With long history of triumph, tragedy and cheating, Ancient Olympics would rival or modern-day event

"Not being shamed was of pre-eminent importance," Tyrrell said. "To lose was to lose face. So when one entered competition there were only two ways to save face: Either win or not compete. In Milo's case, he often won matches because his opponents simply refused to face him. By walking away they saved their honor."

Not to mention their health. This is one area never covered by The Myth. The Games were dangerous, not only for the athletes but for the fans as well. Water shortages were frequent. The grounds surrounding the Games have been likened to a shantytown.

Spectators didn't sit under an olive tree sucking down grapes. There were no seats and no shade at the Ancient Games. Fans sometimes had to stand 16 hours in the Grecian sun. Numerous spectator deaths were reported because of dehydration. The philosopher Thales of Miletos died from sunstroke.

Athletes didn't have to stand in the sun for 16 hours. Some of them, however, had to box. And boxing did not have weight classes, nor a time limit. Punches were usually thrown at the face. The fight continued until one opponent died or surrendered, the ultimate shame.

One boxing match lasted so long the judges decided on a sort of overtime. Each boxer was granted an undefended, single blow. The first boxer pointed to the target, the face, then delivered it. His opponent returned the favor, this time pointing to the rib cage.

"He punched under the man's rib cage and snatched out his intestines," Tyrrell said. "His opponent, of course, died. But his opponent was declared the winner because the man had used four fingers to deliver the blow. In the judges' view, that was four separate blows at once. It was one of only two recorded deaths I could find during competition."

The other one isn't much prettier.

The event was the pankration. In Greek, the word means "all power." In the Olympics it meant "bar fight." One could punch, choke, break fingers, kick the genitals. Curiously, considering all the things an athlete could do, he still couldn't gouge an eye or bite. Why? Possibly because the referees needed some excuse to flog.

In 564 B.C. the legendary Arrachion won his third pankration, although he wasn't around to accept his olive wreath.

Locked in battle with an unnamed opponent, Arrachion found himself subdued from behind. His opponent had his legs wrapped scissors-style across Arrachion's lower body while applying a choke hold. As Arrachion was losing consciousness, his opponent relaxed his grip, sensing victory, Arrachion in a futile gesture kicked and dislocated his opponent's ankle as he died. His opponent, however, felt the stab on pain in his foot and raised his hand in a reflex action.

A raised hand was the signal of surrender. A dead Arrachion was declared the winner. "The only two men to have died in the Ancient Games won their events," Tyrrell said.

Arrachion became more famous in death than in life. His fighting to his last breath symbolized the very purpose of the Olympics to the Ancient Greeks.

"Sports was war," Tyrrell said.

As those war-like Olympians prepared for a foot race, they stood at the start line and beat their chests in front of their foes. Battle On! It's not difficult to imagine U.S. sprinter Maurice Greene acting like that today, with a little braying thrown in for good measure.

While many of today's Olympic events seem irrelevant, all the events in ancient times were pertinent because they evolved from combat. Long jumping was to clear streams or ravines. Javelin was the most relevant, as it was an effective way to attack the enemy from a distance. Wrestling, running, boxing, equestrian, the race in armor, the pankration - all served useful purpose on the battlefield. Some wonder about the relevancy of the discus. No one told a story of the heroic Achilles throwing a very heavy dinner plate at someone in battle.

With aggression as the underlying and constant theme, athletes who pushed the boundaries were not thought to be barbarians but rather clever opportunists.

"It was very common in a boxing match," Tyrrell said, "for one opponent to kick another in the genitals. That would be a foul and the man would be caned. This was a strategy because once the caning was completed, the match would resume. And his opponent might still be doubled up from the pain. That would make him an easy target."

And if the first kick to the genitals did not make an opponent vulnerable, a second might follow. "It was well worth it," Tyrrell said of the strategy.

Short of someone performing a Tonya Harding kneecapping, the Ancient Greeks worked every angle. Sometimes they would look into the innards of a sacrificed animal to see if victory was in the offing. Sometimes they would apply what was called "The Olympic victor's brown ointment." Such a soothing lotion included zinc oxide, frankincense and ... opium. Today's cheaters would call that beginning chemistry.

This was legitimized war, one short step from the real thing, and so what if war cost a life, a limb or a chunk of the checking account.

Which naturally leads us to bribes.

"Today you bribe one person," Tyrrell said. "Back then, in order to ensure victory, you had to bribe everyone competing so you could win."

Nero was lord of all he surveyed, yet an Olympic medal to him meant 250,000 drachmas. It was an extraordinary obsession on Nero's part but he was hardly alone. Statues honoring Olympic heroes ringed stadiums, all of them financed by the fines collected for cheating. A year after he won the chariot race, Nero died and his bribe was turned over to The Games, enough cash to start a veritable Olympic housing project.

Dishonor was turned into honor, a turn of irony not lost on the Greeks or their historians. The Ancients certainly wanted fair play, demanded it even at the start of competition but, Tyrrell noted, their combative nature often led them astray.

"One must remember the Greeks bet on anything," he said. "They would bet on the amount of dregs at the bottom of a clay pot. They were deadly competitors."

As proselytized over the last century, The Myth held that every Olympiad honored the Olympic Truce, in which warring countries suspended hostilities during the Games. It is a wish especially in abundance at these Athens Games. But it wasn't always so.

In 364 B.C, an army from the region of Arcadia invaded and occupied Olympia. In retaliation, the vanquished foe, the Eleans, invaded the Olympics, arriving during the wrestling competition of the pentathlon final. The two armies fought into the night. The Eleans were routed and The Games were completed.

The Ancient Games would be no more peaceful for the unfortunate married woman caught watching The Olympics. Single women were allowed to attend, married women not. The penalty? They were pitched off the nearest cliff to their deaths.

The modern Olympiad certainly is much more forgiving. There are no more floggings, cliff hurlings, bar fights and shantytowns, although Atlanta in 1996 did come close.

The athletes then, however, are much like the athletes now. They are zealots on a crusade with a truckload of expectations on their shoulders, a Zen for getting the competitive edge and a dream for a big payday. Give them an inch, they'll take a yard. It's the Olympic way.

"There really is no difference between us and them," Tyrrell said. "The Greeks are us. That's why we study them. If not, then we might as well study Martians."

Why study a naked Martian throwing the javelin when we can have an ancient Greek doing it? That seems otherworldly enough, just looking back 2,500 years to such a distant place, to such a distant time. Such a primitive environment. The Olympics have come so far. Not much remains.

Except for one thing. Human nature. It has made the trip across the millennia just fine.