The U.S. Men Shoulder Losing With a Shrug

SESTRIERE, Italy

Maybe the U.S. ski team should change its motto to "Fifth Best in the World." Otherwise, it's hard to explain the weird lack of ambition expressed by the American men after they failed to medal in the Olympic downhill. While it's gratifying to hear that Bode Miller satisfied his "subjective criteria" with the way he skied, somehow you had a hunch that Antoine Deneriaz of France was happier with his gold medal.

It was probably not wise of U.S. skiing officials to choose the motto "Best in the World" in the first place. For one thing, it sounds like a taunt to other countries like, say, Austria and France, and for another, apparently the members of the men's Alpine team don't entirely share the aspiration. Miller is more into personal fulfillment, and Daron Rahlves into relaxation, or at least that was the impression they so strangely left after finishing fifth and 10th, respectively, on the Kandahar Banchetta course.

It was a huge opportunity missed. Nobody had skied faster than Rahlves and Miller in training this week. The Austrians, normally so thick-haunched and confident, were vulnerable. Hermann Maier had a cold. Defending Olympic champion Fritz Strobl had a broken hand and described himself as "old and fat." That left Michael Walchhofer as the favored Austrian, and both Rahlves and Miller had bested his times in practice runs.

As it turned out, both the Austrians and the Americans were upset by the dynamic and unforeseen run of Deneriaz, who bolted to the gold medal from the 30th start position. Surely, nobody should have been more bitterly disappointed than the Americans, who have been so brilliant on other occasions, for failing to throw down during the big race.

But just listen to them.

"I'm kind of surprised at myself right now," Rahlves said. "I'm pretty damn relaxed. It's like, what the hell? I did what I could, and that's how it turned out."

Miller said, "I raced hard and I'm super happy with that."

And then there was Steve Nyman, who, after finishing 19th in his first Olympic downhill, declared, "I'm completely satisfied."

Perhaps they were more disappointed than they sounded. Or perhaps they were simply at a loss for an explanation. The Americans could be excused for a certain amount of bafflement at the results: The downhill is a fundamentally capricious event, humans hurtling down a route that's more ice than snow in less than two minutes. The Olympic downhill is especially wrought with pressure, which may be why it yields so many unexpected winners. Perhaps it's just an easier race for the underdog. And perhaps the Americans' laissez-faire attitude was a legitimate attempt to cope with all the pressure and failed expectations. One way to take pressure off is to focus on process instead of results.

The atmosphere may have had something to do with it, too. This was a comparatively lifeless event, until Deneriaz's shocking run. That had partly to do with the inaccessibility of the downhill and the absence of the usual frenzied spectators urging on the skiers with their cowbells. Sestriere is more than two hours from Turin, tucked in a crooked valley up a two-lane hairpin road. Organizers decided not to allow spectators along the route for security reasons and raised just two small viewing grandstands at the finish line. The venue struggled to handle even those. At the start of the race, two-thirds of the seats were empty, as spectators struggled to reach the site.

Also, the setting was uninspiring. Sestriere has not gotten much snowfall, and it showed in the brown, muddy scenery. The mountainside was silent and barren, the chairlifts as immobile as the austere and sparse Italian pines.

The scenery seemed expressive of the desultory American attitude. They just didn't seem to know what went wrong -- and perhaps that came across as not caring, either. Rahlves had every expectation of a medal here, possibly even gold. He won on this course in 2004, and he had the fastest run in Thursday's training session. But there was no sign of fervor Sunday. He was never in genuine contention, trailing the leaders at every interval. "I felt like it was a good run," he said.

Miller skied with more abandon, actually leading the race after the first time interval before he inexplicably let time leak away in the lower section of the course. But afterward he was vague and esoteric, suggesting that he skied to some purer, invisible, inner standard of excellence.

"I feel I skied the way I hoped would reflect a positive objective end result," he said. "But when there's a discrepancy there, you have a moment of confusion and disappointment. But after that, what can you do? My subjective criteria was satisfied. Subjectively is how I ski."

Maybe I'm too dense to appreciate the subtleties of Miller's subjective goals. I thought the point was to ski faster than everyone else. The trouble with Miller's articulacy is, sometimes it sounds like excuse making.

It's nice to know that Miller has found personal fulfillment in the Olympics. Somehow I doubt his sponsors or federation feel the same way, and I'd suggest that competitors in the Olympics aren't here solely for themselves. When U.S. Ski and Snowboard Association officials examine what went wrong in Sestriere, how the Americans let such a medal chance get away, they might consider the tone of their skiers in defeat. A little more self-criticism and a little less psychobabble might be in order.

"Best in the World" is supposed to be both a statement of mission, and a promotion. The slogan was picked by officials, not by the athletes. What does it say when the suits are more aggressive than the skiers?

It says it's hard for an American to win the Olympic downhill.