The Front Runner

fallen off. He had lost one shoe—Dellinger must have stepped on his foot. His rhythm and his psych were shattered like thin glass. He was moving along jerkily, drunkenly. He was flapping along like a bird with a broken wing.
    All around me, his admirers were groaning and crying. "He's limping!" "I can't look, it's too awful." "That's the end of him." Dellinger's fans were rejoicing, pounding each other on the backs. "Bob's got it sewed up."
    Billy was pulling himself together now. But Mike Stella passed him. Then Fred Martinson passed him. He was running with one foot bare, running blind— he could see the edge of the track only fuzzily, I knew. He had stopped limping and was running evenly. But Wilt Boggs passed him. Now Billy was fifth.
    But coming out of the turn, Billy seemed to realize his situation. He collected himself, and suddenly he was running like a beast. It was one of those moments when I got the cold chills, watching him wring out of his body the last flicker of response. As the five of them tore into the final lap, the entire stadium was on its feet.
    Slowly Billy hauled Boggs down, and in the back-stretch he managed to pass him. Then he was madly chasing down Martinson. Meanwhile, up front, Dellinger was totally exhausted and unable to protect bis
    lead. Stella, then Martinson swept past him in the turn. With Dellinger now third, it was him that Billy had to get in front of.
    As they raced down the straight, Billy was just coming up on Dellinger's shoulder. But the fall had taken too much out of him, and he didn't make it. He crossed the line fourth.
    The screaming of the crowd died off. Stella, Martinson and Dellinger came jogging back. Billy stood beyond the finish line, bent over with the heaves. Then he came walking dejectedly back to where I was, limping again. His calf and the top of his foot were bleeding where Dellinger had spiked him. He pulled up the leg of his shorts and displayed an ugly bruise coming on his hip where he'd hit.
    He looked sick with shock and the heat, and I wiped his face and shoulders with a cold rag. His eyes were wet, but he wasn't crying.
    "Well," he said, "they better disqualify Dellinger. He bumped me."
    Announcer Curt Steinem was reeling off the results to the crowd. "First, ladies and gentleman, is Mike Stella, who records a 28:03.9 . . ." Stella, Martinson and Dellinger were announced as the 10,000 team.
    Then, incredibly, Steinem was saying, "Billy Sive is disqualified for fouling."
    Billy's fans erupted with boos.
    Billy looked at me. "I didn't touch him," he burst out. "He bumped me." An official brought him his shoe, and his glasses, which had been stepped on and crushed. He took them without looking.
    "Are you sure?" I asked. I felt crushed. Billy still had a shot left at the 5,000, but who knew if he'd make it, especially now that he was injured? The 10,000 was his best race. And he'd set his heart on the double.
    Mike Stella came over and put his hand on Billy's shoulder. "I'm really sorry, man."
    "That fucking sexual racist bumped me," said Billy.
    My dejection started turning to anger.
    As the afternoon went on, John Sive and I visited
    the ABC-TV crew. They showed us a playback of the videotape, in slow motion. It was quite clear. Dellinger bumped Billy as he cut to the inside. They tangled" feet, Dellinger stepping on Billy's shoe, and Billy fell.
    I was livid. I went to the officials and invited them to view the videotape. They were not accustomed to having their decisions questioned, and they refused. "Billy ran into Dellinger," they said.
    The day's events ended, and the press's attention switched to the growing controversy. All the reporters at the meet looked at the videotape. Aldo, Stella and a number of other curious athletes looked at it. They all saw Dellinger fouling Billy.
    "This is incredible," said Stella. "It's the crookedest thing I've ever seen."
    Billy and I made a statement to the press calling for a reversal of the decision and disqualification of Del-linger. This would automatically move Billy onto the team. John Sive and I then informed the meet officials that if they didn't act before the end of the meet, we would get a court order that would make them act.
    "I can promise you," John said, "when a judge sees that film..."
    USOC official Frank Appleby responded with some remarks about John being a "goddamn meddling parent."
    That night, Stella and his fiancee Sue Macintosh had dinner with us. Billy was sore and disgusted, but