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For U.S. ski-team officials who have been the receivers of those thoughts, the 60 Minutes fiasco may have been a long-awaited opportunity to whack the puppy with the paper. "Talented people are a challenge, and what makes some people great is that they require a lot," says Bill Marolt, president of the USSA. (Translation: This guy drives me batty.) "Hopefully this has created something positive, not just with Bode but with the whole team." For years Miller has challenged USSA brass about coaching, training and conditioning methods, equipment and what he considers insufficient support for his ideas. "They are not totally compliant yet," he deadpans. Yet he is serious in his purpose. The coaches, he says, "are forcing athletes to train poorly for the sport. And I find that irritating." Head U.S. men's coach Phil McNichol says Miller has been given plenty of attention, "but he pushes all the boundaries. That's part of his personality. He's about pushing buttons and pushing boundaries."
It's more irritating this year because U.S. coaches think they can top the long-dominant Austrians in Torino. The USSA motto — Best in the World — may sound immodest, but the team heading to Italy may well be the most talented group of skiers the U.S. has ever assembled. Miller's teammate Daron Rahlves, in fact, was sensational in winning the Lauberhorn downhill at Wengen. John McBride, the men's speed coach and a Miller confidant, acknowledges that the dustup "had been a team issue." But it's not, he adds, "like Bode's turned into a bad guy. "
He isn't. On the World Cup circuit Miller is rock-star popular and travels like one. Rather than stay in hotels, he does the Alpine tour in a recreational vehicle driven by his boyhood friend Jake Sereno. His uncle, Mike Kenney, a former ski racer, acts as his personal adviser. From Camp Bode, he patrols the Internet (where he met his girlfriend Karen Sherri), writes an online journal for the Denver Post, conducts a radio show for Sirius and hangs out, often with the press and his fans camped outside. "For me, he's all the best things about America: a bit of a showman, sure, but also friendly and likeable, without that grim way that some of the European athletes have," says Björn Frick, a fan from Bern. As for the partying, "that's nonsense. If he drinks, he's hardly the first ski racer to do it." Says Miller's fellow racer Marco Büchel, of Liechtenstein: "The World Cup wouldn't be what it is without Bode. We couldn't do without him."
Ski racers — young, fit and famous — are not exactly strangers in the nightclubs at resorts across Europe and the Rockies. There's a reason the ski circuit is called the "white circus." Italian ski legend Alberto Tomba (La Bomba) kept the tabloids busy with his evening exploits. "If any of the sponsors didn't know what they were in for, that this is a part of the package, shame on them," says a Nike rep. According to Miller's agent, Miller just inked the biggest deal ever for a skier, with equipment maker Atomic. He also endorses Barilla pasta, among other products, the income from which provided enough money for him to buy a 600-acre farm in New Hampshire. To the Swoosh folks, who love edgy marketing and freethinking athletes, a jock with a party rep doesn't amount to a problem. In December, Nike launched a website for Miller carrying the tagline "Join Bode" that features the skier offering his philosophy on everything from mental training to retirement.