Ring Tones

Big-name stumbles put a chill on Torino, but a closer look shows the Olympic flame still burns hot

Hats. Orange hats. Rows and rows of orange hats, swaying back and forth. Orange hats shaped like megaphones, like crowns, like clogs, like tulips. They sit on the heads of Dutch speed skating fans, who appeared at Torino's Oval Lingotto even before the Zambonis did. The fans dance to their nation's raucous pep band, the Kleintje Pils ("Little Beer"), and try not to tip their big beers as they sing "Proud Mary" and "Auld Lang Syne." They live for this sport, coming as they do from a country partially below sea level, where everyone skates. A 31-year-old financier named Stefan stands along the front rail in his velvet leopard-spotted orange hat and his orange leg stockings. So who's he cheering for? Shani Davis or Chad Hedrick? Only the Dutch? "We're nice to everyone!" he blares. "Doesn't matter what medal! We come here to party!" By the time the Little Beer band stops playing, all the skaters are on the ice, and the oval is shiny like a mirror.

Too bad we paid so much attention to those who gazed too long into their own mirror: hotdog Lindsey Jacobellis, petty Ben Smith, whiny Mike Modano, snarling and sniping Shani and Chad. Maybe we dwelt too much on the melodrama, the disaffected Bode Miller, the Italian ice dancer who stared bullets through her partner, the blankshooting Canadian Dream Team, whose failure to win hockey gold-or even find the podiumovershadowed that country's best Winter Olympics ever: 24 medals, including five by speed skater Cindy Klassen.

There was so much more to see, like speed skater Joey Cheek, who gave his $40,000 for winning gold and silver to underprivileged kids in Africa, triggering $317,996 in matching sponsor funds. And party-crashers Ted Ligety and Julia Mancuso, two skiers offering all action and no talk. And Lindsey Kildow, who went sprawling down a mountain at 50 mph, then checked out of the hospital to hit the slopes again two days later. We saw Shaun White and Hannah Teter (page 126) laughing all the way to Leno and Letterman. And Tanith Belbin and Ben Agosto winning us over with their charisma in a sport we often lampoon.

These Olympians basked, smiled, treated the Games as if they truly were games. So did others from around the world, like Norwegian crosscountry coach Bjornar Hakensmoen, who handed his ski pole to Canadian Sara Renner after she snapped hers-even though it meant Canada would finish second and Norway fourth. Or fourtime Olympian Marco Buechel of Liechtenstein, who ended up seventh in the downhill but happily serenaded France's Antoine Deneriaz with shouts of "Champion Olympique!" until a smile creased the winner's face. Or Canadian aerialist Jeff Bean, who popped out of his skis on his way up the kicker during a training run but admirably did his flips and twists anyway, ending up on his behind with a grin on his face. Or Japan's Shizuka Arakawa, who was as surprised as we were when she won figure skating gold. Or Italian speed skater Enrico Fabris, the shy hero of these Games, who won more medals here (three) than Alpine great Alberto Tomba did in his best Games, and whom even the adorable Cheek called "a sweetheart."

These Olympics aren't a bust because the big names didn't win and the ratings didn't soar. Let the haters and the snivelers stay home. We'll happily sip the vino and sample the gianduiotti and sway with the band. Seems like all those who really won in Torino did just that.

Like Marianne Timmer, the Mia Hamm of the Netherlands. After winning speed skating gold (the third of her Olympic career), she strode onto a stage in front of thousands of shivering fans, against a backdrop of majestic palazzos and statues of horsemen thrown into haunting relief by dancing spotlights. Been there, done that? Hardly. "It's incredible," she would say later. "They play the national hymn, and they play it for you."

Timmer stood with her medal draped around her neck, as her eyes dripped glistening rivulets, and the fans in orange costumes cried a little with her. She stared out at her flag, rising in front of a shiny wall of triangle-shape plates joined together in a mosaic. And in the wall's reflection, she could see the singing crowd, the bright colors, the moving lights, the cornices of ancient places still standing.

The Games belonged to her—and to all those in Torino who could look into a mirror and see each other.

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