TURIN, Italy John-Michael Liles is tired. The dark circles under the eyes don't lie. Nor does the soft, raspy voice, the one that sounds like it bid a recent goodbye to closing time. No wonder they talk about the Olympic dream.
Liles, the Indianapolis-born and Zionsville-bred defenseman for the U.S. hockey team, hasn't really woken up yet.

"Sorry,'' he says, meeting me on a bridge that runs between the primary media center and the Olympic Village.

The eternal late-morning smog is just beginning to lift, and off to the west, the Alps are revealed in brief glimpses, like a big tease.

"I just keep sleeping through my alarm,'' he says. "Been like that every day.''

Sheepishly, he admits there was a USA Hockey-sponsored get-together after the previous night's 2-1 loss to Sweden, which might have contributed to the day's early malaise. But, then, he probably would have awakened in this diminished condition, anyway. This has been nothing short of an Olympian whirlwind.

After Liles' Colorado Avalanche played in Detroit on Feb. 12, he flew to Denver. From there, it was on to Chicago, to Munich, Germany, and into Turin on Tuesday afternoon. After receiving his credentials, entering the village and unpacking, he managed a half-hour nap. Then it was on to the rink for an easy skate.

The next night, the fogbound Americans tied Latvia.

Basically, it has been four games in five nights until this day, which is limited to practicing for tonight's game against Russia.

Just recounting the itinerary, Liles yawns. He is yawning a lot this morning. If sleep deprivation was an Olympic sport, the hockey players would be fighting for a medal.

"A lot of people think, 'Oh, it's the Olympics; you're going to meet so many new people and this and that,' " Liles said. "But I really haven't had a chance to do that. The only other game I saw was the women's hockey, and that's only because we were at the rink. It's a little disappointing in that sense. But I wouldn't trade it for anything."

So far, he has seen the real Turin just once, a Turin far removed from the dreary rail yard that surrounds the athletes' village. On Friday, he went with his father (John), mother (Janie), sister (Jessie) and his girlfriend (Maria) and walked along downtown's many plazas and porticoed sidewalks.

Best yet, though, he got to chat with Katie Couric, Matt Lauer and Al Roker. They're all on a first-name basis now.

"Yeah, I got on the 'Today' show," he said. "We were walking downtown (in Piazza San Carlo), and I wanted to see where (NBC was) shooting. Then the producer sees me and says, 'Hey, you're an athlete? C'mon, we'll show you around backstage.' Then they told me the Stanley Cup was there, and asked if I would come on and talk with Katie, Matt and Al."

He smiles.

"I told him I would come on with the Cup,'' Liles said. Then he told them about one of hockey's most ancient superstitions. "But I wasn't going to touch it."

He tells the story. Yawns again.

Someday, it will truly hit him, not only being an Olympian, but being an Olympian from a basketball-mad state. It will strike him how odd and special it is, coming from the rink at the Fairgrounds, the Carmel Skadium, Pan-Am Plaza and later Culver Academy, now reaching this heady point in his young career.

But now? As soon as this pest of a reporter leaves, there's another nap in his future.

After walking on the bridge toward the village, we descend a large spiral staircase. And the first impression of the village there is much the same impression as most journalists have had of their various villages.

Ehhhh.

There's a reason the NBA basketball players, diva figure skaters and so many others live in hotels or rented houses. It's Spartan, bleak and bland -- Chernobyl public housing -- providing the world's sportsmen and women with the basics and little more.

It's just a simple collection of blocky, mid-rise buildings, as architecturally inspiring as your local Shell station. Each building is numbered, and most house the athletes of a particular country. Everywhere, there are flags draped over balconies: Italy. Slovakia. Sweden.

Only one group of buildings go flagless: The Americans'.

Liles is asked, if he had the choice, would he take the athletes' village or a luxury hotel?

He laughs. "I don't know,'' he says, pausing. "I don't mind this. This isn't a bad thing. It's the Olympic Village; it's an experience. Anyway, we get nice hotels all the time during the season.''

The reason for the pause becomes apparent a few moments later. We walk up three flights of stairs and enter room 732.

"It's a suite,'' he says.

It's a dump.

There is one common living room, a shoebox of a room with four folding chairs, a tiny white table and a stamp-sized TV.

There are four small bedrooms, all featuring the same comfy cot we've all survived. "The first morning after I slept on it, I was like, 'Ohhh, my shoulder is gonna fall off,' " he says.

There are two bathrooms.

And, oh yeah, there are seven players in the "suite.''

"Some of the veterans only have three roommates,'' he says.

Pansies.

At the very least, Chateau d' Liles looks lived in. Hockey players routinely take a pregame nap, which also happens to be the time the cleaning people come in. The wastepaper basket is overflowing with McDonald's wrappers and empty bags of microwaved popcorn.

And then there's the bathroom -- two for seven guys, remember -- with a shower that is half the size of a telephone booth and floods faster than a Louisiana bayou.

Beyond the living quarters, the village is equally nondescript.

There's a cafeteria, and if it wasn't for the fact people are walking around wearing uniforms from Sweden, Russia and every other country on the map, it could be the lunchroom at your place of business.

There are some shops, some basic services, but nothing exciting.

And atmosphere?

In the past, we've heard bawdy tales come out of the village. Imagine, thousands of young men and women, all of them in the prime of life, all thrown together into this cultural soup pot for a 17-day celebration of universalism. In Athens, organizers made a point to tell the media how many thousands of condoms they distributed to athletes.

For all Liles knows, that might be going on here. But for the American hockey players -- and honestly, this is not being written for Liles' girlfriend -- there's barely been time to unpack, much less pursue romance.

"This will wear on you,'' he says, bidding a visitor goodbye. "But I'm living a dream.''

Good night, John.