King of the Mountain, With No Challengers

The most powerful man in the mountains is not Austria’s Hermann Maier or Norway’s Kjetil Andre Aamodt.

It’s Guenther Hujara, chief race director for men.

Hujara works for the international ski federation (FIS), which governs Alpine events here at the Olympics, and you could say he rules with an iron FIS.

“We like to just call him God,” U.S. men’s Coach Phil McNichol said at the team captains’ meeting before the Olympic men’s giant slalom.

Hujara is German, and he takes no guff.

He runs the meeting the way John Houseman ran law class in “The Paper Chase.”

Hujara likes to open the captains’ meeting by asking, “Any questions?” and then not allowing any. He sets down the race rules, levies fines, reprimands countries and oversees the bib selections.

If the coach from Liechtenstein thinks the meeting is over and tries to leave early, Hujara has no problem shouting “Liechtenstein, we are not finished yet!”

You should not sleep in Hujara’s class.

He has been described as a cross between Attila the Hun and Scrooge, but it’s not easy trying to keep ski order among dozens of ski-racing countries.

The captains’ meetings are like mini-United Nations’ meetings, held in a tent, the names of the countries taped to the backs of plastic chairs.

Hujara opened the giant slalom meeting by ripping into French skier Pierre-Emmanuel Dalcin, who’d made an obscene gesture at the finish area at the men’s super-giant slalom race in Sestriere Borgata.

Dalcin stood in first place in the race when it was called after 17 races because of poor weather conditions. In the afternoon restart, Dalcin missed a gate and did not finish.

“He showed his mid-finger to the public; he showed his mid-finger right into the camera,” Hujara said.

He then fined Dalcin 5,000 Swiss francs -- about $3,820 -- and said that sort of conduct would be tolerable “not here or ever in the future.”

End of discussion.

Hujara is at his ruling best when he hands out 25 media course-inspection passes. He holds the passes in his hands, like golden tickets, as national media types grovel like dogs waiting for table scraps.

“We now start our media 25 game,” Hujara says.

One day, Croatian television received two passes but sent three men on the course.

Word got back to Hujara and Croatia paid the price.

“Today, Croatia, you get one,” he said.

Hujara handed out two inspection passes to NBC for the giant slalom, and NBC seemed happy to get them.

If you’re not there when the passes go out -- “CBC ... five seconds! ... Not present ... Sold!” -- then you are FIS out of luck.

“I don’t know anyone else who could do the job,” McNichol, the U.S. coach, says. “I don’t know anyone who would knowingly sign up for the job.”

Hujara doesn’t seem so tough away from his post -- he says his job is like trying to herd cats.

“There is no sympathy for a referee,” Hujara explains. “I want to be predictable with everything I do. People must know how far they can go.”

Skiers and coaches have learned that the only line you cross with Hujara is the finish line.

End of discussion.