With characteristic confidence, the president of the International Olympic Committee (IOC), Mr Juan Antonio Samaranch, is refusing even to countenance resignation after the most serious corruption scandal in the 104-year history of the Games. The IOC has already recommended that six IOC members should be expelled, while investigations continue into three others, for their part in taking bribes, gifts and scholarships worth an estimated £600,000 from the organisers of the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City.
In distancing himself from what he called "the most dire scandal in the history of the Olympics", Mr Samaranch said the IOC members implicated in the affair had done great damage; "now their greatest service to the Olympic family is to accept their fate". It may be that there is worse to come. Further revelations about the conduct of IOC members are expected in coming weeks as media scrutiny continues into the circumstances surrounding the award of the Winter Games to Nagano in 1998 and the 2000 Olympics to Sydney.
As the various scandals and allegations of misconduct swirl around him, Mr Samaranch has called an extraordinary meeting of the IOC for mid-March when he will seek a vote of confidence from the membership. This is less impressive than it sounds. The IOC, under his often autocratic control for the past 21 years, is scarcely a model of transparency and accountability. Mr Samaranch, routinely called "Mr President", usually gets what he wants. But while his success in overseeing the commercial success of the modern Olympics is undoubted, he increasingly seems out of touch. His failure to appreciate the importance of the various drug scandals which have afflicted the Olympic movement has been widely criticised and his response to the current scandal has been lamentable.
At this juncture, demands for his resignation appear well justified. Despite the potential for corruption none of the proper safeguards was in place. Most critically of all, Mr Samaranch still seems reluctant to accept any personal responsibility for what has happened. The irony is that his personal future critical central question is whether the IOC, the supposed guardian of the Olympic ideal, can reform itself. There is much that needs to be done. First, the bizarre ritual in which over 100 IOC members travel the world, inspect sites and award the games after a secret ballot must be ended. The alternative seems obvious: a group of independent experts augmented, perhaps, by a small group of IOC members could adjudicate on the merits or otherwise of the applicant cities in an open and transparent way.
The IOC, in fairness, has now belatedly moved to accept something like this model, announcing a complete overhaul of the bidding process which will come into place for the 2006 Winter Games. Under the new system, IOC members will lose the right to vote for a city bidding for the games. Instead, it appears that an independent committee made up of IOC members, athletes and others will decide on the host city. The IOC can build on this reform by moving to change the whole crusty complexion of its internal organisation. This could best be achieved by paying proper salaries to IOC members. Such a move would provide a corps of professional sports administrators for a multi-million pound business. And it could act as a bulwark against corruption.