SYDNEY, Australia -- It ends here, with the old ogre squirming in his seat, with him making everyone else squirm in theirs.
It ends here despite all Bela Karolyi has done and because of all he has done. It ends here because it is time the entire focus of American gymnastics ceased being about one man and how loud he can drum on his chest.
It ends here because it is time the whining from him ceased, time the whining about him ceased. He always has been the molder of children, but the thing about Bela Karolyi is that he leaves everyone else sounding like one, too.
This should be the final image of Karolyi, sitting on press row, looking down on USA Gymnastics, this time physically as well as metaphorically. We should remember the way he sat there, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, bobbing and weaving and turning and frowning, wanting nothing more than to rush onto the floor, to take over the show, the way he always has. We should remember how out of place he looked, and how out of time, and we should say farewell.
The problem is not that the American gymnasts finished fourth in the Olympic team competition or that the night seemed so hollow in contrast to the gold-medal finish of four years earlier. That happens. You look at the Americans, and you look at the others, and fourth place seems about right.
The problem is this: As soon as the United States had finished its competition -- even before the Russians and the Chinese were done -- the squabbling began all over again. Karolyi couldn't wait to let you know what a fine job of rescue he had done to lift the team as high as it had been or to suggest how much higher it might have been if the patient had not been so far gone before he was brought in to consult. And the coaches and players couldn't wait to tell you that, frankly, Bela ought to stuff a sock in it.
Such is the state of American women's gymnastics. On one side you have Bela and his ego; on the other side you have individual coaches and an occasional gymnast with enough spunk to speak. And the result is a sandbox with one shovel and a lot of noise.
"We have some very talented girls," Karolyi said. "Very talented. Comparable to '96. But there is no work ethic, no backbone."
Are they lazy? "No, no," Karolyi said. "You cannot blame the gymnasts. They have to be motivated."
And on Karolyi went, talking about the coaches, who he doesn't think motivate; the gymnasts, who he doesn't think are focused; the system, which he thinks is too crowded; the age group, which he thinks is too old; and fourth place, which he thinks is lousy. He doesn't suggest that U.S. Gymnastics put him in charge of the whole deal, but he doesn't mind if you do.
Which brings us to the thoughtful, collected response of gymnast Jamie Dantzscher: Oh, please.
"He gets so much credit," said Dantzscher, miffed that she was not allowed to compete on balance beam. "He gets too much credit. What it is, he takes the credit when we do good and he gives everyone else the blame when we do bad. To be honest with you, Bela wasn't my motivator. He made my confidence go bad."
Dantzscher said other gymnasts agree with her. Which rendered the Bela-in-the-sky argument moot.
Karolyi talked long into the evening about how frustrated he was in the stands, suggesting the team might have medaled if he had been on the floor. And, love him or hate him, it is true that Karolyi's greatest strength has been his motivation.
Once, in 1996, he looked at a gymnast named Kerri Strug, and he said this to her: "You can do it. You can do it. You better do it." And she won gold.
Once, in 1984, he looked at a gymnast named Mary Lou Retton, and he said this: "Now or never." And she won gold.
Once, in 1976, he looked at a gymnast named Nadia Comaneci, and he said nothing. "Eyes," he remembered. "No mouth." She won gold.
With such a history, Karolyi being out of sight, out of mind was an oddity. It was like watching Bill Parcells coach from a skybox or Scotty Bowman from the penalty box.
"Never have I spent the entire competition standing on my butt," Karolyi said, "which is bleeding."
Said Dantzscher: "I've heard him say if he was on the floor, he would have made a difference. No way."
Dantzscher aside, there is little argument over his credentials or his charm. He is a likable sort, even when he is punching you on the shoulder four times in succession to make a point (and, frankly, I was ready to vault). You can argue that he is as important a figure as there has been in the sport.
So why should he go? Because his specialty is coaching individual athletes, which he has said he will not do anymore because of his age. Because he is better with preteen girls, before boyfriends, before they begin to question authority and the rules have changed. And mainly, because of this: because Karolyi is an all-or-nothing-at-all sort of guy. You either turn your entire sport over to him or you let him go back to his ranch and continue without him.
If that happens, understand this: the next step is backward. Despite the way he has berated athletes and grated on coaches, every time he goes away a mad scramble for his throne ensues and leaves the sport looking chaotic and disorganized, and eventually, someone is sending Karolyi a ticket.
That's the real problem. Karolyi has his problems, but the organization has more. If Bela is an addiction, the other coaches are the enablers because they simply cannot go cold turkey. If he leaves, the effects will be felt.
So be it. Let's finish fourth, or sixth, or ninth in a competition or two before a new leader emerges. Eventually, someone will. There are too many young gymnasts in America to believe otherwise.
It ends here. All the debate, all the whining. It is time for a new chapter in American women's gymnastics. Bela has held the reins far too long.
It is time for a dismount.