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They had said he was finished. This week, he ran 100 meters in 9.78 seconds, the fastest he has ever run. It was world-record time. It did not count as a world record because the wind was blowing too hard behind him, but that did not matter. The time sent shockwaves through the sprinting world. “I still say I'm the greatest of all time,” Maurice Greene announced after the race. Nobody argued. Nobody could argue. Mo is back. One week earlier, he ran the 100 in 9.84, fastest of the season, then ripped off his shoes and watched a friend put them out with a fire extinguisher. Then, he followed that with the 9.78. Track and field is his again. The world
is his again. Yes, the column was done. “Did you hear what happened to Maurice Greene's parents?” I had not heard. I felt sick to my stomach. I went upstairs and called Ernest Greene, Maurice's father. He is a wonderful man, as understated as Maurice is outspoken, as humble as Maurice is brash. He said it was true. He and his wife had lived on their quiet street in Shawnee for years. They went to the movies Friday. They came back late, past midnight, and there, on his fence, someone had spray-painted “KKK,” and “White power.” “No incident like this has ever happened to us before,” he said softly. His phone had been ringing most of the day — reporters, television stations, well-wishers — and he had tried to play down his feelings. (“At first I was angry,” he said. “And then, well, I was very sad”). Now, he sounded tired. There is no rational way to respond to hatred. He hoped it was some ignorant kids playing a prank. “I don't want to make a big deal out of this,” he said. And he paused. And then he said: “I'll tell you what. If he can stay healthy, Maurice is back.” And with that, his voice picked up a little bit. He said he was there in California last week when Maurice blistered the field (“He ran just like the old Maurice,”Ernest said), and then had his shoes sprayed with the fire extinguisher. “I've got a lot more fire in me,” Maurice told the gathering group of reporters. Everyone was suitably awed. They did not expect him back. They all thought they were rid of Maurice Greene once and for all. In the last three years, Maurice broke his leg in a motorcycle accident (and, refusing to show weakness, never mentioned it), pulled his hamstring, messed up his knee, did something to his quadriceps. Old sprinters never die, they start pulling out of races. Wise-guy writers in Britain started calling him “Slow-Mo.” Mark Lewis-Francis, a British sprinter with big dreams about being the world's fastest man, was asked about Maurice Greene. “No,” he told the London press, “I don't think he is a danger.” “Oh yeah, they just started writing him off,” Ernest said, and now, you could hear the excitement building in his voice. Maurice kept telling his father that he would be fine, that once he made it through the injuries (“His body wouldn't let him do it,” Ernest said), he would be the fastest man on earth again. Maurice had a tattoo inked on his arm of a lion with “GOAT” in his mane, GOAT meaning “Greatest Of All Time.” “He never doubted that he would come back,” Ernest said. And Ernest began to talk about the thrill of seeing his son — already a double Olympic gold medalist, already a world-record setter, already a sprinting legend standing in the photo with Carl Lewis, Bob Hayes and Jesse Owens — run like the wind again. “I talked to Maurice, and I told him there are a few guys he still has not raced against this year,” Ernest said. “And he just laughed and said, ‘Dad, don't worry about them, OK? I'm just worried about my own race.' “He's right. He doesn't need to worry about anyone else but himself. If he's healthy… I think this will be a very good year.” And with that, he thought again about what happened at his house. On Friday night, his wife, Jackie, called the police so they could take photos. And, after the police left, Ernest Greene quietly went out into the darkness and cleaned off his fence. It took quite a long time. There were still a few letters showing even after he worked them over. He flipped those boards over so they would not be seen. The next morning, when he talked to Maurice,
he did not say anything about what happened. Maurice Greene is
trying once again to be the fastest man in the world. He did not
need to hear about the bursts of hatred and malice that, unimaginably,
still lurk in our quiet neighborhoods. 
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