Spinning Gold

For gymnast Paul Hamm, winning the all-around in Athens was hard enough. Now he has to defend it-every day of his life

If he'd given it back, would he be here today? He's alone. It's quiet. He's flipping and twirling and floating, his normal routine. He's in Ohio State's Steelwood gym, on a March Monday, training for no reason—unless passing time counts as a reason. Twin brother Morgan is usually here, flipping and twirling and floating as well. Sometimes their coach stops by to watch. But not today. Paul Hamm is alone.

If he'd given it back, the scene might be different. Perhaps he'd be followed by TV cameras, the story line set: after returning his gold medal in Athens, gymnast Paul Hamm prepares for Beijing in 2008. But there are no cameras. He is not preparing for Beijing, at least not now. The sight of him flipping and twirling and floating refreshes sad memories of a summer controversy. Hamm was competing in the men's all-around finals, leading after three of six events. That was before he fell ass-first into the judges' table during a vault and dropped to 12th. On the final event, the horizontal bar, he needed an impossible 9.825 to tie South Korean Kim Dae Eun for first. He scored 9.837 and took the gold. "That's what I wish people would remember," he says now.

But, of course, nobody does. Two days after Hamm became the first U.S. male to win the Olympic all-around gold, South Korea lodged a protest. The Koreans said the judges had incorrectly set Yang Tae Young's start value on the parallel bars at 9.9 instead of 10, and the difference would have bumped Yang from third to first.

Never mind that Yang's coach didn't protest before the competition ended, as rules require, or that the judges missed mistakes in Yang's routine.

Hamm was thrust into the swirling controversy, alone. Should he give up the gold or keep it? The USOC and USA Gymnastics let Paul make the call, left him to spin in ways he'd never trained for. "I personally feel I was the champion that night," he said at the time. He sounded whiny. Sportswriters at several newspapers called him selfish.

If he'd given it back, forget it. He'd have never again been alone in the Ohio State gym. He'd have been the phenomenon who picked morals over medals. He'd be filming commercials, taping cameos, co-authoring a book, brunching with Trump. Paul Hamm, American idol, the guy who passed up glory for something higher. Paul Hamm, the loveable loser, telling you not to "Just do it" but instead to "Just do what's right." Says Paul Swangard of Oregon's Warsaw Sports Marketing Center: "He could have created a new dimension in sportsmanship and marketing opportunities."

If he'd given it back, FIG president Bruno Grandi would not have called Yang the "true winner" before adding, "The best decision would be for Paul Hamm to take his medal and give …" Grandi finished the sentence by pretending to remove a medal from his neck.

If he'd given it back, he wouldn't have told his parents, "It seems like everyone is against me."

But Hamm kept it. He clutched it, like a kid refusing to share his cupcake at lunch. And now he's left to pick up the pieces. Alone.

He kept it, and was called "shameful" by the Los Angeles Times.

He kept it, and got a letter calling him a "bad American."

He kept it, and watched women's all-around gold medalist Carly Patterson land on a Wheaties box.

He kept it, and signed deals with Kemps dairy products and Energy Star lightbulbs, then bought his first new car, a Honda Accord.

He kept it, and his dad, Sandy, made T-shirts with a gold medal on the front and this on the back: "Paul Hamm gave me the gold medal!"

He kept it, and eight months later, he's still bitter at USAG and the USOC for not rushing to help him navigate the spin in Athens. He struggled alone, and appeared greedy and clueless. "My reputation has been repeatedly and thoroughly bashed," he wrote in a letter to USAG in November. "I will have to live with the continuing effects of this situation for the rest of my life."

Hamm, now 22, trains five days a week at Ohio State, where he's a junior majoring in finance. He's waiting for the U.S. championships in August and the worlds in November. He might compete in 2008. Still, he says, "I don't want gymnastics to be my entire life."

He says if he could turn back the clock, he would. He also says he would keep the gold medal again. He would keep it knowing that he was giving up a life of wealth and Hummers and Cribs, knowing that he'd be booed and jeered, knowing that the pinnacle of his life would never be celebrated. "Since I was 7, a gold medal was my dream," he says.

Now the gold is his, and his alone.

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