Breaking up is hard to do
By Brian Murphy
Special to Page 2

There are few things sadder than the extinguishing of the flame.

Michelle Kwan
Michelle Kwan didn't win gold, but she did reach the status of Olympic Diva.
Sometimes, that even includes the Olympics.

Time to uproot The Cooler from its place in the Olympic Village, right outside the room of the only "athlete" from the tiny desert country of Dubai, my guy Johnny. You remember him. He's the shoeshine guy from the old "Police Squad!" episodes.

The past fortnight, Johnny hasn't done much competing. Mostly, he spent his time "hosting" mixers. Translation: He spiked the Sparkletts with Everclear, in hopes that it would aid him in navigating the tricky waters leading back to the Village dorm rooms of Michelle Kwan or Jamie Salé for deeper analysis of the triple Salchow.

But who's to blame him, or the rest of us, as we found ourselves reminded why we love the Olympics so: Heartwarming stories. Triumphs over adversity. Babes from every country on the globe.

I'll miss Johnny. Probably won't see him again until Athens, 2004. Then again, you never know where Johnny might turn up in the background of a TV shot. Johnny's got a little Rock N' Rollen in him, minus the rainbow wig and mental meltdown that led to that standoff in the L.A. airport hotel. (Yeah, we traffic in arcane pop culture here at The Cooler. If you remember Rock N' Rollen's hilariously sad yet riveting emotional breakdown, stand up and give yourself a round of applause.)

Really. Who knows when I'll see him again? After the Closing Ceremonies, where Johnny scored cell phone digits from Russian skater Maria Butyrskya, he was up and out of Salt Lake. He went in style, on the private Lear of a Dubai oil prince with whom he has become close, after a series of successful betting tips offered by Johnny.

Before he left, I undertook a sociological experiment, and asked him what he learned from the Winter Games.

He issued a formal decree on parchment paper, written in caligraphy, and delivered to my Village dorm room in a manila folder from Kinko's. It sort of read like Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech, only with stains from spilled beer and NBA over/unders scribbled in the margins.

Sale & Pelletier
Jamie Salé became one of the most memorable faces from the Salt Lake City Games.
Quoth Johnny:

  • I learned that there is nothing more beautiful than the idea of the world uniting through sport, unless you count the idea of Irina Slutskya giving me a backrub.

  • I learned that in this time of sorrow for our nation, there is nothing more overwhelming than the Olympics to remind us that we're all in it together, except when Russia threatens to walk out, because they're P.O.'ed over bogus officiating.

  • I learned Russia's apparent desire to restart the Cold War was nothing more than simple posturing, because they love the idea of Carl's Jr. and Starbucks in their snowbound cities just too damn much.

  • I learned that there is nothing to make me more proud than to see U.S. athletes achieve such great heights, conveniently avoiding the sound argument that the only reason we win medals is because we make up absurd winter sports, like snowboarding and short-track speed skating.

  • I re-learned an important fact: That Willie Nelson should always be included on that precious list of Things America Can Be Proud Of.

  • And most important, I learned that Jamie Salé can sniff out Everclear in her Sparkletts, and that she has no apparent interest in the J-Man.

    Man. Johnny is, like, a poet or something.

    Without further ado, the Weekend List of Five:

    Theo Fleury
    Admit it: If the U.S. can't win, Canada is the next best thing.
    1. Oh, no! Canada!
    No "Miracle on Ice" this time for the red-white-and-blue, eh? Fair enough. If we had won the gold in hockey, it would have cheapened the whole 1980 story. Who can work up a good eyeful of tears over the idea that Brett Hull would hang his gold medal in a 5,500-square foot mansion in a gated community in Dallas, somewhere near his 1,000-square foot indoor gym, probably near his original Matisse? Give me Jim Craig looking for his father, any day.

    Don't get me wrong. I was rooting for our lads, even if they all have agents. It's just that sometimes Canada winning is a good thing. They have a kick-butt national anthem. Way better than ours. I can't tell you the number of times during the anthems of an A's-Blue Jays game in SkyDome I thought about bailing on the ballgame to apply for dual citizenship and all it entails: A Maple Leaf sticker for your car, free McKenzie Brothers videos, and the Rush CD of your choice.

    So, Canucks, enjoy.

    2. Ohno wins just one gold? Oh, no!
    Apolo Anton Ohno
    Apolo Anton Ohno's sport brings one word to mind: "Rollerball."
    I thought that line there was pretty cute. Didn't you? So clever. Get it? His name is "Ohno." So, you know, with a little imagination, you can make it sound like, "Oh, no!" This is why I'm paid a handsome sum by the suits in Bristol, Conn.

    Well, Apolo, this is what you get, dude. Your sport is sort of ridiculous, isn't it? Mostly, it's about wiping out. When it's not about wiping out, it's about some obscure ruling. When it's not about wiping out or obscure rulings, it just reminds you of the film "Rollerball," starring James Caan. And when you think about James Caan, you think about how his career never got better than his role as Santino Corleone, and how bummed you were when Sonny bought it at the tollbooth ... and the next thing you know, you're not even thinking about Apolo's inability to win four golds.

    That's the way it goes, bro. Now polish that one gold and go rent "Rollerball."

    3. The Divas
    I'll admit it. My manliness takes a serious hit, but I'll admit it. I look forward to the ladies figure skating final. I watch it. I have opinions on it. What, you want to laugh at me now? You want to start making Brian Boitano jokes on me now?

    I counter with seven words to bolster my argument:

    Sarajevo. 1984 Games. Pink Outfit. Katarina Witt.

    I win.

    Katarina Witt
    The Murph has two words for anyone who mocks him for watching figure skating: Katarina Witt.
    So, to this year ... well, good for young Sarah Hughes. She never found her way into the Epic Performance file for me. She's no Peggy Fleming, '68. She's no Kristi Yamiguchi, '92. She's not even a Linda Fratiane, '80, as far as I'm concerned -- an underrated thing, by the way.

    But, fair play to the lass. Sarah Hughes didn't bite it. The others did. I wanted Michelle Kwan, for many reasons, but sadly, she is taking on a Mickelsonian hue, despite her many world and U.S. titles. I admired the spunk of little Sasha Cohen, who looked like she had the heart of a bulldog and scored extra points for having the moxie to hand a cell phone to the President. But in the heat, she turned into a little girl again.

    So ... you know, Sarah Hughes.

    Whatever.

    That's pretty much the only way to sum up that.

    4. Tourney talk: warming up
    Shhh. Listen closely. The buzz is building. More and more, you're hearing it. Oh, 'Bama beat Florida? More and more, it's taking shape. Wisconsin, they're a lock, right? Before you know it, it'll be here. Steve Lavin? When and where can we tree him?

    Consider this your official two-week heads-up that the Tourney is on its way.

    5. Who watched the Match Play final?
    Anybody not named Sutherland or McCarron, step forward. All right, anybody not from Sacramento step forward. That about it?

    One guy? OK. Thank you for your honesty, Commissioner Finchem.

    Me, I follow the stuff. You probably don't believe me, but it was a highly entertaining match, with McCarron lashing bombs off the tee and Sutherland, the No. 62 seed and winner -- like Dick Tarrant's Richmond Spiders winning it all -- going Houdini from the rough. Besides, you might or might not have figured out through several repeated bashings over the head, that I'm a NorCal guy, and out of a globe full of elite players, the last two standing were NorCal guys. I swear I saw Dre in the gallery, loudly singing: From Oakland to Sac Town, the Bay Area, and back down ... it's California love.

    Man, that guy is, like, a poet or something.

    I ought to introduce him to Johnny. Maybe in Athens.

    Brian Murphy of the San Francisco Chronicle writes the "Weekend Water Cooler" every Monday for Page 2.





    • THE WATER COOLER

    ALSO SEE:

    Brian Murphy Archive

    2002 Winter Games Index

    Murphy: Fur-get about it

    Ode to the Russians





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