Sestriere Colle, Italy – His name always sounded like a cartoon character. And now Bode Miller is one. A goofball on skis. He has become the SpongeBob SquarePants of the Winter Olympics.
Treat everything as a prank – your sport, your image, your team – and pretty soon it’s your life that’s the joke.
As the sun set Tuesday on the Italian Alps, another chance for a gold medal down the toilet, Miller said, “Hey, what can you do?”
For starters, he could drop the slacker attitude, grow up and pretend the Olympics are compelling enough for a 28-year-old man to pay attention.
The problem with being the flavor of the week is the beer doesn’t stay cold for long. Miller time? Gone flat.
Get out of the way for fresh-faced Ted Ligety, who won a race that apparently left Bode so bored he mindlessly threw it away.
Heck, I remember when Miller mattered. He was famous for skiing loud. It seemed like only 15 minutes ago.
American pop culture has a short attention span. If stock in Miller was going downhill any faster, he’d be Google.
Bode had the world at his ski tips, then veered badly off course. He tried so freakin’ hard to be different, boasting to this TV show about reckless drinking, throwing mud at fellow American Lance Armstrong in that magazine, until what originally made Miller real and genuine got lost in the hype.
What a waste.
The combined skiing event – three arduous heats that test both the iron nerves and quick feet of competitors – is what Miller did best before the former World Cup all-around champion stopped taking his sport seriously.
Leading the Olympic combined after the downhill segment, pushing the pedal to the metal like the bodacious Bode we used to love, Miller went all conservative on us and slipped up during his first of two scheduled slalom runs, missing a gate on the course, an offense that earned him immediate disqualification.
The DQ means Miller, who won two medals at the Winter Games four years ago on U.S. turf, is now in real danger of leaving Italy empty-handed. But why should we care? Miller acted as if he had dropped a penny in the snow.
“I don’t tend to get that disappointed,” said Miller, who joked that a 90-minute drive down the mountain to the city for today’s medal ceremony was a hassle he didn’t really need. “At least I don’t have to go all the way down to Torino.”
What a goof. He is Dennis Rodman on skis, “Refrigerator” Perry in a body glove, Hulk Hogan of the snow.
One spit wad at a time, Miller has quickly devolved into a better iconoclast than a skier. While his talent remains off the charts, his focus is lost in space. Rather than a quirky sidebar, outrageousness is now Bode’s signature. And he’s scrawling on the establishment in crayon. Which is cool, until the winning stops and somebody has to clean up the graffiti.
Celebrity never fit Miller, and when America pushed fame on him, looking to put a rough-hewn face on these Games, he pushed back. After being knighted by Nike as sporting royalty, Miller has acted like a clown prince.
He dabbled on the World Cup tour this winter, belittled the mainstream media he manipulated to build his Q-rating, then showed up at the Olympics unprepared to back the U.S. alpine ski team’s bold official motto of “Best in the World.”
The son of hippies raised in a house without plumbing or electricity, Miller did not hide his disgust when asked shortly after arriving at the Games if he had sold out and gone corporate.
“Whether I’m a hypocrite, you would have to wait until you see how I raise my family,” replied Miller, insisting nobody sees him wearing fur or flashing bling. “My most expensive car is probably not as expensive as your car.”
As if on a dare, Bode seems to be bombing out at the Olympics to prove the biggest moment of his athletic career can’t define him.
Success has not spoiled Miller, so much as fame induces yawns. He gives the distinct impression of wanting to take the first exit from the traditional American dream and go home.
Along the dirt road leading to Miller’s funky A-frame house in New Hampshire, there are two hand-painted signs that succinctly state his attitude toward the rest of the world.
“BEAT IT” hollers one sign, while another shouts: “SCRAM.”
Don’t have to tell us twice, Bode.
We’re gone.
Staff writer Mark Kiszla can be reached at 303-820-5438 or mkiszla@denverpost.com.
