Every time someone asks why the Olympics ain't what they used to be, the answer that seems to satisfy most often is, "The Soviets are gone."

	Wladimir Klitschko, right, already owns the WBO title belt. Now he and his brother Vitaly, left, want a shot at Lennox Lewis, the WBC heavyweight champ.

Of course. A little regime adjustment, an empire goes all Cincinnati Bengals, and suddenly the Olympics aren't worth a damn anymore.

But if this is so, why isn't there more whoop-de-blah about the Russians beating the French in the Davis Cup? Or for that matter, why isn't there the grinding of molars about the sudden dominance of the Ukraine in boxing?

Well, OK, that last one's a bit of a stretch. Actually, it's the Family Klitschko rather than the entire Ukraine, and it's the Ukraine, not Russia.

But we are not a nation comfortable with the vagaries of geography. In the old days when the Olympics were the Olympics, Ukrainians were Russians even though they weren't. So were Belorussians and Georgians and Armenians and Kazakhs. They were all the same guys and gals, as far as we were concerned.

So here we are in a brand new world, where the brothers Wladimir and Vitaly Klitschko make up half the field in Lennox Lewis' Heavyweight Farewell Tour ... where the Davis Cup is now resting comfortably in Moscow after Mikhail Youzhny rabbit-punched Paul-Henri Mathieu in five sets Sunday.

And there is no fear, and there is no loathing. Well, damn.

Part of the problem with getting a good froth up for the Klitschkos is that the fourth member of Lewis' Fist-In-The-Face tea party is Mike Tyson, who in his day has engendered far more fear and loathing than the Ukraine on its crankiest day. Tyson is trying to manage the difficult Drawing Card While Done Dismount, and toward that end perhaps has shown his more placid and thoughtful face of late.

But it's still early, as Evander Holyfield's ear can attest.

Moreover, the Davis Cup is, and how do we put this kindly, the most devotedly unwatched big event in sports. People barely notice when the Americans make it to the final, and when they don't, well, it may as well be goat racing from the Fillmore.

Thus, you can imagine the waves of ennui that greeted the French-Russian final, and the depths of disinterest that followed when the nation once known as "The Evil Empire" polished off the nation once known as "The Home Of Euro Disney."

This news does not bode well for people who believe the Soviet Union screwed up the Olympics. Plainly, if we can greet the news of former-Soviet dominance of one sport that has largely belonged to the Western Hemisphere and another sport whose fans do not have blood that easily clots with such evident disinterest, the Soviet Olympic theory is clearly no longer in play.

	Ukrainian brothers Wladimir, top, and Vitale Klitschko make a formidable duo in the boxing ring.

It means that the Olympics have to create drama on their own merits rather than rely on good old "Us vs. Them, Tonight Only, Try The Veal Special and Check Your Pistols At The Door."

This is probably as it should be anyway. Sports should be able to stand on their own, rather than use a cheap, old theatrical device like mutually assured destruction. Gymnasts should be able to do their quadruple groin-pull flips and figure skaters their triple face loops without needing the crutch of the domino theory to provide them with extra incentive.

Still, a good myth has its own uses, and the Olympics had this one. Too bad our newfound maturity toward some portions of geopolitics, plus our disinterest of tennis in all weeks not ending in Wimbledon or the U.S. Open, prevents us from keeping this particular myth alive.

But if one of the Klitschkos decides to take a hunk out of Lewis' biceps, or threaten his nonexistent children ... well, maybe we're back in business again. We can only hope.

Ray Ratto is a columnist with the San Francisco Chronicle and a regular contributor to ESPN.com