No one on the International Olympic Committee bothered about money in the early years: no one needed to. Only the wealthy could afford membership. Until the 1960s administration was handled in the back of a watchmaker's shop in Lausanne by a secretary, the exotically named Madame Lydie Zanchi.

Avery Brundage, the American multi-millionaire president from 1952 to 1972, boasted that the organisation cost him $75,000 a year to run.

When members became frustrated with his autocratic style and passion for the amateur standards of his youth, they turned to Lord Killanin. "Change the rules so that my expenses can be met and I'll stand," he said. It took him four years to get it agreed.

Since the 1920s, members had been offered first-class tickets to visit bidding cities, although they paid their travel and hotel expenses when attending IOC sessions. Lord Killanin tried to introduce a rule to stop excessive entertaining by bidding cities, but the members turned him down.

Evidence of a culture of persuasion and inducement if not bribery first emerged in 1970 when Jean Drapeau, mayor of Montreal, led what looked like a campaign wholly based on ideals of sportsmanship and fair play. Only later did it emerge his team had a "Black Book" listing members' preferences for food, wine and entertainment. Subsequent bidding cities sought access to it.

By 1972, the year Lord Killanin took over, the IOC entered the black for the first time when Munich did a $6 million deal for the US TV rights. In effect, members took a slice, because guidelines allowed them expenses for attending IOC sessions. This brought about a sea change in the members co-opted onto the IOC.

When Juan Antonio Samaranch arrived as president in 1980, the commercial bandwagon began to roll. He also turned the office of president into that of chief executive. After election at the Moscow games, he flew back to Lausanne, booked into the Palace Hotel and has not left since. Normally he can be found in suite 309 of the hotel - a bedroom, a drawing room and an office.

At one of his more famous lunches six weeks after taking office, he entertained Monique Berlioux, then the director of the IOC and a former Olympic swimmer. "Do you intend to stay here in Lausanne?" asked Mrs Berlioux, "because the place is not big enough for both of us."

Mr Samaranch's reply came four years later when he sacked her. For a visionary, he seems to have blank spots. Failing to get rid of Mrs Berlioux sooner was one; other blank spots were just tinkering with the smell of corruption over bidding when it loomed in 1986, and failing to grasp the need to present a modern image.

Against this, he got Horst Dassler, head of Adidas, to set up a company to manage the commercial side of the IOC's activities, ISL, and establish contracts with Coca-Cola, Visa and Kodak. They started paying up to $35 million for the privilege of the Olympic ring on their products. Samaranch said this income was insurance against the day when the TV rights dropped. Until now that never looked like happening, with deals locked up until 2008 for something like $2 billion.

By 1978 the IOC was struggling: only Los Angeles came forward for the 1984 games. Instead of spending on vote-catching, the cities set down rules to which the IOC had to agree. The upshot was a surplus of $225 million in 1984 - a queue formed in Lausanne.

Ironically, it was the games of 1992, which always looked destined for Barcelona, Samaranch's home city, which brought out the unacceptable face of bidding. Paris, Brisbane, Belgrade, Birmingham (England) and Amsterdam opposed the Catalan city. Entertainment and travel for IOC members flowed, reaching obscene proportions when in Seoul in 1985 when all the cities held parties - consecutively - the same day. Afterwards it was estimated they had spent up to $140 million on their campaigns.

It was that which prompted Samaranch to set down guidelines for bidding. But six years later, Atlanta beat Athens, Belgrade, Manchester, Melbourne and Toronto in an exercise that was equally expensive. With the summer games generating $5 billion, suitors use legitimate and sometimes illegal methods. The Samaranch lifestyle does not fit comfortably with public perception of the games, but he believes he needs to be on a level with those with whom he has to deal. He does not phone the national Olympic head, he phones the head of state, whom he invariably knows.