SWIMMING: In modern American tradition, Michael Phelps turned to his friends on what was another raucous night of swimming in Athens. Although his reputation took a bruising in Monday night's race for the ages, the teenager showed up to claim another two gold medals on an evening of rampant patriotism around the pool.

His performance was a killer response to the lie that his Athenian experience is some sort of masquerade or pretence. Fickle though the mass reaction to Phelps's Monday disappointment was, he is still spoken off with a reverence that approaches bewilderment by the athletes and coaches for whom swimming is a scientific and lifelong fascination. In their universe, Phelps is still considered something of a miracle.

Although it would have been more dramatic had Phelps and the great Australian Ian Thorpe simply vanished off the radar, they had a meeting of sorts again in the 4x200 metres freestyle relay. The relays offer an escape from the loneliness of the swimmer's universe, and so the great names of Monday evening re-appeared as members of a brotherhood, draped in the colours of their nations.

Because Phelps had broken the Olympic record in winning his 200 metres butterfly just half an hour before this gala finale, he was not chosen to line up for the anchor leg against Thorpe. The pairing would have been unfair, but irresistible. As it was, Phelps led off the race and established a lead that the Americans never relinquished.

By the time Thorpe hit the water, his team had fallen behind by almost two seconds. But the 200 metres freestyle is Thorpe's masterpiece and we watched from the bleachers as the lithe, black silhouette burned up those lost seconds over the first 50.

Phelps stood on the deck, his hands on those narrow hips, aware that, in a funny way, Thorpe's swim would once again determine the hue of his latest Olympic medal.

Perhaps the emotion of becoming Australia's most decorated Olympian, eclipsing the medal count of the iconic Dawn Fraser, had taken its toll on Thorpe. Inevitably his personal time of 1.44.18 was the best of the evening, but although he preyed ominously on the shoulder of American Klete Keller heading back up the home 50, the familiar surge was not there.

"When I saw him catch up, I was thinking, oh God," confessed Phelps later. "But Klete had an unbelievable last 50 and he held on. You know, that was the most exciting race I have ever been part off. And when he hit that wall, we just went nuts. It is something I will never forget."

Without the shade of an ancient American swimmer lurking over his shoulder, Phelps permitted some personality to come through for the first time since the Games began. He showed up unescorted to meet the media, most of who had abandoned him, deeming him yesterday's news. In a half-empty room, he spoke engagingly, clearly overjoyed by the evening.

"My sister Hillary threw me a bulldog beanie afterwards. 'Cos I have been talking about getting an English bulldog for about a year now and I promised myself I would get one after this. I'm gonna go buy one with my agent."

Apart from the presence of the ubiquitous agent, he might have been speaking like any other teenager. Phelps has five medals now, three of them gold, and he is not through yet.

As the Americans went through the ritual bowing of heads and laying of wreaths on the medal podium, the crowds had already fled. It was a strange moment, Francis Scott Key's anthem sounding out through a mostly empty stadium, the all-powerful American team suddenly looking lost and boyish against an eerie backdrop of empty seats. Tonight, the hottest ticket in town was obviously elsewhere.

The night had begun on a valedictory note. Alex Popov, the Russian sprint merchant who has seen the swim children come and go over the decades, bid for yet another Olympic final appearance when he stood on the blocks beside Thorpe in the first of the 100 metres freestyle semi-finals. In a topsy-turvy race that defied form, Popov was knocked out. Time has caught up with the enigmatic Russian, who is surely also fated to fall short in the 50 metres freestyle sprint, an event that was, in his halcyon days, a celebration of his glorious and reckless speed.

Popov's days of wine and roses are consigned to the past and he loped off into the night among the chattering American sensations who were splashing around the toddlers' pool when he was preparing his first Olympic assault back in 1992. If Michael Phelps should display the same fortitude and love of racing as the once indomitable Russian sprinter, then who can guess at what he will achieve in his sport?