So now the world is shocked, shocked that an unprecedented number of drug cheats have been caught at the Games -- including, most dramatically, a Romanian hammer thrower who was escorted off the field Wednesday as she tried to compete. The only thing that surprises me about the whole drug-cheat flap is that it took so long for steroid-filled heads to start rolling. I read a lot of stories about drug testing going into the Games, all of them more or less contradictory, and the one thing that seemed clear was that the whole testing situation was as full of holes as C.J. Hunter's alibi. Obviously the tests were going to be more stringent than ever before, which was a good thing, but just as obviously they weren't universal or foolproof -- not everyone was going to be caught. Moreover, as the flap over the U.S. Track and Field Association's lame coverup of the names of athletes who tested positive demonstrates, the administration of the system lacked both transparency and consistency.

This was a recipe for disaster. Until Olympic officials decide they're simply going to institute Draconian measures like continuous blanket testing, or whatever they need to do to make sure no athlete is using banned substances, this problem isn't going to go away. In the meantime, poor Andreea Raducan -- whose crime appears to have been taking cold medicine given her by a moronic team doctor -- saw her appeal to restore her stripped gold denied by the Court of Arbitration in Sport, which upheld the International Olympic Committee's original ruling. I understand the reasoning that no exceptions can be made, but under the dubious circumstances that surround the whole drug-testing business, to make an example of her seems unjust and mean-spirited.

The U.S. is taking its deserved lumps here over the USTF's refusal, on procedural and fairness grounds, to release the names of the athletes who tested positive. "[I]f the United States of America, with all its hand-on-its-heart-holier-than-thouness on so many other subjects ... is not going to lead the fight against drugs in sport, then who is?" railed Sydney Morning Herald columnist Peter FitzSimons, and it was hard to argue with him. On the other hand, it's hard to take the moral outrage expressed by much of the Aussie press (there must be special keyboards here that allow journos to input words and phrases like "shame" and "brave" and "honour" and "legend" and "our hope" and "Australia's pride" with one finger) seriously after observing the cheesy way they jumped on the C.J. Hunter scandal. Story after nudge-nudge-wink-wink story insinuated that Jones herself had been fatally tainted by association with the nandolene-laden shotputter. Just why being married to a drug cheat -- if that is in fact what he is, which certainly appears likely -- taints Jones was never made clear, but it didn't need to be. Most of it was tabloid sensationalism, and some of it was just wishful thinking: One scribe, dutifully trying to find a gushy Cathy Freeman angle in every subject, floated the idea that with Marion distracted and demoralized, Freeman might be able to beat her.

(I have to admit I am beginning to find the endless feel-good orgy here over Freeman's victory in the 400 meters, and the attendant deep, self-congratulatory cultural analysis about the great racial strides it represents, a little strange. A black woman from our country won a middle-distance race! Oh my God! Let's declare a month of national celebration!)

So on the Games go. I suppose now I should wonder which athletes have the blood with the muscle-bound cells swaggering around in it, but I don't. I may be naive, but I doubt that many athletes are taking banned substances -- even with the absurdly flawed procedures in place, the risks of being caught are too great. Of course, I have no way of knowing that, but I choose to believe it, mostly out of self-interest: If you suspect everyone of being a drug cheat, it pretty much takes the fun out of being here. Moreover, the events where drug abuse seems to be most rampant are the power sports -- weightlifting, shot put, hammer throw -- and much as I enjoyed watching the hammer throw (the indentation the ball makes in the sod is especially gratifying) if it is found to be suspect, my world will not crumble. The same goes for nationalities: The most suspicious athletes, statistically, are Romanian and Bulgarian musclemen, and they make up only a very modest part of my Olympic experience.

Actually, I did take in some seriously muscular dudes today (Thursday), although I suspect not many of them were of the steroid-taking variety. Feeling in the need of a little palate cleanser after what seemed like two dozen straight track meets, I went down to Darling Harbor and checked out some freestyle wrestling.

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