C.J. Hunter -- "Beauty and the Beast" -- were a winning combination. Now that their divorce is in the works, it's no surprise she's slowing down. She hadn't lost a 100-meter final since 1997, but she lost twice in the event on Monday at the World Championships in Edmonton.

It could have been an off day.

Or it could be she needs him. Needs his glare. Needs his edge. Needs his foul mouth. Needs his "everyone hates us, damn it" state of mind.

None of us have the slightest idea about their relationship at home, nor do we have a right to know, but facts are facts: he got her here, and he kept her here.

She was a college basketball player when they met, and she was an Olympic gold medalist when they parted. She was always moping in her dorm when they met, and she was building a million-dollar home when they parted.

He got her Nike, got her a coach, got her in the weight room. He told the writers to get lost, told the sponsors to come on in. He played the bad cop, she played the good cop. They ate lobster when she won, brown rice when she lost. She ran the heats; he took the heat. All she had to do was show up and run.

He was her front man, her bodyguard, even her gosh-darn golf cart when she collapsed on the track in pain in '99 at Seville. He carried her off the track that day, and he would've carried her much farther.

Marion could be an emotional wreck. Always was, back in college. She and her mother had had a falling-out, and she was being ignored by her father. She had quit track and field -- the sport of her youth. And it didn't look like she'd ever go back.

Nike's executives remember her putting on weight, the way college freshmen tend to put on 10 or 20 pounds. And when she had a series of stress fractures, they basically wrote her off.

But they had no idea about the two of them. They had no idea that C.J. and Marion had met at Carolina, and that Marion admits she'd been "vulnerable" and "mopey" at the time. They had no idea that C.J. had taken her along to the '96 Olympics, where he competed in the shot put, and that she'd gotten the itch again. All because of him.

They had no idea that when C.J. called the Nike office one day, in early '97, he was calling about Marion. She needed a sponsor. She was going to race again -- look out.

Nike came around, all right -- we all know the story. She became "Mrs. Jones" in all of their pre-Olympic commercials, and she was the centerpiece of everything they did and promoted in Sydney last summer. C.J. may have messed everything up by testing positive for steroids in Australia, but he certainly did not mess up Marion's career.

I interviewed them both for ESPN The Magazine back in '99, and they held hands back then and talked about the days when they were pinching pennies and had to have their telephone shut off a couple of times.

She admitted then that C.J. had revived her career, and more specifically, she said, "Seeing C.J. go to the '96 Games, and going there and watching him compete and watching all the women run -- I think, if anything, that urged me to want to come back to the sport. My first true love -- running track."

He certainly didn't come off as likeable. He'd been sued for child support by his former wife, even though he claimed he doted on his two kids, and he'd gotten into scraps at the Raleigh, N.C. track where they trained. He eavesdropped on her interviews, and rarely gave any himself. I didn't particularly care for him.

But one thing was clear: he was all about her. Because he'd re-invented her.

And now she's on her own.

She'll be fine. She'll certainly win more gold medals.

But it seems to me she'll need someone to replace him. Someone to motivate her. Someone to tell everyone in the world to back off. To get lost.

Someone to be the heavy.

Because C.J., he was the heaviest.

Tom Friend is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at tom.friend@espnmag.com.