Ben’s Faster Than 10 From the Word Go

Ben and gone.

In 9.79 seconds.

Watch your watch.

Count the ticks.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. T . . . stop the clock!

This is how long it took Ben Johnson to travel 100 meters.

Not on four wheels. On two feet.

One hundred meters. Which is longer than a football field.

Is that Ben Johnson or Bo Jackson?

Who is this guy?

How did he get to be this fast?

Did something scare him as a child?

How did he get to be this strong?

Does he take steroids or eat spinach?

Last time we saw something run this fast, it lived in Africa and had four legs.

Ben Johnson runs like a cheetah.

On second thought, he runs like a jaguar.

The XKE model.

You should have seen him Saturday at the Olympics.

He blew in from Canada like a cold front.

Faster than a speeding bullet.

More powerful than a locomotive.

An express in the Orient.

On track, on time.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

Big Ben did not strike 10.

We will never get to see somebody break the 9-second barrier in the 100-yard dash, because there is no more 100-yard dash.

But this, the gold rush of Ben Johnson, this is as close as it gets.

Nothing without a fuel tank has ever moved so fast on a race track.

Carl Lewis ran faster than he has ever run, faster than any American has ever run--and Ben Johnson left him chewing cinders.

Linford Christie ran faster than he has ever run, faster than any European has ever run--and Ben Johnson didn’t even know he was there.

At the finish line, Ben looked over his left shoulder, saw where the others were, and thrust up his right fist.

It was supposed to be a photo finish. Instead, you needed a wide-angle lens.

Carl Lewis wanted to become the first man to win the Olympic 100 twice. Was a time, he wanted to have it all--be prince of the sprints, be unbeatable on the track, be Michael Jackson off the track.

Michael Jackson, though, once sang a song about a rat named Ben. The rat was his friend. Ben Johnson is not Carl Lewis’ friend.

Carl did not say he was happy for Ben. Carl said he was happy for Carl. Carl said he couldn’t see much of Ben’s race, because Ben was three lanes over. Carl should not have bothered looking to the side. Carl should have looked ahead. That’s where Ben was, start to finish.

And what a start!

Ben Johnson leaves the starting blocks the way a clown leaves a jack-in-the-box.

Pop goes the Canadian.

He blasts off, then holds off everybody who tries to catch him, just as he did as a small child in Jamaica, when a small shark tried to catch him one day when he went swimming.

Ben Johnson beat that shark to shore.

Carl Lewis sure knows how it feels to chase something so fast. Ben Johnson is the gold fish now. He’s a big one, and he got away.

More than 2 hours after the great race, Ben Johnson finally surfaced. Talking as fast as he ran, his Jamaican accent still very much evident, Johnson said, “The last time I run in Olympics, I finish third. I knew my time would come.”

Of the race itself, he said: “I look around at 30 meters, I don’t see nobody. For 30 meters to 100 meters, I run full out.”

He turn around, he don’t see Carl Lewis, mon.

“Gold medal or world record or perfect race, the object was to beat Carl Lewis,” Johnson said.

Or so it sounded. However, his words came so fast, they were difficult to make out. So, someone asked again if beating Carl Lewis was the most important thing.

“No,” Johnson said. “Next question.”

Have to give him some time to think about it. One. Two. Three. Four . . .