And while I haven't had the opportunity to read every single piece of journalism that these Games have generated, I do see that Kazimierz Kay-Skrzypeski is trailing Kumaritashvili in Google search results by a wide 1.6 million to 5,400 margin. That indicates to me that perspective has been missing in this debate. Kay-Skrzypeski was the first-ever Olympic luge death; during a training run a week before Innsbruck 1964, he wiped out and met his end. There are no YouTube tributes for him.

The most interesting part of this saga to me was the response of the International Olympic Committee, president Jacques Rogge, and VANOC organizers. At the Opening Ceremony, Kumaritashvili's name was honored repeatedly, including a full minute of silence. Anyone overly familiar with the carbon-copy, solemn nature of Olympic ceremony protocol must have been chilled at the sight of the Olympic flag being raised, and then lowered to half-staff.

And anyone who was at Atlanta 1996 recalls the final Olympic days after the nail-bomb incident in Centennial Park, when IOC stayed mum about the tragedy... to the point during the Closing Ceremony that a simple acknowledgement that the bombing even happened was newsworthy. The difference: that was the Samaranch era, and this isn't.

There was a memorial service on Monday, and VANOC chief John Furlong was a pallbearer. The FIL, which is in charge of the luge competition at every Winter Games, oversaw safety changes that changed the profile of turn 16, leveling it out and adding padding. In rainy Whistler Village, spectators left flowers and photos at the foot of the oversized Olympic rings near the medals plaza.

Luge is an incredibly dangerous sport, and each competitor is taking their life into their own hands on every run. Any documentation points this fact out; the official Whistler Sliding Centre description reads: "Sliding down a hill on a sled represents the sheer joy of speed, taken to the extreme." And extreme joy can easily turn into extreme danger and terror. The speeds of the sleds range from 120 to 160 kilometers per hour (or double what the police will allow on the Sea-to-Sky highway between Vancouver and Whistler), and only the craziest thrill-seekers are welcome. You have to be nuts to do this, and Kumaritashvili was the good and brave kind of nuts. He could have just as easily become a pioneer in Georgian curling.

And lugists go feet first down the track, on their backs. How'd you like to try going head-first, at the same speed? With no brakes?

The luge competition concluded on Day 6 with one minor crash (Mihaela Chiras of Romania in the women's singles), and on Day 7, it was time for the qualifying heats of the men's and women's skeleton. Wearing big padded helmets, 20 female and 28 male sliders took that same course, legs trailing behind them, knowing full well that this track had ended Kumaritashvili's life, that there was an ongoing row about their sister sport's future at the Olympics and that the body of the Georgian lugist was on his way home.

The infamous final turn 16, pictured above, was referred to as simply "turn 16" and not "the curve of death." Fans of all nations gathered at the finish line in twilight cold to cheer on their favorite sliders.

Looking down the long final ascent of the track after the finish line, which is uphill so that sliders can slow down naturally, it was obvious that turn 16 was having an effect on the competition. Anybody who did not have sufficient speed to take a high line across that curve had to accept a slower time (and slower in this sport means a few hundredths of a second's difference). But they were also doubly punished by the end of the turn, where it stretches out into the uphill climb. Slider after slider smashed their shoulders into the thick padding.

I was standing next to a couple of Latvians, who were with the National Olympic Committee's entourage as team medical consultants (I read this off their credentials; they didn't speak much English). They were cheering on the Dukurs brothers, chanting "Lat-veee-ahh!" and reveling in one of the very few Winter Olympic sports that bring the former Soviet republic worldwide glory. But we were able to communicate on one point. We rubbed our right shoulders and traded "ow" faces.

"Not good," one of them said.

Skeleton concluded on Day 8, without further incident. But now come the bobsleds. In training sessions held earlier on Day 7, there were eight crashes among 57 runs. Here on Day 9, I'm heading back up to Whistler Sliding Centre in the late afternoon for the women's qualifying runs. I hope I don't see a single flip.

Because of the increased media coverage these days, and the increased propensity for public debate, the sliding competitions at Vancouver 2010 will always be overshadowed by a tragic death. This story and its details will be repeated over and over until readers simply move on to other things.

But I hope that Kumaritashvili is remembered as a the bravest of souls, who went down doing what he loved. I also hope that the name of Kazimierz Kay-Skrzypeski rings out more loudly, because he made the exact same sacrifice for sport at the Olympics 46 years ago. The track at Igls where Kay-Skrzypeski met his end was not only allowed to remain open, but it was used again as an Olympic venue 12 years later, when Innsbruck took over as hosts when Denver abandoned the Winter Games. What will become of the legacy of Whistler Sliding Centre?