[0] SPEARHEAD FOR HIS PEOPLE.

Byline: KAREN CROUSE

SACRAMENTO - The men's javelin final at the U.S. Olympic Track and Field Trials Thursday employed two decidedly different yardsticks: the measuring tape used to determine how far each throw traveled and Tom Petranoff.

In 1983, Petranoff set a world record in the javelin and became the brawn behind the racket that saw the javelin start stealing pitchers from baseball. Among the early converts was Tom Pukstys, the reigning American-record holder in the event.

Pukstys is 32, but he remembers like yesterday the first time he met Petranoff, now 42 and the second-oldest competitor (behind a racewalker) at these Trials. ``It was in 1987 at a javelin camp and I followed him around like a dog with a notebook,'' Pukstys said. ``Tom set the standard I've been trying to pass for the last 10 years.''

Most of the javelin throwers in the final share Puksty's reverence for Petranoff, who represented the U.S. at the 1984 and 1988 Olympics before he was banned from international competition in the late 1980s for competing in South Africa, an action seen as tacit acceptance of apartheid.

Todd Riech is different. No disrespect to Petranoff, but Riech's inspiration growing up was the 1964 Olympic 10,000-meters champion Billy Mills. It makes perfect sense, once you know the Burbank resident's background.

The life as an outcast that Petranoff would come to know in his 30s, Mills and Riech both experienced from birth. Riech, 29, was reared on an Indian reservation in Polson, Mont. He is a member of the Flathead Kooteani tribe.

Mills, a Sioux Indian from South Dakota, is among the band of rooters Riech has here. After Riech let loose the second-longest throw during the qualifying rounds, Mills was among the first to wish him well in his quest to make a second Olympic team.

Riech was the Olympic Trials champion in 1996, but one year after finishing 17th in Atlanta, he blew out the elbow in his throwing arm and underwent extensive reconstructive surgery.

While working his way back into shape, Riech helped others get fit as a personal trainer at a health club in Valencia. It was the only way he could train and keep his head above water. Riech's javelin career costs him $40,000 a year. That's a lot of personalized training sessions.

The proud people Riech left behind on the reservation have at various times held auctions, with the proceeds helping to defray his expenses. Still, there have times he has felt like he's running in circles just so he can keep his membership in javelin's elite circle.

Along with abdominal muscles, Riech can crunch numbers with the best of them. When it comes to paying the household bills, he doesn't need an accountant, he needs a guardian angel.

Riech and his wife were getting around the San Fernando Valley on a wing and a prayer - both their cars had over 200,000 miles on them - until General Motors recently came through with a late-model loaner. That's pretty much the sum total of the riches Riech has enjoyed because of his javelin success.

``A lot of us throwers are just trying to scrape by,'' Riech said.

On the European circuit - where fortunes are made - the money thrown at track's marquee names doesn't trickle down much to the field grunts. Pukstys posted the 10 best marks in the U.S. last year. Yet because the Americans lag behind the world's best javelin throwers - who mostly hail from the Czech Republic, Germany and Finland - he feels pressure from promoters wanting to know what has he done lately?

After recording the fourth-best qualifying throw on Monday, Pukstys was walking toward the exit when the promoter of an upcoming meet in London got his attention.

``Tom,'' the man yelled good-naturedly, ``you better throw it farther than that if you want to compete in my meet.''

As the man disappeared into the crowd, Pukstys sighed. ``He was joking, but he wasn't,'' he said glumly. ``You realize there's some truth to what he said and it kind of hits you. It hurts a little bit.''

As Riech paced between his throws Thursday, he remembered how much he hurt after his elbow surgery. He realized that under the circumstances, it was no insignificant thing to be here, competing for an Olympic berth.

Riech shook that thought off. ``I'm going to make the Olympic team,'' he told himself. ``That's why I came here.''

Riech came up short in the end but not really. He wanted to make another Olympic team, he said, so he'd be a role model to ``a lot of good athletes on the reservations who don't go anywhere. They don't further their talents.''

Riech can consider that mission accomplished.

CAPTION(S):

photo

Photo:

Todd Riech, with wife Lisa, a high jumper, struggles financially while training with the javelin.

Tom Mendoza/Staff Photographer