So the self-described ice princess faltered last night in the men's figure skating final, missing the bus, arriving late to the arena, and never getting his groove. And so Weiromania is over, at least for now. But I hope that somewhere in the flyover states, a kid getting his ass kicked every day by the bullies in his school got to see Johnny Weir and realize that you CAN march to your own drummer. And I wish that somewhere in Washington, a certain pair of hypermacho alpha males who go by the names "George W. Bush" and "Dick Cheney" could see that it's not only possible to take responsibility for one's failures, but that you can get good press for doing so.
In the aftermath of Michelle Kwan's withdrawal from the Olympics, the figure skating event for the U.S. became The Johnny Weir Show. But whether due to a missed bus, too much hype, or just plain lost nerve, Weir's flameout last night on global television is the stuff of which drug addictions, spirals into depression, and E! Entertainment channel tabloid exposes are made of. But while some sportswriters seemed all too content to put the gender-bending Weir back in the Box of Oddities in which they feel he belongs, at least one writer, Selena Roberts of the New York Times saw a stand-up guy who knows that sometimes it's better to not make excuses, not blame the media, admit your failure, and learn from it:
It was enough for Weir to absorb his discombobulated performance last night in the men's free skate, to have been flummoxed by transportation woes, plunging from silver to fifth by the end of his Winter Games experience.
"My biorhythms were off," Weir explained, smiling. He later added: "I know it was a bad performance. I'm surprised I'm as high as I am."
As usual, he was candid while unveiling the reasons for his flaws on the ice, using the occasional punch line to lighten the mood and defuse his disappointment.
Weir mania was over. It was colorful while it lasted.
His e-mail inbox swelled from 25 fan letters in a single download to almost 900 before his long program.
"A friend called me and said I made someone's Web site as a D-list celebrity," Weir said. "Hey, I'm Kathy Griffin."
Griffin, a self-celebrated D-lister, has a show on Bravo. Weir had the world to himself for the past week.
During an interview with The Chicago Tribune this week, the former skater Rudy Galindo, openly gay for a decade, mocked the news media for not prying more.
"He's drinking tea with his pinkie finger in the air," Galindo said. "And he's so over the top and feminine, why is everybody asking him about his 'style' and not just ask him if he's gay?"
Weir, in fact, addressed that issue for everyone. Just before he left his post-performance interview, he discussed what he thought about the Tribune piece.
"Why doesn't anyone ask about Bode Miller or ask Michelle Kwan if she is a lesbian?" Weir said.
He provided an equally direct response on his Web site when a fan recently speculated about his sexual orientation. "I like nice things, and beautiful things, so if that is the only way people are determining that I swing one way or the other, then to me, that's sad," Weir wrote, adding, "I am who I am, and I don't need to justify anything to anyone."
He isn't required to satisfy anyone's curiosity. He doesn't need the validation. He is guided by his confidence and by working-class parents who nurtured his individuality from the start.
One day, Weir may discover a way to detail his playground survival to help a child who has been the victim of spitballs and noogies and threats from bullies. Sometimes, as Battiste described, Weir can sound as if he has a chip on his shoulder when talking about his past.
"He is a role model in how he has achieved a goal," Battiste said. "But he hasn't really said, 'This was my childhood and here's how I dealt with it.' Maybe he will. I have to keep reminding myself that Johnny is still young."
He is 21. But in his crestfallen state last night, he seemed to grow up. Weir took his disappointment with grace, lauding his Russian idol, Yevgeny Plushenko, for winning the gold medal in a runaway performance.
"There are years between Plushenko and everybody else," Weir said. "Plushenko has been competing since I started skating. It's a distance in maturity."
In his own way, Weir was making up for the maturity gap by handling his performance debacle with the same openness that he treated his success after the short program put his name in headlines.
"I was thinking too much," Weir said. "I'm disappointed with the way I skated, but not with missing a medal."
He was frazzled when a shuttle bus to the rink altered its timetable without notice, picking up on the half hour instead of every 10 minutes. Weir had to flag down a volunteer for a ride in a car. He dashed into a packed Olympic arena late and never recovered from the panic attack.
"I didn't feel into the ice," Weir said. "I had a transportation problem, but that's just an excuse."
He blamed himself in the end. In the month since he won the United States nationals, Weir had been nothing but perky, a joy. Last night he was refreshing even in his dark moment.
What a concept -- taking responsibility for one's own failures. Last night we saw this seemingly most beta of American males start to succumb to the temptation to blame the bus schedule, his biorhythms, his karma, and the fates; then think better of it and realize that these are just excuses; that ultimately we are responsible for our own actions. If this 21-year-old kid in spangles can do it in front of a press just dying to take the place of the bullies who used to beat the shit out of him within an hour after flaming out on global television, why couldn't the Vice President do it until four days later, and then only in front of a sympathetic audience in Brit Hume?
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