RIO DE JANEIRO _ A couple of days before Tokyo's Mirage Bowl in the fall of 1983, a dozen SMU football players were hijacked by members of a mysterious religious sect. They stole the players' shoes, then talked a few of the more gullible into disrobing and donning white ceremonial garb. Fortunately, the players retrieved their clothing, forced their way out and escaped into the night _ but not before the zealots chased them down the street, screaming for their lost converts' return.
Or at least that's the story a couple of SMU players sold a Dallas Times Herald sportswriter, anyway.
As it turned out, the difference between what was reported and what really transpired was about the same you'll find in your basic Oliver Stone film. Which brings us to the Olympic adventures of Ryan Lochte and his merry band of U.S. swimmers.
What began as a harrowing account of athletes held up at gunpoint in a cab Sunday is now something less so, and crumbling by the hour.
"There was no robbery in the way it was reported by the athletes," a Rio police official told reporters Thursday, "and they were not the victim of the criminal act they described."
A security guard, not a robber, pulled his gun on the swimmers, the official said, and only when they damaged a gas station's bathroom door at 6 a.m. after a night of partying.
Authorities based their conclusions on the testimony of witnesses, evidence from video surveillance and, no doubt, the shifting story of Lochte, who slipped the country before the truth beat him to it. His teammates, including Jimmy Feigen and Jack Conger, were not so fortunate. Conger and Gunnar Bentz were removed from a flight and held by police. Feigen had told authorities he remained behind to cooperate.
The international mess started when Lochte said their cab was pulled over by men posing as cops. One of the assailants subsequently put a gun to Lochte's forehead and demanded their valuables.
The first clue that maybe this wasn't exactly true was video of the athletes returning to the Olympic Village. In it, they looked more like victims of an all-nighter than local ruffians. They were also in possession of their watches, phones and other valuables. Either their story had holes in it, or they'd been accosted by the most inept robbers in South American history.
None of this might have come to light at all, in fact, if Lochte hadn't told it to his mother first. She relayed it to the media. First the IOC denied it, then the USOC denied it, then the USOC said, OK, well, maybe it's true after all. It was like trying to get to the bottom of the hijinks at a sleep-over.
Lochte initially said they didn't report the alleged robbery "because we were afraid we'd get in trouble," and those may be the most truthful words he's uttered yet.
A Brazilian judge says there's no need to worry. Even if it turns out they lied, they're not facing any jail time. Just a fine that goes to a humanitarian cause.
Mario Andrada, Rio's official Olympic spokesman, was especially magnanimous.
"We need to understand that these kids were trying to have fun," Andrada said. "They came here, they represented their countries to the best of their abilities.
"But let's give these kids a break. Sometimes you take actions that you later regret."
Other Brazilian officials and citizens were not so forgiving, and not just because, at 32, Lochte seems over-qualified for the title of "kid." Rio has taken it on the chin here for everything from Zika alarm to reports of bad water, green water, high crime and poor attendance. Much of the criticism is deserved, but not all of it.
Criticizing Brazil's problems putting on an Olympics is easy enough, but, as the case of the U.S. swimmers demonstrated, it probably led to a rush to judgment.
Brian Winter, vice president for Americas Society and Council of the Americas, told The New York Times that the episode "has tapped into one of Brazilians' biggest pet peeves _ gringos who treat their country like a third-rate spring break destination where you can lie to the cops and get away with it."
If the allegations prove to be true, what remains to be determined is why they lied in the first place. One rumor: The athletes lost their money under less-than-honorable conditions, and they simply needed a better backstory. Or maybe Lochte is more afraid of his mother than Brazilian police.
Chances are we'll find out soon enough. As for the aforementioned SMU players, they made up the story after missing curfew, though they earned points for creativity. The tale had dialogue, intrigue, even action.
Favorite scenes: A little bitty guy holding the door from the outside as the prime of SMU's defense pushed from inside, and the same small zealot running down the sidewalk after the fleeing football players, screaming, "Please, please come back!"
Thinking back on it now, we probably should have realized it wasn't true. Rudimentary fact-checking would have revealed no place of worship lets anyone leave before passing the plate.
