It's counterintuitive given the usual outrage over all sorts of things, but the Rio Olympics have been a smooth public-relations exercise for the International Olympic Committee.
The focus on drug cheats and poor conditions in the host city have allowed the IOC to point a big finger back at its traditional nemeses – the athletes themselves and the commentariat.
On drugs, the IOC gets to play the aggrieved party, tut-tutting at what all the rascals under its patronage will get up to when mother isn't looking. The McLaren Investigation Report and an International Paralympic Commitee decision to ban Russia en masse from the upcoming Rio Paralympics (a decision not taken by the IOC) has inoculated the IOC from widespread criticism. By this point, everyone's gotten bored of talking about it.
On Rio's disadvantages as host, the IOC gets to say, "Are you suggesting South America doesn't deserve its first Olympics? That this tournament should always be staged in North America or Europe?"
This puts the usual wags in the uncomfortable position of having to pile on a developing nation in the midst of economic meltdown. In the current atmosphere, there is no more fearsome rhetorical weapon than the privilege-check. What an irony that the aristocrats of the IOC get to hide behind it. It has been largely impenetrable here.
But on Tuesday, a couple of small cracks in the narrative emerged.
Irish bantamweight Michael Conlan faced Russia's Vladimir Nikitin in a boxing quarter-final. Conlan was a bronze medalist in London and is the current world amateur champion.
The Irishman left his opponent bloodied, but lost a unanimous decision. The Guardian referred to the verdict as "avant-garde judging."
Afterward, the largely Brazilian crowd showered the arena in boos. Emboldened, Conlan left the ring and launched into one of the epic rants in Olympic history.
"AIBA [International Boxing Association] are cheats. They're f–-ing cheats. As simple as that. That's me, I'll never box for AIBA again. They're cheating bastards. They're paying everybody."
The interview was being aired live in Ireland, which seemed to suddenly occur to Conlan.
"I don't give a f–-. I'm cursing on TV," Conlan said, rocking side to side and panting. "I was here to win Olympic gold. My dream's been shattered now. You know what, I've a big career ahead of me. And these ones [AIBA]? They're known for being cheats and they'll always be cheats. Amateur boxing stinks. From the core right to the top."
So, to recap, AIBA are cheats. Also, AIBA officials might want to avoid wearing AIBA-licensed clothing on the streets of Belfast for the next two to 200 years.
Later, Conlan widened his field of fire, tweeting directly at Russian President Vladimir Putin: "How much did they charge you bro??"
This isn't new territory. No Olympic sport has been so plagued by accusations of treachery as boxing. It's like figure skating without the fine manners.
In just two Games, the paranoia has spread seamlessly to the women's event (Conlan also said the fix was in after his countrywoman, Katie Taylor, lost on Monday.)
The low point came during Seoul 1988, when South Korean boxer Byun Jong-il lost a match on point deductions. Byun's cornermen stormed the ring after the fight and set upon the referee (who promptly fled both the venue and the country).
Byun refused to leave the ring for over an hour in silent protest, even after they'd turned out the lights. Conlan's sweary outburst was the bookend to Byun's.
Later in that same tournament, American Roy Jones Jr. – a future consensus pound-for-pound best fighter in the world – beat the ever-loving crap out of South Korea's Park Si-hun in the gold medal match. In a sport judged entirely on landed blows, Jones had 86 to Park's 32.
Jones lost on decision. The fix for a home fighter was so obvious that the referee apologized to Jones as he lifted Park's hand. Even Park looked humiliated. Jones accepted silver at the medal ceremony. He said later he had never put it on again.
Doped-up bobsledders are bad, but this is the sort of thing the IOC really wants to avoid. Once people begin to think beyond the who-won-or-lost-and-why storyline into the broader implications of corruption and who benefits from it, the whole enterprise begins to wobble.
On a related note Tuesday morning, while Conlan was apparently being jobbed, it was announced that Joao Havelange had died. He was 100.
A native of Rio de Janeiro, Havelange was the man who created the modern sports industrial complex, as both a 49-year member of the IOC and the president of soccer's governing body, FIFA.
When we speak of the poison of money in the world's two major sporting set-ups, here was the man who first introduced the toxin. At one point, a Swiss prosecutor accused Havelange and his protegé, son-in-law Ricardo Teixeira, of accepting $55-million (U.S.) in bribes connected to World Cup rights.
Havelange's re-emergence into the news cycle could not come at a worse time for the IOC. Just the mention of his name dredges up all sorts of uncomfortable mental connections.
Conlan and Havelange could not be less alike, but they represent the same problem for the people who run the Olympics. They remind us that while there will always be glitches in the software – that is, from the athletes and the staging grounds – the real problem is the hardware.
The Olympics is a wonderful spectacle and, more importantly, a place for the world to gather and celebrate friendship. But it is also a financial confidence game. Every once in a while, someone will remind us who the real winners are. None of them is on a field of play.
Cathal Kelly