Aleksandr's Greco-Roman tragedy

Aleksandr Karelin was the Most Unbeatable Man in the Games. One glance at his intimidating presence and one just knew that the Russian's fourth gold medal was inevitable. The shaven head, the jutting brow and the blank, mean eyes insisted that no one would stand in his way. Or, if they did, they would look decidedly the worse for wear afterwards.

Only three Olympians had ever won four successive gold medals in the same individual event and Juan Antonio Samaranch had shuffled into the front row of dignitaries to honour the next. Karelin, the most celebrated Greco-Roman super-heavyweight of all time, had not been beaten for 14 years. He had won 12 European and nine world championships. In the past seven years he had not conceded a single point. After rupturing a chest muscle he had won gold in Atlanta virtually one-handed.

Attempts had been made to soften Karelin's image. He is an intelligent man, a member of the Russian government. He plays chess, goes to the ballet and writes poetry. He relaxes to Pavarotti and Gershwin. He is a gentle soul, disturbed by the fearful way that people look at him in the street.

That is mere detail. This man is 20 stones of terror. He trains in waist-deep Siberian snowdrifts and, when it melts, he probably rails against the effects of global warming. When he bought himself a fridge, he himself lugged it up to his eighth-floor apartment. If his face really is on cartons of fruit juice, it is a brave Russian child who is getting his recommended intake of Vitamin C.

Most disturbingly of all, he resembles Clive James, but only as James must look in the sweat-laden nightmares of a bad TV producer. His hands are like diggers, capable of inflicting what shaken opponents term the "death grip". He has a habit of lifting and throwing fighters in a manner that, in the 130kg category, is impossible for lesser contestants. You did not have to understand the complexities of Greco-Roman scoring to know that, for his gold-medal opponent, surrender was the only option.

What happened next was beyond comprehension. Karelin lost. He lost to possibly the flabbiest athlete in the Games, a man who might yet usurp Fatso the Wombat as Sydney's plumpest unofficial mascot.

Rulon Gardner, a wrestler from the Nebraska plains, is the youngest of nine children of a dairy farmer. He was teased for being fat at school from eight years old but he was already growing so strong that he could soon lift a sick calf upon his shoulders. For all that, it looked a mismatch.

"When did I think I could beat him? About 10 minutes ago," Gardner said. "He is so big and nasty. It's like a horse pushing you. He is much stronger than me. I'm not even close."

Greco-Roman wrestling suits the immobile fighter. Upper-body strength is all. Greco- Roman wrestlers are prohibited from using or attacking the legs. They score by turning their opponents on their back, lifting them off their feet or throwing them. To score points, one must initiate the action, take the risk. There is an awful lot of leaning.

The first of two three-minute periods was scoreless. The toss of the plastic disc then came down on Karelin's side, which meant that the fighters had to enter a clinch, and that Karelin had a minute to score or otherwise concede a point.

Have you ever tried to grab a huge mound of jelly? Have you ever tried to grab a huge mound of jelly when you are 32 and feeling your age? After 30 seconds Karelin panicked and sought to adjust his hold. A judge sensed a momentary release of his grip. For more than a minute the bout was suspended until TV evidence proved as much and the first point was Gardner's.

Karelin's shoulders slumped. Every attempt to throw or turn Gardner proved impossible. With seven seconds remaining he abandoned hope.

Gardner's toughest test was still to come. Gold medallists in the lighter categories had all turned a cartwheel in celebration. He fulfilled it pluckily and then pulled off a forward role for good measure. Karelin stood on the side of the mat, shoulders hunched, aware that he had failed to join the three competitors to have won four successive individual golds in the same event: the Danish sailor Paul Elvstrom, and two Americans, the discus thrower Al Oerter and long-jumper Carl Lewis.

The medal ceremony was like a wake. Gardner grinned, an impostor in what had become a wake. Karelin collected his silver medal with so much displeasure that one feared he might ram it into someone's forehead, and muttered a few token words of congratulation that Gardner did not understand. Samaranch shuffled out again. Burly Russians in the auditorium could barely suppress their tears.