Those Who Din, Win

Bode Miller claims to be angst-ridden over his celebrity, but that doesn't stop him from being a cover boy for Newsweek, Sports Illustrated, etc. (Prnews Foto/newsweek)

TURIN, Italy -- Before the Look-at-Me Winter Games begin, I have to admit: Johnny Weir appeals to me much more than Bode Miller.

Not that it changes how I feel about myself, but Weir, the best U.S. men's figure skating hope, is extremely comfortable with his feminine side.

"When it comes to traveling, I am very princessy," Mr. Sequin said Tuesday, explaining that the Athletes' Village is not up to his five-star standards. "This will be a little like going into the woods. I'm really roughing it." Weir's hair was dyed the color of "chocolate-covered cherries" Tuesday morning because of "poor lighting in the Village bathrooms."

Miller, the wild-eyed, say- anything- to- get- my- scruffy- mug downhill demigod, is angst-ridden over his celebrity. Miller is so tortured he posed for Time, Newsweek, Sports Illustrated, KidsPost, High Times, the Washington City Paper and the Ross Elementary Bulletin.

It's apparently tough making evil compromises with your fame, especially when those compromises lead to deals with Nike. Oh, well. Some iconoclasts just have to bear that burden.

Weir is the 21-year-old who made the less enlightened among us squirm last month when he came back to win the short program at the U.S. nationals, declaring, "You're feeling like the lowest scum in the pond two hours ago, and go to the prettiest flower in the pond."

Eeeeewww, right?

We'd rather hear how Bode grew up in a cabin with no electricity. How he now lives in his own mobile home, away from his teammates. He believes everybody should be on performance-enhancing drugs because the doping gurus cannot catch enough of the cheats. He has skied "wasted," a "60 Minutes" revelation that made the U.S. Ski Federation coax an apology out of Miller. He tells Rolling Stone: "It is not that I don't recognize the danger in ski racing but that I don't fear the consequences. I mean, what's the worst that can happen? You die, I guess. You're all alone and you don't know anything. You're all done." He laughs at death. Hah!

We get sucked in so easy by the Heathcliff character, no? The tortured protagonist is a great role. Not only that, it pays. See Namath, Rodman and T.O., all of whom had trouble figuring out whether they were the hero or the villain. It's incredibly profitable to be the rebel today.

I have no idea whether Miller is going to wind up on a Wheaties box in March, or which freestyle dudes and moguls dudettes will emerge from the 20th Winter Olympics as something more than disposable athletic heroes -- golden every four years but ultimately forced to crawl back beneath a rock until Matt and Katie deign to talk to them again in 2010.

Apolo Anton Ohno, the soul-patched, telegenic speedskating star of the Salt Lake Games, has been living at the U.S. Olympic training facility in Colorado Springs the past four years with a roommate, going about his life as if he never won gold. Whether a fun, affable kid like Shaun White can take his X-Games commercial fame and become a classic Olympic champion is up for real debate. Can Chad Hedrick skate as well as he flaps his gums?

In the 16-day shelf life of most Winter Games athletes, Michelle Kwan is the anomaly -- the image-consumed, quiet, appreciative champion who we actually get to see and hear after the Games. She's just 25, even though it seems she has been to more Olympics than Al Oerter. She's the Susan Lucci of U.S. women's figure skating. If Kwan doesn't medal, she could be up for more skewering than Miller crashing and burning in the Italian Alps. The U.S. Figure Skating Association would have to explain why it chose Kwan, who has yet to win gold, over Sarah Hughes's kid sister, Emily, who actually qualified for the Games with a third-place showing at the U.S. nationals while Kwan was injured.

From Miller's mouth to Michelle's petitioning, I don't know whose performance can pay off the pre-Olympic hype. They're all compelling, interesting figures at the Look-At-Me Games, but who's got substance to go with the package? How many of them have the champion athlete in them equal to the outsize personality? I don't know.

I do know that outwardly prissy does not stand a chance over outwardly hypocritical, that Wheaties will take Bode Miller, the masculine phony, over Johnny Weir, the effeminate, sincere kid, every time.

Not that it changes how we feel about ourselves.