Think of it as the new China Syndrome.

The old China Syndrome, the one forming the basis for the 1979 movie of the same name, was the term for a catastrophic failure at a nuclear power plant, leading to a meltdown that sends a molten core of radioactive material through the floor of the reactor, into the earth and on its way, perhaps, to the People's Republic.

The new China Syndrome, coming soon to an Olympic Games near you (well, if you consider an event a 14-hour flight away to be "near"), posits that the Chinese Olympic team is willing to do anything to win, and as a result is going to burn through the Beijing Games, devouring every gold medal in its path, along with a good deal of the spirit of the Olympics.

"We have a strong team that will go on the field of play," Jim Scherr, chief executive officer of the U.S. Olympic Committee, said earlier this year, "but we're making no illusions about the fact that we believe the Chinese have the strongest team entering these games."

The Chinese have made no illusions about wanting that strongest team, either, which is not particularly happy news for those who still want to cling to such quaint Olympic ideals as sportsmanship, the joys of competition for its own sake or using sports to build bridges between nations.

That desire is one reason recent articles alleging Chinese attempts to use underage athletes in Beijing, by changing birthdates on official documents, are as easy to believe as they are difficult to prove.

Even if the Chinese are operating fully within the rules, they appear to have set the new standard when it comes to making the games about victory, and only about victory.

In one of a series of New York Times articles this summer on Chinese sports, a former Soviet and U.S. rowing coach now overseeing China's program said he was given a fairly direct mission statement: One gold equals 1,000 silver.

The Chinese are in it to win it, and to make a statement about national superiority in the process — a goal tied closely to those medal tables which inevitably (and unfortunately) are a part of every Olympics.

In the U.S., those tables are arranged according to the total number of medals. For the 2004 games, for example, that put the U.S. at No. 1 with 103 medals, Russia second with 92, and China a distant third with 63.

Worldwide, though, it's far more common to rank the nations by the number of gold medals won. By that measure, the U.S. was still No. 1 with 35 gold medals, but China was second with 32 and Russia was third with 27. Close that three-medal gap, and China will be able to claim status as the No. 1 winner in most of the globe.

Given everything they've thrown at the process — legal or, perhaps, otherwise — it will be a stunner if that doesn't happen.

China has roughly 250,000 students in state schools that exist to develop elite athletes. It has, since it was awarded these Olympics, embarked on a program known as Project 119, which placed a developmental emphasis on sports that offered 119 gold-medal possibilities, regardless of China's history in those sports or lack thereof. The focus was on individual sports, presumably because the training of 11 individual athletes presents 11 medal opportunities, while the training of, say, 11 soccer players can only produce one medal.

And so those sports received a huge influx of funds, foreign experts and other support, all with one goal: Winning medals. Gold ones.

This has led to a sudden rise in sports where China has no particular history, everything from rowing to fencing to BMX. Even before the age issue arose, there have been suspicions of cheating, but the New York Times articles outline a level of relentless preparation and authoritarian management — from seven-day-a-week training to pressuring athletes to compete regardless of their own wishes — that make it possible the improvement has come legally, although in a fashion we would find totally unacceptable.

The payoff is already obvious. Steve Roush, the USOC's chief of sports performance, noted the Chinese won the most medals during the round of world championships held across the spectrum of Olympic sports in 2006. Add that to the traditional home-field advantage enjoyed by a host nation, and it's easy to understand why Roush says China's prospects keep him up at night.

It's probably something that should have most lovers of the Olympic ideal uneasy, as well.

When I mentioned that one-equals-1,000 comment to Deena Drossin Kastor, the runner from Agoura Hills who justifiably rejoiced over a bronze medal in the 2004 marathon, she was momentarily taken aback.

"I guess that's definitely the mentality," she said, after a moment.

It's why she knows the Chinese runners in the women's marathon will be medal threats, even though when we spoke, she had no idea who they would be.

"They are, at all costs, making sure they're ready to compete," said Kastor, "so they can earn a medal or three medals on that Olympic podium."

It's the all-costs part that seems distasteful and aroused most of the suspicion. It's also the part that has Kastor wondering about the future of the ones who don't succeed.

"There's no doubt in my mind that there's some pressures there for their athletes," she said. "Hopefully to not perform well won't be traumatic — that they're rewarded for running well, but not punished for not running well."

It's one of the many aspects of the Chinese Olympic program we can't know, and perhaps never will: When your mission is to win at all costs, what's the cost when you don't win?

In that regard, the new China Syndrome might be just as frightening as the other one.

— David Lassen wrote this column before leaving for Beijing. Contact him at dlassen//blogs.venturacountystar.com/lassen/