Medals Are Only One Measure of Greatness

BEIJING

The ghosts are hanging around Michael Phelps's head, along with the flags and sponsors' signs. Some day he'll be an Olympic ghost, too, his performance here a flicker from the past, and maybe then we won't worry so much about where he belongs in the gallery of champions. We'll simply be glad to say we saw him swim in person -- even if we didn't know quite what to make of him.

The subject of Phelps's place in the pantheon isn't premature: The 23-year-old now has won more Olympic gold medals than any athlete in history, by three and counting. His victories have become so predictable that it's difficult to relate to; he makes winning look as inevitable as toast popping up. Only rarely do we get a glimpse of his competitive burden, as we did in the preoccupied expression on his face after his victory Thursday in the 200-meter individual medley, in which he beat Laszlo Cseh and U.S. teammate Ryan Lochte by almost 2 1/2 seconds. It was Phelps's sixth gold medal and sixth world record (1 minute 54.23 seconds) of the Games, but the look told us more about Phelps than any record or medal could. It said Phelps doesn't swim against others; he swims against his best self.

Moments after the medal ceremony, Phelps dropped his latest neck decoration into the pocket of that odd overcoat and went back to the pool deck for the semifinals of the 100 butterfly, his last individual event. Swimming at this point has become a matter of hacking out the world record splits and then gasping at the finish like a fish yanked out of the water. "There's never relief," he said. "Tomorrow is going to be a very tough race."

Greatness is an overly broad word that describes everything from Henry VIII's waistline to a rather famous local wall, but it certainly fits Phelps, still famished for victories as he closes in on an unprecedented eight gold medals in a single Olympic meet. The sport historians are out in force, picking through his feats and arguing his value compared with the other greats he has surpassed this week: Carl Lewis in track and field, Finnish distance runner Paavo Nurmi, Soviet gymnast Larisa Latynina and swimmer Mark Spitz, each of whom won nine gold medals.

What's the fairest measure of greatness? Everyone has a personal standard -- big deal, you may think, all Phelps does is swim back and forth. Figure skating fanatics would tell you their greats are at an inherent disadvantage because only one medal is offered per quadrennial. Sonja Henie was an immortal Olympian, too, winning three consecutive gold medals from 1928 to 1936. Johnny Weissmuller may have really been the greatest swimmer of all, but he could enter only three events in 1924, sweeping all of them. Jesse Owens was similarly limited in Berlin in 1936, and speaking of Owens, what about those who had significance beyond their sport?

Most swimmers believe that whether Phelps gets his eight gold medals or not, the challenge he took on here is so historically unprecedented that he deserves consideration as the greatest Olympian of all time. By the end of the Games, he will have swum 17 times totaling 3,300 meters over nine days. It was clear from his enervated victory on Thursday that he is using up every last bit of himself in the attempt.

To Phelps's personal coach, Bob Bowman, the margins of Phelps's victories set him apart. He's establishing records by three and four seconds in events usually decided by fractions.

"I think if it was over today he's the greatest Olympic who ever lived," Bowman said. "I do think it's difficult to compare, but I think in terms of sheer dominance in his events and the times he's putting up it's hard to argue. Of course, I'm a swimming coach."

U.S. men's coach Eddie Reese, who has coached 22 Olympians to 21 gold medals, including Aaron Peirsol and Ian Crocker, says: "Never seen anybody like him. Nobody in any sport can win like he wins."

That reflexive drive every time he hits the water is the quality that will linger most when we look back at Phelps's performance here. Ultimately, the argument about his numbers is a soulless one because it doesn't really sum up the man. His medal count will endure, sure, but the shape of his competitive face and personality is what's really worth remembering.

The exercise of comparing medals is unrewarding no matter who the subject. Were Nurmi's medals better than Babe Didrikson's? Who cares? It's far more pleasant and useful to remember them for who they were, rather than what they did. Nurmi, "The Flying Finn," nearly killed himself at the 1924 Games with his effort as he won five gold medals. He had just 26 minutes to rest between the 1,500 meters and 5,000, and set world records in each. "All that I am, I am because of my mind," he said.

Didrikson won two gold medals and a silver in track and field in 1932 only because she was limited to three events. Then she took up golf in 1935 and merely helped found the LPGA. "The Babe is here," she liked to say. "Who's finishing second?"

The medals discussion actually obscures Phelps rather than illuminates him. Ironically, if he has had an iconic moment, one that truly suggests who he is, it was not a solo medal performance. It was his unselfconscious explosion when he was threatened with a loss in the 4x100 freestyle relay on Sunday. Phelps's scream of elemental force as the Americans won on Jason Lezak's still scarcely believable final leg is the impression of Phelps we'll carry away from the Games.

That, and his quirks. The ankle-length parka that suggests the extent of his thoroughness. The way in which, in victory, he stretches out that strangely marine torso -- the wide, flat chest and hipless legs of a stingray -- then issues a sweet smile around crooked teeth and struggles to frame a few inarticulate sentences. What is it that makes this innocuous, oddly shaped young man perform such a rhythmic beat of excellence through the water? That's the subject really worth discussing.