Depending on your view, fun or Games

TURIN -- What's it all about, really?

The Olympics, I mean. What do they really mean to the athletes? That's not always an easy question to answer.

They all aren't winning gold. They aren't all winning silver. They aren't all winning bronze. Most of them aren't winning anything, and most of the ones who aren't winning anything are very cool with that. They never came here expecting to win anything. That was never the point.

So what was the point? The possibilities include the opportunity to represent your country, the chance to test yourself at the highest level of competition your sport provides and the reality of a proper ''Olympic" experience, which can range from the thrill of marching into a packed stadium for the opening ceremonies to something as simple as having a beer or a cup of coffee while sitting next to (fill in the blank), a Finnish ski jumper, a Korean short-track skater or a German biathlete.

But for those who win medals, what does it mean? After two-plus weeks of watching these athletes perform, and then listening to them speak, it is clear that the Olympics, and winning a medal, mean different things to different people.

I am speaking now of the Americans. The rest of the world, I believe, has a more common view. For them, winning a medal is truly precious. Very often it means they have had the chance to bring honor to their country, and this feeling of pride is usually in inverse proportion to the size of their native land, which makes perfect sense. In the rest of the world, it is all about ''being on the podium," i.e. finishing in the top 3. I believe that for many foreign athletes the podium is the quest, and it doesn't matter as much as an American might think whether it's gold, silver, or bronze.

First things first: What about the money?

When Bill Johnson won the men's downhill in 1984, he was asked what the gold medal meant and he replied ''Millions." Hah. Bill Johnson was never able to capitalize on his Olympic victory, and that hardly makes him unique. He did not have that needed je ne sais quoi that makes a successful Olympian marketable. Skiers seldom do.

They do get paid for medals these days, you know. Tenley Albright came home with just her gold medal in 1956, many rounds of congratulations and perhaps a chance to wave at Ed Sullivan from the audience after winning in figure skating, but Sasha Cohen gets $15,000 for her silver and she would have had $25,000 for a gold. The bronze is worth $10,000. None of this, of course, is life-changing money.

So they do not do it directly for the money.

''To me," says moguls bronze medalist Toby Dawson, ''the medal means the realization of an accomplishment signifying all the hard work, all the tears, and all the sweat in a sport I love so much."

''It's just pretty cool," says women's giant slalom gold medalist Julie Mancuso. ''People would say to me, 'If you get a medal, you'll have it forever,' and I guess I will. But I think it's more about the experience of being out there in the snow with your friends."

''If somehow by winning this medal I can change the life of one little fifth-grade girl in Girdwood, Alaska, to make her see that dreams can come true, that would be perfect for me," declares snowboarder Rosey Fletcher, winner of a bronze in the women's parallel giant slalom and a native of, yes, Girdwood, Alaska.

''From my past experience with medals," says hockey player Angela Ruggiero (who now has one of each), it's about showing it to kids and see how their eyes widen."

To Chad Hedrick, the American speedskater who leaves here with a gold, silver, and bronze, winning was pretty much everything. After finishing third in the 1,500 meters, he expressed extreme disappointment, saying, ''Second, fourth, eighth, 50th, they're all the same to me."

Hedrick was something of a rarity, an American who wore his ambition on his sleeve. Elsewhere, it seemed to become more and more chic to downplay the quest of a medal, saying it was OK just to try, or take part, something about the process being more important. ''Said Fletcher, ''I am a huge believer about it being more about the journey than the destination."

At 30, and a three-time Olympian, Fletcher is an interesting case. Though hardly a youngster, she does represent a specific school of Olympians; namely, the snowboarders. The snowboarders come from an entirely different culture, one that has had a difficult time plugging into the Olympic thing. ''I'm part of a very animated team," she exclaimed.

For them, winning is most definitely not everything. They truly are into it to have fun, and because they can actually make a living while doing so is a pleasant bonus. The new irony is that the snowboarders are successful and the USOC, ever mindful of the medal count, needs them. Absent the snowboarders and the male speedskaters, the US would have had a horrible Olympics, at least in terms of a medal count.

We now have two distinct Olympic attitudes with regard to the competition. There is the traditional stance, which says the competition is sacred, and that the quest for a medal, the quest to finish as high as you can, and the quest to leave it all out there on the snow or ice is paramount. Now there is the snowboard/aerial mentality, which holds that the highest quest is Just Have Fun because the Olympics are actually just one more opportunity to participate in your sport. (I won't say ''compete.")

It should come as no surprise, therefore, that Rosey Fletcher sees nothing wrong with Lindsey Jacobellis throwing away her gold medal in the women's snowboardcross by falling after a needless hot dog move on her penultimate jump, and then saying, ''It was just a race."

Contrast that to the sight of those cross-country skiers, who, having punished their bodies beyond comprehension, wind up lying in the snow, completely exhausted, upon conclusion of their race. Wouldn't they be offended by the attitude of a so-called Olympian who put so little value on winning -- and competing -- that she risked it all needlessly?

''I've seen those cross-country skiers," said Fletcher. ''I've seen them ski over to get a flag when they're near the finish line, and then come across the finish line waving that flag. If that isn't showboating, what is?"

It all depends on your point of view. The Olympics are becoming an Old School/New School deal, and everyone's going to have to learn to get along, because neither side is likely to alter that point of view before we hit Vancouver.

Bob Ryan is a Globe columnist. His e-mail address is ryan@globe.com.