And then Isinbayeva made one of those gambles that make sports so much fun to watch. She had missed at 4.70 and 4.75 but elected to pass her final jump at 4.75 and put the bar at 4.80. If she missed, she would only take a bronze. If she made it, she would vault into the lead. In Vegas, they call it doubling down.

She stood at the end of the runway, her lips moving, saying something to herself. She was ready. She rocked on her feet and began the run, the crowd roaring for her. The stick, the ascent, hydraulic -- perfect -- twist, over! As she cleared the bar, maybe before she cleared it, even before her arms were clear of it, at that very moment she opened her mouth and screamed with joy. It was a vision I'll never forget because it happened when she was still in her jump. As she flew over and down, the bar motionless, a giant jolt of electricity ran through the crowd. She leaped up, and if you want a visual embodiment of the word "passion," it was on her face.

But she still had Feofanova to contend with. The two passed inches away but did not look at each other. They have acknowledged that they're not exactly bosom pals, with Isinbayeva saying they have a "hi and goodbye" relationship. Feofanova was now vaulting at 4.85. Isinbayeva sat against the athlete's bench, her back to the bar apparatus, with a huge towel over her head. Feofanova prepared, weighed, ran, planted, jumped -- and missed. Now Isinbayeva was not just back from the dead, she was in full and devastating form. She nailed 4.85, with the crowd in full voice.

It was Feofanova's last chance. She chose to take her last vault at 4.90, the world-record height. She missed and it wasn't particularly close. She lay on her back for a moment, then jumped up and waved to the crowd, which gave her a warm ovation.

But Isinbayeva had one more vault. She set the bar at 4.91, higher than any woman has ever vaulted. As she lay on her back, preparing, the camera found her and for the first time she smiled. The gold was in the bank. This was strictly for glory.

The crowd wanted both and she did too. Down the track she ran, toward the bar that rose more than 16 feet up -- three times her height. She planted the stick and uncoiled and the chrysalis thing happened again, the metamorphosis, an ungainly spear-carrier somehow turning first into a wrestler, then a gymnast, and finally into a bird. She went over, and when she came down, she collapsed for a moment and bounced back up, her face ablaze with half-disbelieving joy, and then the tears came.

Later, after the crowd had mostly disappeared, a kind-faced, middle-aged man came over and hugged, congratulated and spoke to her; it seemed like family, his calm demeanor expressing that I'm-proud-of-you-but-everything's-still-the-same feeling that the greatest celebrities must come to crave like water. Feofanova then came over and the two exchanged a hug, and I got a good long look at Foefanova's face with binoculars (being used for legitimate journalistic purposes), and that was a real, warm smile. So there were two champions there.

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