<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
9601240470
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
960729
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Monday, July 29, 1996
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
8D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>
Photo ALLEN EYESTONE/Cox
</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1996, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
THERE'S NO REASON TO DIS SILVER MEDALISTS
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
ATLANTA --  Big men don't cry, but this big man did. He stepped onto the
medal stand, and when the anthem played, he wept. These were not tears of joy,
mind you. Not one of those Olympic moments  where the hero breaks down in a
flood of patriotism.

  No. The big man, a Greco-Roman wrestler, was on the podium for silver
medalists, and it was a few inches too low to keep his heart from breaking.

  "That was the saddest moment of my life," said Matt Ghaffari, "having to
stand there and listen to the Russian anthem being played, watching the
Russian flag being raised.
  "All the years I train,  all the years I get up at six in the morning and
run and do weights, all the years I've gone without a full-time job, and my
wife and children have to do without, it was all so I could hear the American
anthem when my moment came."
  But you won a silver medal, someone said.
  "That was not my dream," he replied.
  He had wrestled brilliantly, winning all his matches until the final bout.
There  he faced his arch-rival, a man who would give a mountain a hard time:
Russia's Alexander Karelin, who has never lost in international competition.
Karelin, with three Olympic golds, is a wrestling legend.  In Atlanta, no one
scored a point against him.
  Ghaffari came close. He took the giant to overtime, yanking desperately on
his thick arms and torso before losing, 1-0, on a referee's decision. It  was
the 21st consecutive match that Ghaffari has lost to Karelin. Perhaps, as long
as the Russian is around, Ghaffari always will be second-best.
  It's a quirk of fate. Born at the wrong time.
  But it is no reason for tears.
 

Life in the fast lane

  Here's to the silver medal -- which you win, by the way, you don't get it
by default. Too many Americans think silver means "lost the  gold." This is
wrong, and for the pressure it puts on our athletes, it is unforgivable. Any
medal in these Games means nearly all of the world is behind you. Why obsess
over who's ahead?
  Amanda  Beard didn't. She's the toothy, upbeat 14-year-old Californian who
carries a teddy bear to the pool and throws her long, lanky body into the
water and swims the breaststroke better than almost everyone  in the world.
Last week, she raced twice in her speciality, and she beat everyone except one
South African woman, the world-record holder.
  Beard enjoyed her two silver medals. They might not have been what NBC had
in mind when it aired the "up-close-and- personal" segment on her. NBC kept
talking about gold. But let's remember that -- at least for the moment --
athletes are still competing in  these Games, not NBC. Beard, by the way,
refused to go on "The Today Show," "Good Morning America" or any of the rest
because she said she "just wants to have fun and mess around."
  Here's to the  silver. It was not what wrestler Dennis Hall wanted when he
jumped onto the mats last week. His pregnant wife was in the stands. His
family was alongside her. Dennis had dedicated his Olympics to his  older
brother Dan, who was killed in a drunken-driving accident. The perfect finish
would have been a gold. But the gold did not happen. As his opponent
celebrated, Dennis had his head down. But then  someone gave him an American
flag, and he looked up, and the crowd began to cheer, and he forced a smile.
  Here's to the silver.
 

Cream of the crop

  There are 11,000 athletes at these Olympic  Games. Less than a tenth of
them will go home with any kind of medal. Why do fans or broadcasters use the
term "settle" when talking about the second-highest honor of this competition?
  The silver  medal can mean so much more. For swimmer Gary Hall, who twice
last week took second behind the brilliant defending champion Alexander Popov,
the silver means he's gaining on the king; today he loses  by a finger, maybe
tomorrow he wins by one.
  For judo player Armen Bagdasarov, the son of a welder, the silver means the
first-ever Summer Olympics medal for his new country, Uzbekistan. You think
anyone there is complaining?
  Four years ago, in Barcelona, one of the greatest athletes America has ever
produced, Janet Evans, won a silver medal in swimming -- and she cried. She
had only won gold  before, and she felt as if she'd let her country down. 
  Last week, after finishing sixth in her last Olympic race, Evans, now 24,
said: "I'm ashamed that I cried over that silver. I should have been  proud."
  So should our big wrestler, Ghaffari. There was a story last week about
how Olympic gold medals are actually made of silver and simply covered in a
light gold coating. The bigger truth  is, all Olympic medals are made of the
same stuff; it comes from deep within the human heart. Clap when you see it.
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
OLYMPIC; COLUMN
</KEYWORDS>
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