A betting man would have told you that all of these rare occurences would have a better chance of happening than what actually happened Thursday on Fengtai Softball Field in Beijing.

The U.S. Womens’ softball team has lost the gold medal.  In what is perhaps the most spectacular upset of these Olympics, the upstart Japanese Davids defeated the American Goliaths 3-1 in the gold medal game.  Their imperturbable pitcher, Yukiko Ueno-whose 70 mph fastball is one of the fastest in the game-managed to keep the the slugging Americans from breaking open the game by escaping from bases loaded, one-out jams twice. Only a home run by Crystl Bustos in the fourth inning-her sixth of the tournament-kept the USA squad from being shut out.

Even more remarkable than the victory is Ueno’s stamina.  If ever the fabric of a team was sewn by threads from the strength of one player, it would be the tapestry belonging to Japan and its most valuable player, Ueno.  She pitched 21 innings on Wednesday-including nine against the United States in a prescient, extra-inning loss-before carrying the team on her back on Thursday.

The crestfallen Americans clearly exhibited their shocked disappointment on the medal stand.  Distinct pain from this loss runs deeper than just one game or even one Olympics.  Softball has been dropped from the agenda for the 2012 London Games-and beyond-which means the American’s silver medal heartbreak might be the final game ever played.

At best, hope for reinstatement rests on a vote being taken by the IOC in October of 2009 on the sport’s petition for reinstatement; even a favorable result would not kick in until 2016.  If the sport is reinstated in eight years, the most experienced players on the present squad would be in their 40s, suggesting that Beijing would be their Olympic swan song. 

While redemption might be out of the question for the 2008 team, there is a positive flip side to this defeat.  Ironically, this unexpected result might have a persuasive impact on the powers-that-be in the IOC.  Although never publically admitted, America’s dominance in softball created an impression among IOC authorities that no other countries had enough of a feeder system to compete with the USA, where little girls start swinging the bat in grammar school.  Seeing Japan establish an equal footing with such a preeminent team could change some minds.

In spite of the devastating loss for the current club, little girls will still swing bats in neighborhood fields all across the United States.  Representing the future of this sport, they will dream of playing in the World Cup, the world championships, and the Pan-American games-just as their heroes have before them.  They should not be cheated out of a chance to demonstrate their skills at the Olympic games simply because their predecessors sustained at the apex of their sport for a decade.

Three cheers to the phenomenal Yukiko Ueno and her gutsy Japanese teammates.  In winning the gold medal, they may just have saved softball’s place in the Olympics.

Finally, we see an Olympic calibre performance from the USA track team.  Seven days into the track and field competition, the Americans at last exerted their maximum effort and swept the medals in the mens 400m event.  Moreover, the medallists exhibited an exemplary measure of the Olympic spirit in lofting the red, white, and blue to a sweet victory that extended beyond mere medals.

Jeremy Wariner’s pickle puss at coming in second notwithstanding, the one-two-three finish in the 400m has been the highlight of the cinders for Team USA at the Bird’s Nest in Beijing.  World championship silver medallist LaShawn Merritt surprised everyone but himself by notching his personal best time of 43.75 seconds to shove Wariner, the defending Olympic champion, off the top of the podium.  Short on experience but long on faith, the one-time junior prodigy diligently scrutinized his semifinal race and created a comprehensive game plan for the final. 

Merritt had been viewed by the experts as a serious underdog to the dominant Wariner, who has owned this race since Athens.  In fact, Merritt had actually defeated Wariner in a Berlin race on June 1st and also bested him in their matchup at the Olympic Trials.  Sporting shiny silver track shoes-known as the revolutionary Lone Star spike-Wariner started strong but faded over the last 100 meters to finish at 44.74 seconds and hang onto the silver medal.   

David Neville’s inspiring run was a prime example of an athlete winning a bronze medal-as opposed to losing the gold.  His dramatic dive at the tape allowed him to nose out Chris Brown of the Bahamas and secured the American sweep.  His endearing humility afterward-”I just gave it all I had and to God goes the glory,” he gushed to one reporter-was a refreshing breath of invigorating air in an Olympics that has been decidedly devoid of sportsmanship and goodwill.

From the ashes of the broken sprint relays, success in the 400m has revived the flagging spirits of Team USA.  Merritt and Neville have aggressively taken on the mantle of leadership which they expect will lead them, along with Wariner, to fulfill the redemption in the 4×400m relay final on Saturday.

No matter what you may think of Gatlin and the doping suspension that left him on the sidelines for the Beijing Olympics, one fact is incontrovertible: the USA sprint teams have laid an egg at The Bird’s Nest.  The team that hails from the blood lines of Jesse Owens, Bob Hayes, and Carl Lewis has looked more like the gang that couldn’t shoot straight.

Make that the gang that couldn’t pass straight.

First, Darvis Patton and Tyson Gay could not make the connection in the 4×100m relay, with the baton slipping out of Patton’s hand before it ever made it to Gay’s awaiting palm.  Then, shockingly, Lauryn Williams could not grasp the baton being passed from Torri Edwards on the exact same curve where the men’s baton met its waterloo.

And this stunning outcome happened in  preliminaries; there will be no anchor leg heroics and no American team in either 4×100m final.

For Tyson Gay, this Olympics has meant double trouble, as the top American sprinter also failed to make the 100m final with a subpar showing in his qualifying race.

As a result of the string of dismal performances, the U.S. will leave this Olympics empty-handed from the sprint events-the mens’ amd womens’ 100, 200, and 400 relays-for the first time in the history of the modern Games.  The new USA Track and Field CEO, Doug Logan, has promised a definitive review of the selection and training process, with an emphasis on building the relay squads.  Building the team will be the primary function; this once-highly touted group failed most miserably at melding into a cohesive unit.

Perhaps someone should have seen this debacle coming.  Without doubt, the doping scandal has shortened the careers of several American stars, such as Gatlin and Marion Jones, who could still have been competing at the highest level were they not serving out punishments for their indiscretions.  Right up to the eleventh hour, Gatlin wagered that his sins might be forgiven because he was, quite frankly, head and shoulders better than any other American male sprinter.

And so, no matter what your personal interpretation of Gatlin’s circumstances might be, the USA sprint team that competed in Beijing was a flop.  Whether the fault lies in the selection of the team or the development of talent, America can do better.  One needs only to look at the hardships endured by the mens’ gymnastics team for proof. 

Despite losing their two top men just days before the Olympics, they managed to battle their way to a bronze medal.  Track and field must follow suit.  In this country, the sport is called upon to move beyond the darkness of the doping scandal and into the daylight that will allow the discovery and support of clean athletes who compete on a level playing surface.

The old axiom declares, “May the best man win.”  Before the best man can win, the best man must be located.  Between Olympics, track slips from the headlines to become a footnote on the sports pages.  To ensure that there is not a repeat of the pale Bejing showing in the London 2012 Games, every coach must encourage every player who aspires to a place on that team to commence training today.   

Horton readily admitted that the routine he nailed in team-igniting both the crowd and the team that had been written off for lost-would fall well short of a medal in the individual, even if performed perfectly.  Taking aim at a medal in their the crosshairs, Horton and Coach Mark Williams retooled the routine to include a manuever called the Cassina, named after Italy’s Igor Cassina.

Ironically, Cassina finished fourth in this event; Horton essentially defeated the Italian with his own invention.

Morever, Horton captured the bottled lightning that is the spirit of the Olympics with a high bar routine that was as much freelanced in the emotion of the moment as anything in Beijing had ever been.  He wisely recognized that playing it safe would produce a workmanlike performance-translation: drab-that would be at once clean and forgettable.  While he had hit all the moves individually at some point in his career, the risk factor was enormous; Jonathan Horton had never before strung those moves together successfully in a complete program, even in practice.

When opportunity came for Jonathan Horton, he seized it; in fact, he nearly throttled it by the throat.  Even the Chinese audience was enthralled by his footloose swing around the high bar. In fact, were it not for a small hop on the landing, Horton might have made off with the gold.  As it played out, Zou Kai won the gold for China, as Fabian Hambuechen took the bronze for Germany.

As the gymnastics portion of the Beijing Olympics comes to a close, it is undeniable that Jonathan Horton has carved a name for himself in his sport.   He stepped up to restore respectability to a team decimated by injuries to its two star players at the eleventh hour.  When he needed to be a team player, he imparted life to that persona; when he needed to think only of himself in the individual, he faced down fear and drove himself directly beyond the limit of his ability.

Hollywood could not have written a better script for a man who was not afraid to toss out his own script, abandon convention, and shoot for his heart’s desire.  Nobody deserves a medal more than Jonathan Horton.

The USA vs. China game was a prime example of a game in which the spotlight reverted to the umpires.  With the USA leading 4-0 in the 5th inning, Matt Laporta crashed Chinese catcher Wang Wei, who was waiting in the baseline to apply the tag.  Wei, who is in the Seattle Mariner’s system, hurt his knee on the play and had to leave the game.  China’s coach, Jim Lefebvre, also had to leave the game; his departure was on the other end of the plate umpire’s foot. 

After Schierholtz from the USA slid hard into back-up catcher Yang Yang in the 6th, Lefebrve argued vociferously that the umpire’s were allowing play to become too rough.  His animated two-cents worth was enough to punch his ticket to an early shower. 

Initially, the plate umpire would have been within the rules to eject LaPorta for unsportsmanlike, malicious contact; however that is one of those calls that must be made instantaneously, not in retrospect.  Once he elected to leave LaPorta in the game, experience must have warned him what was coming next: an Olympic-style beanball festival that ensued led to no less than 5 Americans getting plunked by Chinese pitchers. 

In the box score, it is listed as HBP, but the box score does not differentiate between seriousness of the incident when a batter gets hit by a pitch.  The biggest whack came when reliever Chen Kun beaned LaPorta in the 7th.  This time, it was LaPorta’s turn to leave the game hurt, with Kun and Chinese pitching coach, Steven Ontiveros, exiting right behind him.  The fact that the plate umpire dumped both the pitcher and the coach indicated he observed intent on the pitcher’s part to hit the batter; the rules allow that the coach can be ejected along with the player in the case of an intentional bean ball.

All well and good that he employed the rule; unforetunately, it was too little, too late.

Ironically, the game was not even close, as the Americans thumped the Chinese, 9-1.  The lone run for the Chinese came on a solo home run in the 9th by Yang, who pumped his fist and gestured all the way around the bases.  Even that reaction could have been deemed as excessive celebration.  However, by then, any penalty would have been meaningless. 

At the Olympic level, the umpiring crew should have banded together after LaPorta rolled Wei in the 4th to deliver an unequivocal pronouncement that any further reaction looking vaguely like retaliation would result in immediate ejection.  Perhaps they felt that issuing such a decisive edict would interject their own subjectivity into the outcome of the game.  On the contrary, their vague message allowed the situation to spiral beyond the point of no return.  When you can’t coax the horses back into the barn, you are amidst every umpire’s worst nightmare.  It happens at one time or another to every umpire, every crew, and it is famous for coming out of nowhere.  Still, at the Olympics, one would expect the men in blue to have a better game plan laid out in advance than to wait until 5 players get beaned and two catchers get pancaked before taking action.

Liu Xiang was the defending Olympic champion in the 110-m hurdles.  His surprise victory in Athens four years ago made him a national superstar back home in China instantaneously.  No other Chinese man had succeeded in a track event as Liu had.  Fans cheered his unique ability to compete in a sport that required the combinaton of speed and strength.

In a country that has been scorned for shunning individual expression, Liu’s soaring popularity was atypical and approached that of a rock star.  Throughout the past year, interest from his countrymen in his upcoming Beijing performance swelled to epic proportions.  Nobody expected more from Liu Xiang at these Olympics than Liu Xiang himself.

Sadly, it was not to be.  Last winter, Liu struggled with a hamstring injury; he scaled back his running schedule after February.  He withdrew from a New York meet in May and was later disqualified for a false start in the Prefontaine Classic.  The Chinese were hush-hush about how serious his injury was until last weekend; then, his coach, Sun Haiping, hinted that an inflamed Achilles tendon was impeding Liu’s training time. 

Still, it was the Olympics and an adoring home crowd awaited.  Liu Xiang was determined to race.  On Monday, he arrived at the Bird’s Nest, China’s impressive 91,000 seat outdoor stadium, for the first qualifying heat.  Sober-faced and in obvious distress, he took two full strides after the first starter’s gun and pulled up short.  No matter that the first start ended up being false.  When Liu returned to the blocks, his demeanor was grim.

He knew a second chance was not going to help.  When Liu Xiang tore the piece of paper bearing his number off his leg, the stunned crowd fell silent.  Grimacing, he headed for the tunnel, the crowd rendered voiceless in disbelief.

Tears flowed freely; the crowd, his coach, and Chinese team leaders all fell apart, emotionally swamped by the realization that there would be no gold, no head-to-head against Cuba’s Dayron Robles in the final.   

It is difficult to understand why an athlete as finely-tuned and thoroughly prepared as Liu Xiang broke down at the precise moment when he should have been at the peak of his training.  With the Olympics in his back yard and the moment of his crowning achievement in his hand, there is a cruel irony in seeing his gifted body uncontrollably decide to shut down now.  Today, all the celebrity in the world cannot replace the unrelenting loneliness of the star hurdler who will not be defending his Olympic title. 

Perhaps, Liu Xiang might even find himself longing for simpler days before Athens and 2004, before his unexpected victory gave rise to a spectacular new life that included a spate of expectations that, sadly, will now go unfilled.

First we hear Tim Daggett emphasize how critical it is for the gymnasts to stick their landings.  Then, after we see all manner of mangled landings, some bemusingly high scores pop up.  Afterward, Daggett ratonalizes that the scores were awarded despite the landing miscues because of the high start value of the routine.  Translation: the routine had more difficulty than someone else’s and would have been worth more points if it had been performed perfectly. 

Except it wasn’t performed perfectly.  Still with me?

Perhaps I am showing my age.  I hail from the Olga Korbut-Nadia Comaneci school of “stick your landing.”  Does anyone else beside me remember Ludmilla Tourischeva?  She was the reigning Russian queen when Olga made her historic breakthrough back in 1972.  While she may have had to share the throne with Korbut at Munich in 1972, let me tell you, Ludmilla could stick a landing like the soles of her feet were painted with gorilla glue.

Tonight at the womens’ individual vault event, one pretty big player could have used that gorilla glue. 

Alicia Sacramone, the heartbreak kid from the American womens’ team-whose unexpected botches on the balance beam and floor exercises may have cost her team the gold medal-had an opportunity for redemption in the individual vault event.  Under the unforgiving scrutiny of the Olympic spotlight, she pulled herself together admirably and cobbled together two decent vaults.  Performing in the No. 1 spot was not advantageous-and admittedly, Sacramone knew the gold medal was out of her reach-but not even the experts could predict what happened next.

Chinese gymnast Cheng Fei hit the vaulting table, ascended to the heavens, twisted and turned while airborne, and promptly landed on her knees. 

About then, it looked like Sacramone would hold onto the bronze medal and some much-deserved pride.  Korea’s Hong Un Jong eventually won the gold medal and Oksana Chusovitina of Germany-and formerly of Uzbekistan-grabbed the silver medal.  But somehow, in the arcane world of gymnastics scoring, Fei slipped in ahead of Sacramone for the bronze medal. 

Back in the studio, Bela Karolyi railed against the system.  In an emotionally agitated state which was at once chaotic and comedic, much of what he said was unintelligble.  But what he meant was simply put; the judges missed this one.  A lifetime of work goes up in smoke as Alicia Sacramone goes home minus an individual medal. 

So it’s back to square one for gymnastics scoring and me.  Just when I thought I was getting the handle on it, it stumps me.  At the most inopportune time, the subjective system proves flawed, all without a valid explanation.

I umpire high school and college baseball.  Occasionally, no matter how hard we strive for perfection, someone will sneak a curve ball in and we will miss it.  Just to remind us that even the best among us is human, the coach will politely announce across the field, “Ya missed one, fellas!”

So it is tonight at the National Indoor Stadium in Beijing for Alicia Sacramone. Her moment of redemption passes unrewarded; the hometown favorite gets the bronze medal.  How does this translate into Romanian, Bela?

Ya missed one, fellas.

At some juncture, when the Michael Phelps ballyhoo eventually quiets down, we will all have time to establish a perspective, a sort of relativity theory regarding what he has accomplished in Beijing.  In the scheme of God’s green creation, of what true importance after all is the winning of eight Olympic gold medals?  

In fact, most Olympic gold medals won in Beijing will impart little immediate change on the outcome of day-to-day life.  No matter what medals were won or by whom, Russians and Georgians will persist in beating the tar out of each other; Chinese will persevere in suffocating Tibetans into submission.  Every six seconds, a child in a Third World country will die of starvation, unaware of the glory and adulation-not to mention the millions of dollars-heaped upon the Olympic heroes. 

In other words, the very next day after the Olympic flame is extinguished, the weary world will continue to spin on its imperfect axis.

Somewhere in the depths of the coming winter’s darkness, as we ponder why gas is too high and jobs are too low, even the most fervent fan will wonder how it transpired that a gold medallist is worth more than a mathematician.  It is an age-old question that has no black-and-white answer; but this much, I do know.

The divine instruction to the human race which harkens from Biblical times is this: no man who looks back after putting his hand to the plough is fit for the eternal kingdom.  Those who are blessed with the temerity to plough through the uncharted waters by faith garner The Maker’s favor; human nature dictates that the world then follows the courageous leader.  That concise ability to march forward with single-mindedness has been the rock-solid foundation for the incredible journey of Michael Phelps.

For 36 years, Mark Spitz stood atop Mount Olympus as the ultimate Olympic winner; he arrived there because he did not look backwards along the way.  Michael Phelps snatched the symbolic baton from Spitz and now stands alone on that apex for the same reason.  Surely one day, a fearless Olympian not yet born will buzz by both of them in keeping with the timeless tradition.

Therefore, the field of endeavor does not determine the measure of accomplishment.  Rather, the measure is calculated by how willing the gifted individual is to plough through the shares that are the medium of the dream.  Driven to perfection, there was no need to look back.  Michael Phelps hitched together the the sum total of mankind, at least for a few days, and convinced us all that anything can be achieved. 

Now, each human being he has inspired will touch someone else and that person will touch a neighbor, in lines straight or jagged, passing the expectation of greatness forward like a relay.  There will always be wars, injustice, and poverty; entire civilizations have tried and failed to eradicate these shortcomings.  But in the scheme of God’s green creation, the blessed can rise above the maelstrom to become winners; charismatic winners become leaders. 

Spinning on its imperfect axis, the weary world cries desperately for hope that accompanies every winner; the unflinching delivery of hope by Michael Phelps in Beijing this past week will become the truest measure of his accomplishment.

Congratulations, Michael, and thank you. 

Until tonight.  Now, it is simply described as magic.

Phelps was both Olympic and world champion coming into the 100m butterfly, the event that would ultimately make or break his quest for eight gold medals.  However, Serbia’s Milorad Cavic was fastest in the heats and semi-finals and fellow American Ian Crocker, who holds the current world record, beat Phelps in this event back in 2003 and 2005.  Indeed, experts predicted the last obstacle between Michael Phelps and eternity would be Ian Crocker.

Instead, it was Milorad Cavic.

For the first time in this Olympics, Michael Phelps looked lost at sea in a race-for one brief moment.  Coming off the 50 meter turn, he was mired in a dismal seventh place.  Then, somehow, it happened.  Phelps started burning and churning with that inimitable, unbeatable style.  Somehow, the gap started to close between Phelps and Cavic.

Nonetheless, Cavic still held a miniscule lead with a little more than a body length to go.  There did not seem to be enough time or distance left for Magnificent Michael to pull off one more heroic feat.

That is exactly when the magic kicked in.  With one enormous, sweeping, perfectly-timed lunge, Phelps touched out Cavic at the wall by one hundredth of a second to capture the historic seventh gold medal.

The devastated Serbs furiously filed a protest, declaring that the electronic timing device had failed to record Cavic’s touch properly.  Upon reviewing the finish from the vantage point of the overhead camera, the protest committee determined that Phelps had scored the victory by the slimmest of margins.  The protest fluttered into obscurity to the strains of the American national anthem. 

Now, it is definite.  This was a Michael Phelps victory snatched squarely from the jaws of defeat.  Let’s give no more credence to work ethic, heart and soul, or even the favor of the gods.  Magnificent Michael is now Magical Michael.  Tonight, Michael Phelps won his historic seventh gold medal; there was positively no rational explanation in the natural world for how he did it.

Tonight, it is simply described as magic.

When he did not, Lochte’s star desended, even as Phelp’s star was ascending into the stratosphere. 

Lochte, the twenty-four-year old who was coached by his dad early in his career, presents a reputation as a free spirit.  The knock on Lochte has been that he lacks the killer instinct that great champions hone to a sharp edge.  In fact, Lochte possesses a keen dose of discipline and pursues a dedicated work ethic in his training.  However, he has been known to reserve his best showings for the top competitions. 

Tonight, Ryan Lochte discovered redemption in the 200m backstroke at the grandest of all competitions.  In defeating Olympic champion and favorite Aaron Piersol, Lochte set a new world record and gained a measure of respect that might have been misplaced amidst the unbridled adulation for Phelps.  By grabbing his first individual gold medal, Lochte has etched his name where it rightfully belongs and contributed a sense of parity to the U.S. swim team.