The Front Runner

Stella finally cheered him up and had him laughing. With his musketeer's mustache and his long, black hair in a ponytail and his dancing hard-boiled eyes, Stella was picturesque. He was a tough, casual, raspy-voiced individualist. He could be brusque and sarcastic, but also gentle. The other athletes had learned to respect his integrity, and the AAU to fear his clout.
    "I told you, you gotta have a bodyguard," said Stella.
    Having him on our side was a real coup.
    The next day, the meet officials were still sticking to their decision. It, and our threat, were aired on
    the sports pages and TV news nationwide. Never before had an athlete threatened court action to get a Trials decision reversed. Aldo told us that the USOC had a lawyer checking into their position.
    Meanwhile, the Trials ground on. An overflow of athletes was camping on locker-room floors, living on hamburgers.
    Billy had a very sore foot and hip, but he wasn't badly injured. He ran his 5,000 heat conservatively, and placed third, qualifying for the final. No one tried to bump him—possibly the guys were worried about all the talk of courts and lawyers.
    All this time, I was being the behind-the-scenes paranoid.
    Every angle had to be thought of. The dope" tests, for instance. After every event, the officials took a urine sample from each athlete. Supposing they alleged that they found traces of amphetamines in Billy's urine? Billy's trancelike look in races had always brought comments that he must use dope. Some runners do take bennies. Billy scorned them. (The dope tests were partly ineffectual anyway, because the blood doping and a new caffeine-derived drug that was around both left no traces.)
    So I contacted a respected athletic physician in Los Angeles, George Hofhaus, and he made a show of collecting extra specimens from Billy. The USOC must have gotten the message. While two other athletes were disqualified for doping, Billy was not bothered on this score.
    All during the Trials, I was the shield that everybody else was bouncing their bullets off. I worked with John on the legalities, and made myself just a little unpopular with the press by restricting their access to Billy. Behind that shield, he had the peace to compete, work out, rest and think only of running.
    At night we consolidated that peace in bed. We had carried it away from Prescott with us, and we sheltered it avidly. I felt angry as I looked at his bruised hip, his torn foot. How could anyone dare to hurt him?
    Stella and his girlfriend were around a lot. A few of the other runners were dropping around too, and they would sit around on the beds in our room and gab about running. Mike worked out with Billy, and was busy showing everybody that he didn't give a goddamn what they thought.
    "You're a weirdo-lover," said Dellinger to Mike.
    Mike looked him right in the eye. "I'd rather be a weirdo-lover than get on the team the way you did."
    For the first time, we began to feel that we weren't alone against the world.
    On July 12, the last day of the Trials, the 5,000 final was run. The stands were jam-packed again, and scalpers outside were selling tickets for fifty dollars. Billy's people were chanting:
    Billy, Billy He's our man Catch him, Bobby, If you can.
    Once again, Dellinger chose to force the pace. He knew that Billy's injuries were still hurting him, and he counted on the pain to erode at Billy's ability to hold the pace. But he hadn't counted on Billy's ability to block out pain.
    So it was the two of them again, a front-runner's race, slugging it out far ahead of the rest. Stubborn, furious, Billy stayed in the lead. This time he made no mistakes. He burned Dellinger off, and won by twenty yards, for a 13:22.8. Stella came forging up for third place.
    It seemed like half the stands went wild at Billy's victory. A lot of young people spilled down onto the track. Billy took a grinning victory lap, jogging in their midst while they jumped up and down and pounded him on the back.
    So the 5,000 team would be Billy, Dellinger and Stella.
    Then the announcer said, "We also have a special announcement. At a meeting of the officials, it has been decided to reverse a decision in the 10,000 meter event.
    On viewing the videotape, they found that the foul was caused by Bob Dellinger, not Billy Sive ..."
    There were screams of joy from the stands. John Sive's face split into a grin. I felt myself going slowly limp. You could hardly hear the announcer still talking.
    ". . . So it's a