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<UID>
9201060735
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<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
920216
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Sunday, February 16, 1992
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
COM
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1F
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<ILLUSTRATION>

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<CAPTION>

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<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

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<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1992, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
INDIANS SHOW GAMES HOLD MORE THAN GOLD
</HEADLINE>
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<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
MERIBEL, France -- There I was, going down the mountain, when I bumped
into the entire Indian Olympic team.

  Both of them.

  "Where's the rest?" I asked the two skiers.
  "Hello, yes,"  they said.
  "No, no. The rest of your team. What happened? Miss plane? Bus go off
cliff?"
  "Hello, yes," they said.
  There was no missed plane. No bus off the cliff. These two guys, Nanak
Chand and Lal Chuni, both about 5 foot 9, with black hair and awed
expressions, were indeed the entire Olympic team from India. That's India
we're talking about now. New Delhi? Bombay? Sixteen to a room?  That India?
  This is not some tiny country like Jamaica or the Virgin Islands -- both
of which have more than two athletes in these Games. The last time I checked,
India's population was NEARLY 900  million. More than three times the
population of the United States. More than three times the people in Russia,
or the CIS, or whatever they call it now.
  Nine hundred million people.
  Two athletes.
  "Don't you have any skaters?" I asked.
  "No skaters," they said.
  "Bobsled or luge?"
  "No thing like that in India."
  "Well, how about other skiers? I mean there's only two of you."
  "We are only two who make standard."
  "You live in the mountains?"
  "Live in Himalayas."
  "Lots of skiing there?"
  They looked at each other. "Skiing, yes. Chair lift, no."
  No  chair lift?
Training was an uphill climb
  No chair lift. I had just met the only skiers in the Olympic Games who
climb up the mountain, put their skis on, ski down, take their skis off, then
climb  back up the mountain.
  That can really cut down on training runs.
  "One hour to top," Nanak said. "Five minutes to bottom. Soon, you are very
tired."
  Like I said.
  Now, just as I was  wondering if this whole thing was a setup -- maybe a
new TV show called "Calcutta's Funniest Home Videos" -- along came an older
man in an  Indian team coat. He smiled as he grabbed my hand.
  "Hello,  hello. You are most welcome."
  Turns out he was the coach, the trainer, and the head of the Olympic
committee. I think he also waxed the skis. His name was Singh Hukum. He spoke
English. And he verified  everything. He said poverty and the political
situation have kept India from developing more winter athletes -- or even
building chair lifts. He said the Games were not even televised in his
country.
  "For these boys, this is only their third mountain. They come in hope of a
miracle. In our country we believe in miracles."
  "What would be a miracle in their event?"
  He asked them in Indian,  then smiled.
  "Finish the race. And not come in last."
  I thought they were shooting a little high.
  But who knows? After riding the chair lift, they might have so much excess
energy they'll  win the gold medal. You never know.
  And that's the point of this column.  . . . 
Many will lose if Games restricted 
  There is talk about upping the standards at the Olympics. Some of the
"purer"  athletic types have complained about the likes of Eddie "The Eagle"
Edwards, the clumsy British ski jumper, or the Jamaican bobsled team, which
sometimes comes down on its heads. Critics say Olympic  competition should be
for the world's best, not the whole world.
  I say no. Actually, I say let those critics walk up Nanak's mountain and
try skiing down. See how pure they feel then.
  The Olympics  have always been about participation. For every three
medalists, there are 50 athletes who go home with only the memory of having
tried. And for most of them, that's enough.
  It will be for Nanak  and Lal, when they ski the slalom later this week.
Already they had a chance to watch the downhill competition ("Most
exhilarating,") and meet Italian superstar Alberto Tomba. ("He is very, very
better  than us.")
  It tells you something about the state of the world when a country like
India can barely afford to develop two skiers. But it also tells you how much
a couple of kids might need a dream like the Olympics to give them some light.
Who cares where they finish? Who cares if they slow down the race? It's once
every four years. We can wait.
  "Excuse us, we must train now," the coach said.  And he pointed his kids to
a line of people at the bottom of the mountain. Their eyes lit up, and they
raced off.
  I have a feeling about these guys. Here it is: I don't think they'll win
the slalom.
  But I bet they set a record for chair lifts.
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