Let Johnsonification Begin Olympic Organizers Going Overboard Trying To Ensure Johnson Stardom

It is Michael Johnson’s intent to come to our Olympics and make them his own. He’ll just move in and take over, looming larger than any Coca-Cola billboard, turning the Centennial Games into one big Michaelnik.

Lay basketball’s Dream Team end to end. Doesn’t matter. He wants to be bigger than that.

Bigger than a gymnast’s smile, bigger than a boxer’s hook, bigger than both the clean and the jerk. Memo to swimmers: You will make no splash during the course of these Games. That is Johnson’s job.

“I want all eyes on me,” he declares.

Now, this chutzpah is especially inspired in a host country that treats track and field like that side of the family you never talk about. We see a track meet coming and we cross the street to avoid it. Johnson single-handedly would return it to Wheaties box status, filling some post-Carl Lewis need for a sporting icon who runs for no other reason than to get there.

This is a most important quest. I think we should assist him in any way possible.

The track and field establishment began the Johnsonification of the Olympics by rearranging the schedule of events so that he might comfortably compete in the 200- and 400-meter runs. It gave him more than he needed, not only eliminating the overlap between the two, but also including an off day in between. All the shuffling may have confused ticketholders and other athletes thoroughly, but the important thing is that Johnson has this stained glass window of opportunity.

As an aside, I don’t believe his winning three golds (with one relay added) is as impressive as the work Lewis and Jesse Owens did in the different disciplines of sprinting and long jumping. But that’s not the point here. The deal is to ease Johnson’s journey to immortality, whatever the sacrifice.

There’s more work to do.

Now that the dates have been set, perhaps we can be more flexible with the times of his races. Instead of setting an hour, we change the schedule to read: “Whenever Michael can make it.”

Johnson needn’t be troubled by a bad draw for a lane assignment in any of his preliminary races. He’s the alpha wolf here. He’s the beachmaster. He starts wherever it feels good.

And stretching before him in his lane of choice should be a runway of red carpet. And Halle Berry is stationed at the finish with roses in hand.

Now, this may sound a little extreme, but give it a chance before overreacting: a 10-meter head start.

If he doesn’t break world records as promised, there’s only one thing to do. Round off his times to the next lowest whole second. Who believes those pesky fractions of a tick anyway?

All his competition is required to run in white pumps.

As good hosts, we must be sensitive to Johnson’s feelings. Do not poke fun at the uptight, upright way he runs. Resist all urges to advise him to let out his underwear two notches. He knows what he’s doing.

Recall the case of food poisoning that threw him off stride during the ‘92 Games. Put the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention on the case. It tests every forkful first. Any new outbreaks will just have to wait until after the Olympics.

This is the least we can do. It is an investment in ourselves, too. For if Michael Johnson becomes the kind of huge figure he thinks he can be in Atlanta - the kind that blots out the sun and the stars - then maybe some people won’t notice the traffic.