All right, Tonya & Nancy, the story's over. It's a wrap.
This tale of paranoia, greed, violence and stupidity is finished.The last culprit has been put behind bars. The criminal investigation has concluded. The judges have all had their say.
After two civil lawsuits, five plea bargains and one U.S. Figure Skating Association investigation, the story that galvanized America for the first few months of 1994 seems to have run its course.
Four men are in prison. Tonya Harding is feeding meals to the elderly as part of her community service, promoting wrestling matches and listening to offers about how to cash in on her fame.
Nancy Kerrigan is skating in exhibitions and speaking to service clubs.
When the last of the defendants, Harding's ex-husband Jeff Gillooly, was sentenced, Kerrigan's mother, Brenda, seemed to speak for just about everyone when she said, "It's about time it was all over and done."
Even the suburban shopping mall rink where Harding practiced has been ripped up and is being replaced, as if it was tainted by this sordid tale.
The central question of whether Harding was in on the plot to assault Kerrigan remains officially unanswered. She says she wasn't.
Gillooly, who passed a lie detector test on the subject, says Harding was in on it from the start. The grand jury that investigated the case also concluded she knew.
After examining the evidence, a special U.S. Figure Skating Association panel also unanimously decided she must have known. The panel stripped her of the national title she won Jan. 8 at Detroit.
Despite it all, Harding seems happy. She has a new boyfriend. They were seen in matching jackets holding hands at a July 4 fireworks display. She has hired an agent, who promises some "big things" for her in the near future.
She's held the first two interviews with researchers developing a television movie of her life story. It is a compelling tale of a girl who started skating at age 3, had a hard-driving, abusive mother and who dropped out of high school.
At 15, she met Gillooly, and the two developed a stormy relationship.
She and others say he beat her. He denies it. But her lawyer was preparing a battered wife defense before she reached her plea agreement.
All of this wouldn't have become national knowledge except for what happened last Jan. 6, when television screens across the country were filled with the image of Kerrigan crumpled on the floor of a Detroit auditorium, wailing "Why? Why?"
She had just been whacked above the right knee by a man who escaped by butting his head through a plexiglass window.
America was off on a long, strange journey through the ugly underside of amateur sports, where sportsmanship and fair play were trampled by a desire to rig the outcome of a national championship in order to reap the financial rewards of Olympic fame.
Gillooly and three others eventually admitted they conspired to hurt Kerrigan so she couldn't compete in the U.S. Figure Skating Championships.
Harding smokes cigarettes, drinks beer, plays pool and drives a pickup truck, hardly the stereotypical image of an ice princess. But she had incredible natural ability and is the only U.S. woman to successfully complete a triple axel in competition, a feat that won her a national title in 1991.
But Harding's fortunes had faded since then and, Gillooly said, she was convinced there was no way she could win because Kerrigan was the judges' favorite.
Harding wanted the riches that would come with an Olympic triumph, Gillooly said, and she wanted Kerrigan out of the way to make sure she made the Olympic team.
At first, though, Gillooly and the others were denying they knew anything about the attack, even as evidence mounted to the contrary.
Shawn Eckardt, a 310-pound longtime friend and Harding's would-be bodyguard, had a hard time keeping quiet, though. He had convinced the two men who carried out the attack that they all would make big money as bodyguards to figure skaters who would become worried about their safety.
He couldn't hide his excitement.
Eckardt told a minister acquaintance about the plot, and he repeated the tale to a woman who was in a private investigation class with him.
Soon, leaks were coming to The Oregonian, the Portland newspaper that for a time seemed to have a direct pipeline to the investigators.
The media frenzy was on. Hundreds of reporters descended on Portland. Everywhere Harding went, reporters and photographers followed. When she ran barefoot from her apartment to save her pickup truck from being towed away, it was national news.
Still, she skated nearly every day, as thousands of fans, curious onlookers, reporters and photographers watched.
"Deal with it, America," read a sign hung by supporters.
At first, Harding traveled with Gillooly as he assured reporters that everything would be all right.
But the alibi they had cooked up was crumbling in the face of the investigation. When Harding was interviewed for 10 hours at FBI headquarters Jan. 18, investigators told her they knew she was lying. She changed her story and implicated Gillooly. She also announced she was splitting up with him.
Gillooly, finally convinced by his lawyer, Ron Hoevet, that Harding had implicated him, turned on his former wife.
Shane Stant, the musclebound hit man, and Derrick Smith, his uncle who helped arrange the attack and drove the getaway car, soon confessed. Eckardt did the same, even before he had a lawyer.
Law enforcement agencies seemed less than anxious to pursue the case. Finally, Multnomah County prosecutor Norm Frink realized he was stuck with it.
Plea bargain talks began. First, a deal was reached with Gillooly. He pleaded guilty to racketeering in exchange for his cooperation in the investigation.
During a memorable news conference after Gillooly's Feb. 1 plea, Hoevet attacked Harding with a vengeance, insisting that she resign from the U.S. Olympic team.
Harding had other, more defiant plans.
When the U.S. Olympic Committee took steps to remove her from the team, she filed a $25 million lawsuit. The USOC backed down, allowing her to compete in Norway.
Off she flew with her lawyer, his wife who was also her coach, her choreographer and a crew from "Inside Edition," the television show that reportedly paid her $500,000 for the exclusive rights to interviews.
The media spectacle intensified at Lillehammer. It reached its climax on the final night of the women's figure skating competition, when Kerrigan finished second and showed her irritation.
Harding, meanwhile, stopped after starting her performance, went to the judge's stand, pointed forlornly at a broken shoe lace and was allowed to start again. She finished an unimpressive eighth.
Back in Portland, the investigation was closing in on Harding.
Within a few weeks, she was in another courtroom, pleading guilty to conspiracy to hinder prosecution. She admitted that on Jan. 10, just hours after returning to Portland from Detroit, she met with Gillooly and Eckardt to fabricate an alibi.
She was placed on three years' probation and ordered to pay $160,000 in fines and donations. She also had to resign from the figure skating association, do 500 hours of community service and undergo psychiatric counseling.
Eckardt, Stant and Smith all reached plea bargains and each was sentenced to 18 months in prison.
Gillooly was the last to be sentenced. He was contrite as he appeared before presiding Multnomah County Circuit Judge Donald Londer last Wednesday. Prosecutors asked that the plea bargain he had reached earlier be altered and a more lenient sentence be given in light of his cooperation.
But the gruff judge was having none of it.
He stuck to the original deal, sentenced Gillooly to two years in prison and fined him $100,000.
"Your outrageous and callous deed focused the attention of the world on this community and sullied it in the eye of international opinion," Londer said. "It is a blot on the city of Portland's reputation that will linger long after the names of Gillooly, Harding, Eckardt, Stant and Smith have vanished from our collective memory.
"All that will be recalled is a band of thugs from Portland, Ore., tried to rig the national figure skating association championships and the Olympics by stealth and violence."