The Front Runner

he said.
    "But they know we'll file suit," I said.
    "The buck is being passed up to the IOC," he said. "They're going to question Billy's eligibility."
    My heart sank a little. Being an international body made up of members from all the Olympic countries, the International Olympic Committee was beyond the clout of the Supreme Court decision.
    "But we're clean on eligibility," I said. "We've been so careful. I've killed myself thinking of everything."
    "Well, there's one thing you might have missed," said Aldo. "His job at Prescott."
    "His job? That's ridiculous. He isn't even remotely
    connected with the athletics department. He teaches sociology."
    "That's just it," said Aldo. "They're going to say that he uses his running as a podium for homosexual politics, and his job is ditto, and therefore his job is cashing in on this."
    "That's the most Machiavellian thing I ever heard."
    "Well, be ready," said Aldo. "Because that's what they're going to ask him."
    Seething inside, I hung up the phone. The Olympic movement allowed competition by Soviet and European athletes who openly received financial support from their governments. Armas Sepponan himself received annual stipends from the Finnish government. Yet, out of sexual hysteria, they would question Billy's modest little teaching post.
    Two days later, the accuracy of Aldo's intelligence was proven. The IOC eligibility committee mildly inquired about the propriety of Billy's job. They requested that he appear before an emergency meeting at their headquarters in Lausanne, Switzerland. He and one other athlete would please explain themselves.
    Billy's first reaction was cold fury.
    "I'll be damned if I'll go in front of them humbly and plead," he said. "I'll call a press conference and tell them off in public."
    Most of the Olympic team reacted angrily too. Only the handful who really disliked Billy were pleased. Mike Stella and the other activists went around raising the athletes' consciousness. They all saw it as just another hassle—if it could happen to Billy, it could happen to them. Mike on the men's team, and sprinter Vera Larris on the women's team, circulated a petition to collect protesting signatures. About seventy-five percent of the track team members signed it. Mike, and a number of others, said that if the IOC declared Billy ineligible, they would not go to the Games.
    "I have no intention of participating in an affair where this kind of thing can be done to a person," said Mike to the press.
    The USOC was a little rattled by the team's reaction. Clearly they had not expected this. They saw
    themselves going to Montreal denuded of a number of medal prospects, and with a skeleton team.
    Angrier still were the gays. The activists front in New York City organized a huge protest demonstration in front of Olympic House on Park Avenue. Finally even the Canadian government spoke up—homosexuality had been open and legal in Canada for many years.
    But when Billy calmed down, he was ready to go to Lausanne. He, Vince, John, Aldo and I climbed on a jet and we went.
    When we arrived at the modern glass-walled building in Lausanne where the IOC had its headquarters, John and I had already decided we would not actually go into the meeting. It would look too threatening to have the lawyer father and the angry lover stalking in there. A little bit of last-minute diplomacy still might swing things our way. The only one who would go in with Billy would be Aldo.
    We were shown to a reception room. The meeting was already underway, and British miler David Walker was already in there being interrogated. And then, from one of the sofas in the reception room rose a man whom we had not expected to see there at all. It was Armas Sepponan.
    He came toward us with his light, quick step, dressed in a plain baggy black suit and white shirt, looking like the village fireman that he was. He shook hands with all of us.
    "I am reading the news about it in the newspapers," he said. "I am deeply distressed."
    "Well," said Billy, "if they won't let me run, I guess I can't run. I'll be joining Vince on the pro tour, maybe." He looked at Vince and smiled a little.
    We sat down.
    "I am distressed for selfish reasons," said Armas. "I am being very honest with you. I am now twenty-eight. It is my second Olympics. I shall probably not go to a third. If you are not in the 5,000 and 10,000, my performance will have no value."
    We sat silent. Billy and Armas sat with their eyes fixed on each