FROM glory to disgrace, the journey is a short one - 100 metres in Ben Johnson's case. The glory that should have accompanied the run up to the opening ceremony of the centennial Olympic Games in Atlanta on Friday night was tinged with scepticism.
Maybe the media has grown up. Questions are being asked about the greatest sporting show on earth.
It's an uneasy process. In a changing world, huge sporting events give structure and meaning to millions of lives. Delving into the murky underworld of, international sport is a bit like examining your childhood - something many of us spend a lifetime avoiding.
In Panorama this week Tom Mangold attempted to lift the lid on one of the most difficult issues facing sport - the use of performance-enhancing drugs. Atlanta 1996 has already been given the moniker "The Drugs Olympics".
Dr Michael Turner, the British Olympic team doctor, claimed that 75 per cent of the athletes competing in Atlanta have used performance-enhancing drugs. "Only the stupid or the very naive will get caught," he said, pointing the finger at the IOC's less-than-stringent testing procedures.
Even the chief medical officer at the Games, Dr John Cantwell, admitted that the test is not able to detect the presence of EPO or growth hormone, the major drug currently in use.
As for blood doping - forget it. Nothing detects the rather Transylvanian practice of removing a couple of pints of blood stuffed full of red cells, then craftily replacing it into your body before competition.
We were reliably informed by a Mr Brian Batcheldor that he personally has drawn up individually-tailored drug abuse programmes for almost a dozen international athletes.
Bearing in mind a rather seedy story about how paperwork relating to nine positive drugs tests uncovered during the closing stages of the Games in Los Angeles in 1984 was mysteriously lost, the Atlanta Games may turn out to be the "Drug-free Olympics". On paper at least.
It was, therefore, with a mind altered by drugs, or at least the consideration of drugs, that I sat down to watch the opening ceremony.
The Beeb were giving it some welly. Yes, there it was again, the theme from Chariots of Fire - whoever said imagination was dead - accompanied by an hour of British Olympic Glory. There's Sally Gunnell... wow Linford Christie, Seb Coe and Steve Ovett - those were the days - Fatima Whitbread, oh look there's Sally Gunnell again, yep Linford Christie and, good heavens, it's Seb Coe and Steve Ovett.
Eventually, at some god-forsaken hour, it started. I watched it live. A wiser person might have waited until the morning to watch the endless re-runs.
The BBC excelled themselves. "It's the first Olympic Games played in a city where most of the inhabitants are black - so you won't be surprised that tonight is carnival," spouted David Coleman. As we all know, black people are always dancing and singing just like the Irish are always fighting. It's in the blood you know.
Every nation providing their own TV coverage for the Games had been given a pre-prepared script packed full of statistics - 197 nations, 11,000 athletes, 450 children uniting to form a white dove - and choc-a-bloc with artistic interpretation of what was a bizarre spectacle.
"The sun and the moon meet and out of this new day a new spirit is born," said a dead-pan David Coleman. Drug test the man.
Network 2 was doing well until a little bit of ad-libbing, brought on no doubt by the heat, resulted in: "As always the Australians seem to kit the girls out in very attractive outfits and hats".
Kitted out in an attractive new outfit, Michelle Smith stole everyone's thunder in the heats of the 400 metres IM.
The BBC hadn't done their research, nor had the American camera operators. Lots of shots of the Japanese swimmer, a mere glance at Smith. There was palpable shock as the BBC watched the race. 50 metres - "Her butterfly is good." 150 metres - "That's a great backstroke." 250 metres - "Amazing breast-stroke technique!" 400 metres - speechless.
In times like these, the national broadcaster comes into its own. The weekend was a triumph for RTE. Gary O'Toole - double that man's salary and give him a company car - played a blinder. His analysis is insightful and accessible, his anecdotes are informative, his predictions are spot on and, what's more, he's a nice man. Every woman should have one.
Gary told us Michelle was going to win the final. We relaxed and met the family. Mum and Dad in Atlanta; Sarah, Aisling, Brian, Auntie Mary and the Smith clan in Rathcoole. Fine, breathless commentary, excellent post-race camera angles. Great victory, great television.
Cynicism can be a party-pooper. Cheerleaders aside, this opening weekend refused to be pooped.
The 54kg division of the weight lifting provided a quintessential Olympic moment as 4ft 11in Halil Muhtlo lifted his way into the record books and took Olympic gold. Turkish joy was unrestrained as a dozen burly coaches and officials piled on top of the tiny man.
And, in the city that gave the world Martin Luther King, who will forget the sight of the great Mohammad Ali appearing from the shadows to light the Olympic flame and restore dignity.
