Weir to have a say

TURIN -- Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny, what's with the hair? It looks as if you stuck your head into a melting tub of Ben & Jerry's, then wandered through a wind tunnel. ''It's called chocolate-covered cherries," Johnny Weir said, shortly after he arrived here for his Olympic debut. ''My hair looks like this because there's very poor lighting in the [Athletes'] Village bathroom. Usually, I slick it back and I'm very professional with my hair. But right now, this is the best I can do."

Not that there's anything wrong with the Athletes' Village here. It's undeniably cool seeing all these bobsledders throwing cappuccinos at each other and the snowboarders chilling out and the rest of the Olympic fauna in their natural habitat. But the dorm-style accommodations aren't exactly the Turin Palace.

''I'm very princessy as far as travel is concerned, having a nice room and things like that," says Weir, who had more lavish digs in Moscow last winter. ''I hate carrying my own luggage. I hate trekking up stairs. I like a nice bed to be laid out for me, so it's not any of that. It's a little dusty, very under-decorated, the beds aren't very soft. But I'm enjoying it. I'm roughing it. It's the same thing as me going out into the woods."

What else would you have the man say? Weir may be the top US hope in the men's figure skating competition that begins tonight at the Palavela, but he's not going to play the All-American boy for anyone. ''I think people are very wary about what's going to come out of my mouth and very worried about the kind of image I'm portraying for figure skating -- as far as I've heard," Weir muses. ''That's cool. People should stay scared."

Weir is an elfin soothsayer from rural Quarryville, Pa., and he gives it straight, just like skier Bode Miller. ''Huge props to Bode for saying what he wants to and not being sugarcoated," Weir says. ''I really admire that." The difference, of course, is that Miller competes against a mountain and a clock. Weir competes in a judged sport, where all these people in conservative clothes keep telling him to keep his mouth shut, for goodness sakes. All this talk about Care Bears on acid and icicles on coke and vodka-shots-let's-snort-coke is a terrible example for young skaters.

''I felt a lot of pressure to tone down what I was saying and play by the rules and speak more like Evan [Lysacek]," said the 21-year-old Weir, who has gotten more than one talking-to by US Figure Skating officials. ''I don't think that's me. That's never been my vision and that's never been what I've wanted to do. So I'm not going to do it just because the federation tells me to."

Lysacek, who has been Weir's top domestic rival since their junior days, may be the world bronze medalist but Weir is the three-time national champion (''That's kind of a mini-dynasty.") and what he says makes news. The way he sees it, that's a good thing.

Except for two weeks every four years, skating has been the incredible shrinking sport in America. For the first time in more than four decades, last year's world championships weren't shown on network TV and ESPN's numbers were down there with sumo wrestling and faustball.

''Oftentimes figure skating isn't taken seriously because there are judging scandals, there are all these little girls in rhinestones, all these little boys in rhinestones," Weir says. ''It's not like this gridiron sport, something that's very tough and rumble. It's more of an artistic expression. There's no team spirit, there's no scoreboard, they don't fully understand why this person gets first and this one gets second. All they can see is, if you fall down, you should lose. Then, of course, there are people who fall down and win and they don't get that, either. I think generally, people are just lost."

Lost and tuning out, Weir thinks. In 1988, America was enthralled by the Battle of the Brians in Calgary. Now? ''If I tell someone I'm in figure skating, they're like, 'Oh, that's sweet,' " he says. ''They're not overly excited. It's, 'Oh, how's that working out? How are the rhinestones?' "

If it takes some puckish talk about narcotics and potables to get people to watch the sport again, Weir is happy to yap. ''I hear from people who hear from other people," he says, ''that figure skating would be so boring without Johnny Weir."

Three years ago, nobody outside of the sport knew who he was, unless they watched the wacky clip of Weir running into the dasher at the Dallas nationals. That knocked Weir off the radar screen until he had the skate of his life in Atlanta a year later, winning the US title and going on to finish fifth at the world championships in Germany.

Last year, he retained the US crown, then managed to place fourth in Moscow despite skating on a swollen and sore left foot. This season, Weir had to push through emotional issues which played havoc with his performance. ''I know it's very vague and very un-me, but I want to keep that stuff private," he says. ''I was going through a lot of stuff personally and there's not much more I want to expand on it, because there are some things that I want to be sacred."

Weir managed to win a third straight US title (the first man to do it since Brian Boitano in 1988) and easily made the Olympic team, but when he got home from St. Louis he junked his long program and went back to the old one. ''I saw the video from nationals and I was bored watching myself," he said. ''I landed all the jumps pretty well but there was no power, no passion."

Weir will need his 'A' game to make the podium this week against a field that includes three-time world champion Evgeny Plushenko of Russia, defending titlist Stephane Lambiel of Switzerland, the last two worlds runners-up (Jeffrey Buttle of Canada and Brian Joubert of France), plus Lysacek.

''Plushenko will be first unless he makes mistakes," Weir predicts. ''The rest of us are all fighting for the second and third spots on the podium. I think I'm sort of a wild card right now because I've had an up-and-down season."

No matter what happens here, Weir figures to be the face of US men's skating going forward. Tim Goebel and Michael Weiss are retiring. Matt Savoie, the third Olympian, is off to Cornell Law School. Lysacek has been battling hip problems. In 2010, Weir could get himself a gold in Vancouver.

That might get him on a Wheaties box, but Weir's not interested. ''Wheaties box" is his shorthand for generic, and Johnny Weir doesn't do generic. Plus, the Wheaties thing is so momentary. ''Being on a cereal box is being on a cereal box for however long, a week?" he says. ''I want to write a tell-all book when I'm done skating. That's what I'm really excited for. So I'll be on the front of my book."