ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Tuesday, July 30, 1996 TAG: 9607300109
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: B-3 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
DATELINE: ATLANTA
SOURCE: EDWIN POPE
Michael Johnson had heard it before, but not like this.
Not like the thunder from the throats of more than 80,000 Olympic Stadium spectators when M.J. and his golden shoes first burst in perfect anatomical explosion toward his gold medal and Olympic record in the 400-meter run.
Twice thunder, really. Thursday night Johnson will try for the unprecedented ``double'' at a distance half this long, 200 meters.
The thunder turned as shatteringly loud as any human reaction you will hear in sports, at least this side of the Kentucky Derby. It grew, and grew, and grew, as the time of 43.49 seconds penetrated the consciousness of the spellbound audience.
``They were pretty loud,'' Johnson told his personal coach, Clyde Hart, on the track afterward. ``I wasn't consciously listening, but I could, well, feel it.''
That's the way you have to take Johnson's running. He's so fast you can feel it better than you can see it.
``I can't explain what I do,'' he said, in that painfully precise way, when another routine night's work was over and Great Britain's Roger Black and Uganda's Davis Kamoga had settled for silver and bronze. ``A lot of work goes into it, then it just comes together.''
And in the oddest way, at that. They say the 28-year-old Texan's ``weakness'' is right after the start. They say his running style is aerodynamically unsound, because he runs practically erect rather than leaning closer to the ground. And it's true, he seemed to be leaning almost backward as he drew away from the field in the last 50 meters.
He also has a shorter stride than most. You can see the whole thing will never work - until M. J. starts picking them up and laying them down.
Then you might as well be trying to analyze the microtornadoes inside a hurricane. No opponent has seen anything but the seat of Johnson's lycra breeches during a 400-meter final all the way back to 1989 on a wooden track in Madison Square Garden.
Monday night, July 29, 1996, the Olympic track was synthetic turf. It was outdoors. It was just the ticket for The World's Fastest Human, and if you didn't believe it you could just listen for the roars.
They came down for the right man. Johnson was a star student at Dallas' Skyline High School and then at Baylor until he graduated six years ago and started moving around even faster. Monday night, the expressionless superstar showed an appealingly tender side.
``I dedicated this race to Alice Hawthorne, who died in the Centennial Park explosion,'' M.J. said. ``People will remember the person's name who did it, when they get him. I just don't want people to forget her name.''
His next move was to give his custom-made golden shoes to his moher and father in the stands. Then ``The World's Fastest Human'' turned his attention to the 400.
``It's another opportunity for glory,'' he said. ``I've got 48 hours to get ready, and I'll be ready in about two hours.''
That's how fast the man has redefined ``The World's Fastest Human.''
Used to be, whoever won the 100 meters, Bobby Hayes in 1964, Jimmie Hines in '68, whoever, was considered ``T.W.F.H.'' Carl Lewis in '84 and '88, until time and Linford Christie stole his gold in '92. Yes, the Christie who would bust out of this Olympics' 100 for false starts. But nobody outside of Canada is calling Canada's Donovan Bailey, this Olympics' 100 winner, ``The World's Fastest Human.''
They call M.J. that because he does something so hard so easily.
In point of hard fact - especially hard on the International Olympic Committee - the 200 final does not come up until Thursday night because Johnson is so good he demanded the IOC chink in enough time between his 400 and his 200 for his body to recover its awesome power.
Then, after Johnson breezed home Monday night, that roar from the stands took minutes to settle.
No one has satisfactorily explained the roar's switch, the transfer of fame, from the old 100-meter glamour event to Johnson's 400/200 combo. It's hard to break it down on any combination of Johnson's peculiar mixture of unorthodox style and reticent personality.
He isn't nearly as showy as Lewis. Six weeks shy of his 29th birthday, M.J. rations his words as though they might count against his stopwatch.
``The more I win,'' he said, in his way, ``the harder it is for the other guys.''
Getting to the point is Johnson's game. He is so compulsively efficient he made three decisions he thought would help him at least through the Olympics.
He broke up with his girl friend. He hired a bodyguard, although you wonder who could catch him to hurt him. And he hired a Los Angeles press agent. I thought his feet were doing a pretty good job of that.
M.J. does what he has to do. He showed up for the Olympics' opening ceremonies, because he has many commercial affiliations who want to keep his image squeaky-clean. Then he went back to Waco to chill out. He didn't come back until this weekend, and that was to a plush downtown hotel rather than the austere Olympic Village.
He can afford it. He's a millionaire; won't move a toenail for less than $25,000. Given his lack of excess in anything other than speed, M.J. figures to be a multimillionaire fast.
That's the man's style. Monday night he flew out of the blocks with the trademark gold medal bobbing over a chest bulging with muscles like ropes.
He straightened up almost immediately.
Oh, that notorious flaw.
The crowd noise broke loose long before the sound of the starter's pistol had reached the stands.
Johnson was merely loping most of the way to the turn, about midpack in lane 4. Then, as the clock reached the low 20-second range, M.J. turned it on and drew away.
Man against boys, and down came the thunder again. If noise will help, Michael Johnson can't miss The First Double.
Edwin Pope is a columnist for the Miami Herald.
LENGTH: Long : 108 linesby CNB