Olympic Addendum Pt 4 - Top Of The World Ma!

[The following is a Maniwaki account of Olympic events from Feb 28, 2010. Gold Medal Sunday.]

There's a Canada flag slowly fluttering on my balcony right now from the Olympic winds that still circulate through the city. Propping up random flags on random balconies for those that still revelling in the remnants of golden light set off from the Aurora Borelis bomb detonated last Sunday. The following is a tale from within the blast radius, near the epicenter.

So it was Sunday. And one of the biggest games in Canadian hockey history was to be played in my backyard. Somehow over the course of the Olympics, Team Canada had managed to face their fears, find their form, and frighten the shit out of us. Here we all were at finale of the tourney with the only acceptable ending still a possibility.

Although the chances were slim, I absolutely owed it to myself to make an attempt to infiltrate the Olympic Rink. Prices were beyond outrageous to get through the doors ($3000 a pop for lower bowls) but I figured that perhaps the luck of laps of GM Place past might follow me.

Any good battle plan requires an allotment of acceptable losses. I was prepared to forego the first period. I was prepared to spend everything the bank machine would spit at me. It was time to circle around the grounds. I headed to the stadium that soon would see its last match of the 2010 Olympic tourney.

How much was I prepared to spend to get through the doors? Let's just say enough to feel it. I remembered the stories from my compadre Gary, who dropped a ton back in '93 to get to Game 6 of the World Series, who saw the Carter blast first hand.

"Once in a lifetime. Best money I ever spent," he said over one of our many Jays conversations from years ago.

Once in a lifetime indeed. The mood during the two week span had ranged the spectrum of somber, subdued, elated and for the most part, absolutely electric. On this day though, the city's charge had exceeded far beyond capacity. If someone lit up a cigarette, the whole place might have gone up. Puck drop was in an hour.

As expected, scalpers were few and far between, re-sale outlets were asking ridiculous amounts and many random stragglers had the same idea I did and were on the hunt. It appeared that there was a scalping section near the entrance to Stadium Station. It was here I tested the market. Only to be presented a very sobering reality. $1400 to start.

"Meeting in the middle," was not going to be an option.

Meeting old friends, however, was. As the aforementioned Gary was in fact in the scalping scrum, attempting to negotiate a fair rate for him and his companion. We had a good laugh, and I told him that his Skydome successes helped fuel my mission. We weighed in on The Games and The Game, and then I continued on in search of my deal for gold.

Which appeared to be non existent as there were very few sellers to be found. It didn't matter, because I was content to do a lap of the rink this day. I hustled passed Ontario House and Hockey House where mass congregations of people were gathering. I walked along the Science World Seawall upstream against rapids of red that were churning and swelling towards the stadium.

Upon my second approach to scalper's row, the puck had already dropped and I hoped prices would follow suit. Not much though. Nowhere even remotely close to the zone. And warnings were floating around about alleged counterfeit stubs flying around. Another concern.

I reentered the floor of the market. Gary was still on the scene, remaining resolute. A first period write off was more than acceptable in these circumstances. We allied ourselves, but could not crack these vendors. Some of these guys definitely weren't from around here, looking more like they could've been cast alongside Vigo in "Eastern Promises." They weren't budging.

Then the goal siren sounded, and cheers reverberated through through the entire city. Over the Beatty St Drill Hall and off the Wall Centre. The Woodwards "W" spun around few times faster. Looks like we had scored. And I was starting to get antsy. The first period was already over half done. We were on the board. I decided to cut my near losses. I wished my compadre good luck and ventured back downtown. Past the massive Canada House roof screen that showed that Toews had tallied, and a few blocks over to the destination that I always knew I would end up at.

The city's upper deck.

*****

I walked through the doors of my buddy Jordan's pad. At the corner of Cambie and Robson, this place sits stacked 17 floors up facing Robson. BC Place is only a few blocks away and can be seen from the balcony. Jordan, as well as some of the lads from the hockey pools were strewn about on the couches, looking tense. We all came quickly to life, as the lads filled me in on the first, I regaled the story of my failed mission. This was the squad to watch a big game with.

It was the intermission and more beer would be imperative to get through the next few periods. I exited hastily and emerged back on street level. Tall condos and apartment buildings surrounded me as I hiked up to the bar on the corner. Canadian flags were hanging at every storey, from many balconies. Pockets of people, all wearing red jerseys, could be seen in different units. Had Google Maps taken a satellite shot today, it would most certainly appear that Robson/Cambie grid was some sort of neo Canadian Colleseum. The whole city had literally transformed into a massive stadium.

Testing this assessment out and en route to the beer dispensary, I attempted to lead the various sections in cheer.

"Lets Go Canada! clap-clap-clap-clap-clap I bellowed out. (yup. I was that guy.) Which came back at me 100 fold from the upper decks. This was getting beyond surreal.

Got my six, and headed back. Draped from one of the condo balconies was the opposing flag. The residents of this US luxury box were all decked out in Polo blue jerseys. They were blasting Hendrix's Star Spangled Banner. It was so good for hockey. I had to hand it to them.

Got back to the pad. The second was starting. We were losing it. It was tense. We were playing our game, but it did appear that there was elements of fancy sneaking it, as we all screamed at the tv at times for excessive cycling. Look, these young gun Yanks were hard to contain, plain and simple.

Perrey finally poked through to make it 2-0 and we as well as the rest city leapt out of our seats screaming. Dare to dream? Not yet. We weren't even at the halfway point of the match. And this US squad definitely wasn't going anywhere. Brian Burke really should be commended for icing this team.

The second ended without incident. We were walking the razor's edge above Robson. Around our elevated section, flags were flying, beers were flowing. And much pacing. Each unit showed a flurry of nervous activity. Ours was definitely not exempt. Random jerseys would duck in and out of balconies. The same jerseys would strafe from kitchens, across living rooms, ending up on a couch. But only for a few minutes, then back up again. There was a lot of smoking happening as well.

The third started. Then you know what happened. Kesler fired one in early. Apparently all the pacing and smoking was justified. While this was a Team Canada squad playing, an Olympic game in Canada, there was still one fact that could not be over looked.

We were still in Vancouver, the game was still at GM Place, and Bob was still between the pipes.

As Canucks fans we didn't want to say it, and didn't. But tucked away in the darkest, ugliest recesses of our collective lower mainland sports psyche, we all knew. And quietly prepared ourselves.

Actually it was kind of fitting that it was Kesler who got the goal. And to be fair, although it was a bit of a softy, Bob was playing well and had gotten us to this point. Playing at home for the Gold. I tried my damndest to banish all unfavourable yet very possible outcomes from my mind.

Which became exceedingly difficult to do as the US kept pressing in the final minutes. I was climbing up the back of the chair with my feet. An uncontainable reaction that only emerges during truly monumental matches.

Sid somehow got that breakaway which looked like it could put it away. Not to be. This must've been another huge spark for the US bench, as that last minute of the third was undoubtedly the most excruciating, gut twisting, kidney squeezing minute of hockey I (and I'll go out on a limb and say you too) have ever watched.

Miller on the bench. The extra attacker. Gold within our grasp. Desperately playing on our heels.

And then Parise.

How did you feel when that one went in? If it was particularly dramatic and excruciating please feel free to share it, and send it to me. I'd love to know.

In our unti, six guys all keeled over, some practically puking, screaming and wailing like they'd just been severely wounded on the Braveheart battlefield. Or it was like we all just drank a pint of the Jonestown Kool aid. That goal was sheer poison.

Then the intermission came. Then the pacing began. Out to our balcony. Others on their respective balconies joined. Much pacing. So hauntingly quiet outside you could hear the birds chirping in Stanley Park.

I figured there was two ways in which this could go. One of two ways which I could face this. Already the moans were understandably growing from our camp. I allowed myself a split second glimpse into viewing the possibility of a national tragedy. But only briefly, when Parise scored. And then no more.

I would refuse to budge for OT. We were still in The Game, this was still Team Canada, we were still in our back yard. And there was still only One. Acceptable. Outcome.

Remembering the Slovakian scare, I remained resolute. I would not waver. I grabbed the Maniwaki Mobile device and sent an urgent coast to coast message. To family, friends, to random people in my address book that I haven't spoken to in months.

"Remember what The Great One said."

And turned boldly and confidently to OT.

What an absolute treat of the game of hockey. We came out harder than we did in the first period against the Russians. Wave after wave. A West Coast pummeling so great it dwarfed any Tofino storm, as well as the Stanley Park windstorm. Shot after shot on the Miller and US net. There would be no denying us.

Yet, the the Yanks got their chances. And Bob held the line. Making four saves in the extra frame, one point blank that could have put it, and all of us, away.

Then before you knew it we were back in the US zone pressing, then light went on, the crowd roared and jumped to its feet and before anyone knew what was what...

WE SCORED!!!!!!

And we all jumped up and screamed like Canuck maniacs. We ran around, bouncing off the walls. We high fived. We screamed in each others faces. We went out to the balcony and screamed over the streets at everyone who was screaming back at us. The upper deck stands of the city stadium were erupting. Flags waved. People hollered. I screamed so hard that I hit a pitch so high, I'm sure I'll never hit it again.

"WE WON!!! WE WON THE GAME!!! WE WON GOLD!!! WE WON!!!"

I faced upwards and howelled to the heavens:

"TOP OF THE WORLD MA!!!!!!!!"

It felt like I was screaming with the whole city, the whole nation, every hockey fan, every Olympian, everyone who had taken part in The Games with me. Everyone who couldn't.

Everyone.

****

We were shock. We turned back to the TV. Who had done the deed?

Sid.

Of course.

From Iggy. Of course.

We stood and watched as the lads accepted their medals. We cheered for the team with extra emphasis for Bob and Sid. We sang Oh Canada at the top of our lungs when the flag was raised. And cheered some more when Crosby got to take his victory lap, waving the flag. Unreal. Just unreal.

Back to the balcony we retreated to smoke and reflect. Looking down from our vantage point on this west coast Canyon Of Heroes, we waited for the streets to fill and the ensuing Great Canadian Street Party to kick off.

Geoff, a big burly guy in Team Canada jersey, weighed in;

"I feel like we just won the Olympics."

Holy smokes had we ever.

******

We watched and waited. The streets were filling. We hurled streamers. We watched all of it. It was amazing. It was beyond euphoric. It truly was the top of the world.

Our celebratory squad got larger. We exited the apartment and joined the fray. Then it got insanely larger. What felt like the entire population of Canada all took to the streets. We went Robson St and headed for the Square. It was insane. Burrard Bridge apparently had shut down and there was a mass exodus of people flooding into downtown.

The downtown swell was the biggest and most boisterous sea of red seen during the entire Games. We wavered and wandered through it, savouring every step. Gold. At home.

******

ADDENDUM TO THE ADDENDUM.

If ever there was a day to drink in Canada, this surely was it. Our group dissipated and ventured off in the different directions the city pulled them in. A few of us were headed down Granville to find a bar to hole up in for the rest of the night.

For those of you who read these e-pages regularly, you know that the cast of characters that help create the tales in said e-pages is quite extensive. And as I mentioned during the beginning of the Olympics, expect most of our roster to make an appearance.

However there has been one guy that we haven't heard from yet. A big contributer to the Maniwaki Mauler cause in ways more than just writing, and guy that has an uncanny knack to show up at just the right place at just the right time, and saying the right thing. One Simone Gagne.

So of course, it was more than fitting that out of a crowd of a billion he spotted me marching past the Roxy, and flagged me down. What you think he'd disappear in the Big Game? We had an impromptu post-game, weighing in on the magnitude of the day and also of the previous two weeks. I said he should join our posse to hit the bar, but he said he was just doing a quick loop of the streets before catching a charter back to the 'Loops.

We assessed the defensive pairing of Niedermayer and Doughty.

And both agreed that it worked out pretty good.

****

Olympic Addendum Pt 3 - The Big Mountain Experience. Tales And Trials Of.

[The following is a Maniwaki account of Olympic events from Feb 26, 2010.]

We were all running on fumes. We had done so much. Yet there was still much to do. So we did the only thing we could. Packed up the car and got out of town. North along the 99 Sea To Sky Highway.

Destination? The Resort.

Yup, nothing like taking the whole family to scenic and serene Duck Mountain Provincial Park in beautiful British Columbia.

Ok, not quite. Sure maybe Whistler/Blackcomb does have just a few more runs and an a couple extra meters of vertical than our favourite familial destination. But really, it doesn't boast that much more.

The Maniwaki Olympic roster was expanded to its max this day, as two squads requiring two vehicles, were on the line up card. Two alpine missions were to be executed:

1. The Alpine. The Skip, Mate, Muskoka and myself geared up with boards and skis to comb the Whistler/Blackcomp uppers.

2. The Sub-alpine/Mid-mountain. Spouse, Brother Carn, and campadre Lou strapped on snowshoes to patrol the Whistler woods.

****

Recon and Report.

As the Olympics were still in full swing, lift traffic on the slopes was light. Heavy cloud cover sprawled over both mountains, which provided fresh snow (huzzzah!) but reduced visibility (hah-zut!) The full vista from the village was totally blanketed. Still though, no complaints. A good day for mountaineering.

The alpine squad hit the gondola and began the epic ascent. Even when the weather isn't clear, you can't help but get amped for day on the hill. We finally emerged at the Roundhouse station and geared up. At this altitude the snow was fine, so we zipped down plenty of runs. The Skip and Mate got their legs back, as this was only their second run of the year. I remained cautious. Still nursing a tweaked ankle back, and posting a riding count of less than 10 on the season, I elected to traverse conservatively. Muskoka, being a local at this point left us all in the dust. I'm sure she was spinning three's and riding switch as she blazed down the hill.

With each run, we all got better, and eventually it was time for the obligatory Whistler chili in bread bowl. The US/Finland game was on with the US laying a big mountain smack down on the Fins. 6-1 in the second with the Fins getting fiesty. Looked like Jokinen was looking to lay out Kane. It was the closest I've seen to a line brawl in the Olympics.

So should we beat the Slovaks later on, it looked like we'd be facing the Yanks in the final. But at the time, that match might well have been 12 parsecs away. I strolled passed a gift shop in the Roundhouse station. Stuffed mascots were on display. Quatchi, Sumi, Miga.

Muk-Muk.

I slapped down my Edge card and liberated that l'il guy from his alpine abode.

For Luk-Luk.

As we would surely need his help later against the Slovaks.

The crew hit the slopes again. A sign at one of the lifts reported that we could view the Women's Slalom from the bottom of Ptarmigan run. We elected to check it out. We descended in formation, hoping to catch a glimpse. The VANOC mountain patrol however, was guarding the gates and directed us onward. A spirited inquiry resulting in a thwarting of our plans. A classic dis-information ploy. Bastards! We were left to carry on with no sightings of Lindsay Vonn.

Score: VANOC 1. Team Maniwak 0. They won that round.

Deciding that we were out manned on Whistler by VANOC snow troopers, we decided take the Peak2Peak over to Blackcomb to regroup. The view was really limited, so we weren't able to get the full panoramic picture. However a glance down into the gulley, revealed that we were indeed suspended quite high over Fitzsimmons Creek. Gondola conversation also confirmed this as some of our fellow riders spoke of Whistler paratroopers base jumping from these very pods.

*****

Meanwhile Team Maniwaki Sub Alpine was still holding a position on Whistler Mountain. The trio trudged through trails of powder from their mid mountain drop point. Upon trekking east, they happened on the perfect vantage point. A view of the Whistler Sliding centre where the four man bobsled was taking place.

Without the use of field binoculars or infra red they were able to observe many Olympics sleds rocket down the course, including the Canadian bronze medal shuttle. The scene was hot as they could also hear intermittent crashes coming from the course.

This was a gold mine of intel and the squad, happy with their haul, scampered down the mountain. Navigating passes and sliding down short steeps they eventually made their way to the slushier lower levels. Then eventually back to the village to secure our next position.

Score: VANOC 1 TEAM MANIWAKI 1.

******

We descended down Blackcomb with our progress being hampered the closer we got to the base as slush became more and more evident. At Base 2, we had to navigate through the international cow bell crowd as they took over the run down to the village. These migrating women's slalom fans acted as gates themselves as we jetted around them.

The crowd got thick. The Skip had enough and lit up a smoke. I de-boarded as well and joined him. We hiked until we were clear of the crowd, geared back up for the final descent and shot straight for the village. Muskoka, the Mate crossed the finish line first into the village square, where a huge screen was broadcasting the day's Olympic events. The Skip and I cruised in next. Cowbells clanged for us all. We all turned back to the screen to check our times. Not bad considering the conditions on the lower slopes.

Score: VANOC 1 TEAM MANIWAKI 2.

Another good day.

*****

We all took refuge at a local pub. Our group of seven commandeered a booth, ordered pitchers and hunkered down to watch two extremely important events:

1. Cheryl's Gold Medal Match. (to be expanded upon at a later date.)

2. Canada/Slovakia Semi Final.

Admittedly we weren't as tense as the Russia game. Yet very, very wary of the Slovaks. Look,if you've been reading these e-pages for a few weeks or a few months, you know what the assessment of Team Slovakia is. Under no circumstances are these cats to be taken lightly. They mean business.

I wish I could copy paste those last two sentences and send them back through time to myself. Talk about a major "yikes."

We watched intently as the lads came out with a commanding performance, out shooting the Slovaks in the first and taking a 2-0 lead into the intermission. And admittedly as the convoy of pitchers, plates of wings, and burgers arrived at our table, our 60 minute sense of urgency we shared against the Russians evaporated.

By the end of the second, we were tired yet contented from a the day's mountaineering. As well as full from the ensuing Olympic apres. The Mate suggested we watch the third from the Village Square.

"A perfect idea!" I concurred. 3-0 Canada was the score.

And so. Like fattened lambs the Slovaks led us to the Village square. To the near slaughter.

Some people get superstitious when watching big games. They wear a certain pair of socks. They sit in a certain position on a favourite couch. I'm sure you have your own rituals.

Over the years, the Skip, I and our squad have succumbed to superstition as well. Inexplicably, in many, many big game scenarios, victory is and has been determined by not only our being present in viewing the game, and not merely by being emotionally invested not only in the outcome. But by fully immersing ourselves in the process play by play. As if we really were bench bosses for the particular contest.

We planted our selves by the ski racks and watched (waited) for the end.

The Mate: Are you still scared of Slovakia?

Me: No.

Lubomir Visnovsky. Scores!!!!!

This exchange occurred in an eery succession as Slovakia was on the board. There was half a period to go. I suddenly felt the chicken wings churn.

The crowd at the square got larger. And more agitated as the Slovaks came to life for the last few minutes of the game. Wave after wave. Shot after shot. Gaborik and company had lulled us into a false sense of security. Stupid! How could I have fallen asleep at my post? How could we all?

Then with under five minutes left, Handzus put one past Bob. Of course. Dear god. This had the makings of a complete upset. We twisted and writhed in the village square as the Slovaks kept pressing. And pressing. And fucking pressing.

It was painful. It was excruciating. It was a wake up call.

Then in the final minute, with Halak on the bench, Demitra snapped one at the net that somehow Bob got a piece of and batted away. Hundreds of people let out a huge sigh of relief as it the puck rebounded into the corner only to be cleared. The clock wound down. We won.

Barely.

3-2 Canada. We would face the Yanks in the final. We gathered ourselves, addressed our lackadaisical play and headed over to The Rings for a team photo.

We had covered much mountainous terrain. We had dodged a Bratislavian bullet. We dragged our tired carcasses back to the car and headed back down the 99. And prepared for the Yanks.

The Olympic Addendum Pt 2 - What About Bob?

Times at HQ were tense.

It was us vs the Russians, in a loser go/stay home Olympic fight card. It appeared as if our team of destiny might reach its very shortened and painful destiny that night, the night of the quarter final. Sure the Canadians had had an extra game to fine tune things. (A very decisive "W" garnered at the expense of the Germans.) But here was the end boss of end bosses showing up a few levels early. Would Team Canada have enough power ups in its reserves? And enough to survive the ensuing rounds?

The Skip, the Mate, and walked down to a neighbourhood lounge, formerly known as the Jupiter. Row seating, consisting of couches and lounge chairs in front of a massive projection screen, had been arrange. This joint is not usually a sports bar, reminiscent of another haunt that has been home to many of our shenanigans.

Shades of Le Pistol. The thought added a very slight but welcome relief to the sheer epic enormity of what we were about to witness. Canada/Russia in Olympic elimination. Awesome. And as it should be.

The puck dropped. The place lit up. And we perched on the sharpened skate blade for what seemed like an eternity. At only 2:21 in, Getzlaf put one in and the former Jupiter erupted as if it were caught in the centre of the celestial eye itself. So far so good. But no room to relax, not for a second.

Then Boyle got one.

Then Nash.

3 nil, half way though the first and the lounge, as well as the rest of the lower mainland and nation I'm sure, were all stunned. Ovechkin? Nowhere to be found. Malkin? Out partying with Muk Muk. The Canadians had done the unthinkable and were systematically dismantling the Russians.

How? To play platitudes, we were playing "our game." Driving to the net. Shooting. Leaving the fancy pants and excessive cycling gear in the dressing room. It was great.

However, we couldn't get ahead of ourselves. Dmitri Kalinin netted one to make it 3-1. Having watched far too many Canucks games over the years I knew that there was still no escape from the mists of complacency that routinely swirl around GM Place, often managing to seep in. Especially with Bob between the pipes.

I did the obligatory mental flash forward to a CBC scenario in which Luongo, head down, voice low, eyes glazed, tries to muster up an explanation for how we let a 3-0 lead evaporate, and why we were done in the QF's again. I braced for its bitter, bitter potential.

But then Morrow scored with less than two minutes to go in the first, and that thought was immediately disintegrated amongst the cheers of the rowdy, boisterous J-patrons.

We were joined by the Skip's compadre, James. And for the rest of the match, we all maintained. The goals, as well as the pitchers kept coming. Although more than pleased with the flurry of goals, we remained resolute. The Russians managed to muster up a couple more. Each time they did it felt like the starting point of the "collapsing Bob" scenario described above.

The Skip: I don't like this.

Me: You're not going to beat the Russians without bleeding.

Whilst the score was now 7-3 in the third and the place was starting to anticipate the semis, we remained on guard for thee. Up until the final minute of the game, the Skip held the fort, refusing to become swept up in any preemptive partying. Which proved to be a wise game plan as we would soon learn.

When 00:59 finally hit, it was show time at the J-corral. Everyone was standing. Everyone was cheering. When the clock finally ran out, everyone had in orbit. We had done it. We had survived, vanquishing the mighty Russians. It felt like we had joined those that watched the '72 Series and '87 Canada Cup in a latest chapter great Canadian hockey history book.

To make things even better, the cameras immediately went to Whistler where our two gal bobsled team, Kaillie Humphries and Heather Moyse, were en route to picking up our latest gold. Our squad finished our pitchers and prepared to hit the streets. Thus, sign making was the only logical next course of action.

We had two placards. The Mate's sang the praises of the Canadian Women's gold. Mine was a double entendre, "What about Bob?" as I was still in shock, not only be the decisive win, but by Luongo's stellar performance in an elimination game. He had just climbed out of the Maniwaki bad books with authority.

We darted down Davie St. (which was surprisingly subdued) and hit Granville. With signs hoisted high, the Skip, Mate and I marched down Granville St. dead centre, hooting, hollering and high fiving everyone we passed. Random pockets of red clad hockey fans stormed down the streets and celebrated. Everyone was so buzzed. Although it was only the quarters, it felt like we all just won gold. I allowed myself a brief look forward to a possibility that scenario. And was nearly blinded by the sheer impact of such a notion.

The lull at the centre of the Games, created by the US loss, and a string of Canadian near misses had dissipated. Although Team Canada handily beat the Germans the day before, this victory announced that Canada was back and wasn't going to go quietly. It was the TSN turning point of The Games. The hockey team, the athletes, the fans...we were all back on board. Ack, I don't want to say it, so I won't, so let's just say we were all singing that damn song.

We wound down our celebratory lap with another pitcher at a local saloon. Our roster was expanded. We all weighed in on the match while keeping an eye on the Slovaks and Swedes to see who we'd face in the next bracket...

The Olympic Addendum - Pt 1 - Oooompah!

Miss the Olympics already? Pining away in your pad for the parties on Granville St and the mass congregations at Robson Square? While Sunday's perfect fin was only a mere 48 hours ago, it seems that many of us (myself included) are not ready to take the lower mainland lampshade off quite yet.

Hoots and hollers of "Go Canada!" could be still heard last night on Burrard, as the Spouse regaled to me this morning. I heard nothing, and was as KO'd as if I was on the receiving end of a Brock Lesnar uppercut. It has been quite the eventful few weeks for sure.

So. As promised, I will fill in the blanks of what I skipped out on during the furious pace of the 2010 Games. This way we can all pretend the party is still going on down the street.

In this opener of the Olympic Addendum, I will recant the epic events of the 18th of Feb, 2010. In which Pajikistan and I made our down to Science World too check out the live taping of:

Steven Colbert. From the SkyTrain to Main St Station we could see the crowd converging on the grass by Science World/Sochi House. This was Day 2 of the two day taping so we figured things would get packed.

We scampered out of the station and took our spots in front of the grassy knoll. On the stage sat skis, hockey equipment and stuffed moose. So far? The right call. The stage manager eventually came out and everyone got amped up. He introduced a Dutch Oompah Band which played covers for the crowd. For a full 40 minute set. This Colbert character apparently doesn't skimp on the opening acts.

They tooted and tweeted their way through the likes of "Sweet Carloine" and others until it was time for Great Pundition From South Of The Border to take the stage. And wow. What a show. Having worked for a few years in the local film/tv biz as a glorified pedestrian, yet never having attended a live talk show taping before, I expected that we'd be subjected to take after take of the same gag. Which would be funny say the first to third time, but drudging, bordering on unbearable by the tenth.

Not so.

Colbert had everyone in stitches for a solid hour, with very, very few re-takes. One of which was his best bit of the day, when he had to record an intro of Michael Bublé, (who wasn't there that day) and screwed up, thus having to repeat it. Deeming it the "Dublé Bublé." Olympic comic genius.

Pajikstan and I and the entire crowd laughed like fiends through the show from his opening monologue to his interview with the Roy Stalin-ishSeth Westcott, to the end where he saddled up triumphantly the stuffed moose. Damn near delirious.

After Colbert said his good byes and exited the stage, and since we had all been deemed "Saskatche-winners", Pajikstan and I headed up the stroll and over to massive beer garden tent that served as;

Saskatchewan House. This was hockey re-con for the future as we knew we'd have to take in at least one game here. Got a plate of perogies and sussed out the sitch.

Two massive screens? Perfect. PIL on tap? Great. The plate of perogies? ....let's just say that they were on par with the rest of the Oly menu...As our objective was accomplished we hit up the massive white cube next door which served as;

Quebec House. Basically an open air cube, with a huge stage, few small hd screens and ten dollar beers. Zut. Headed home and then I jetted to the Mais to work watch;

Canada/Switzerland What happened here? The Swiss just about dispatched us in the prelims for the second straight tourney? Who didn't feel legitimately worried for our lads during this game? I did. And also dreading the upcoming US match, I'd be lying if I said that I could see making the semis as our ceiling for the 2010 Games.

The Swiss were not only giving us a game, but giving us a goddam Olympic size ulcer as well. A crowd trickled up to the bar as the shoot out started. I took orders. A lad named Jake piped up and said he wanted a Canada shootout victory. I punched it into the computer.

We all sat in Stanley Park and across the nation as every shooter got stoned. This was only the round robin. How could this be happening? Eventually, thanks to Oly shootout rules, Sid got to skate again. And the look in his eye the second time round, you knew he was going to finish this thing off.

After he snapped one past Hiller, and Jake's order was completed, I poured him a victory pint on the house. Welcome to Maniwaki Country, sir.

We caught our collective breaths, rode out the remaining hours, and decided that the only thing to do was to keep going. My compadre, Mike, (the Realator henceforth) had a hankering to oompah it up at;

German House. Located right beside Waterfront Station, the huge tent was practically shaking as we approached. And a very short line to boot. Success. What we were soon to learn however was that the security/entry process was very true to its Deutche billing.

Very terse security officers filed us in and issued us our "admittance" tickets. Apparently we weren't to enter the big tent yet, but rather chill outside in the makeshift Water St. foyer. These cats ran a very ordered program and when our ticket number was called out then, we could hit the big show. For the meantime we bought pints, laughed at the drunk Canadians that got denied by uber security, and watched;

The Slovak/Russia Tilt. Our admittance number was no where close to being up, and that didn't matter. Here was one of the best games of the opening rounds on the outdoor screens. Here were the Russians barely hanging on in the third by a single Morozov goal while the Slovaks pressed.

Feeling vindicated, as I'd been singing the praises of the Slovaks for months, I immediately jumped on board the Bratislava Bandwagon. And wouldn't you know it, Hossa of all guys, tied it up in the third. Game on. It went to the shoot out. Our rowdy squad attracted more rowdies. Stumpel got one for the Slovaks. Ovechkin responded. It went back and forth for ever. We were screaming like sturzbesoffens.

In a round about way, Ovechkin was bested by Sid again, as he couldn't convert on his next two shoot out attempts, where Sid of course did and played hero in the Canada game. (what a warm up.)

The Realator was especially into it, as his hometown hero, Pavel Demitra was up for round two. The Canuck faked far left only to dart back and put in the top corner, stunning Bryzgalov, the Russians and the world.

[Maniwaki media insert. The next day two monster US hockey fans rolled up to the bar. They went to every game at the Olympic Garage that I wrote about here. They took footy of Demitra's shoot out winner from right behind the Russian net. It is one of the greatest pieces of Olympic video that I saw during the entire Games. They said they'd send it to me, but I don't know if they were just yakking at the bar. If I do end up getting it I'll post it here. You'll lose your shit. We can only hope.]

We finished our pints and hit;

The Big Tent. As our ticket number was conveniently up. These Olympics really had a way of just working out. How you wanted them to. When you needed them to. We rolled into the big top. Were waived the twenty buck cover, and proceeded to order pints.

The scene was like some kind of transplanted Oktoberfest. An Ooompah band (anther one) on stage playing covers of American rock songs. People jumping around and dancing on the floors. Rowdy Canadians standing on benches screaming at the top of their lungs (only to be promptly and efficiently dispatched by the uber door men.)

At one point a rock came flying over to our squad. The Realtor picked it up, and drunkenly debated hurling it back at the collection of rowdy Canadians that were making like Ernie Whitt, coaxing him to put it over the plate. In a rare moment of not making the stupid decision, I told him it would be a bad idea. Those Germans looked like they could handle us, Water St and the entire city if they wanted to.

He agreed. And instead, elected to slide the stone down the long table to the rowdy Canadians. Then the makeshift curling match started. With an actual stone. It went for few ends until the sound man, came over and shut it down as we were amped up, throwing hyper hack weight, and barely missing his set up. Fare enough. Game over.

Onto the show. Jumped around like it was '92, as the ooompah band finaled with what they deemed, "the most important song in the world. A Canadian song."

Despite the uber security, it was indeed a free tent and a free world. Which we proceeded to rock mightily.

The Day After

Hung over with a captial "O". Still trying to process and absorb the magnitude of the previous 24 hours, and last two weeks.

Holy smokes, I still can't believe Sid scored that goal.

FULL recap of the missing pieces coming over the course of this week.

Olym-pit

There is so much info clogging up the Maniwaki channels that to do any of it justice, we are going to have to change up our game plan. Thus, a full recap, post Games, is the new play in the book.

Look, I know what you're saying.

"How clogged are the systems really? You're just burnt out and drunk."

Lets just say that sensory overload is at such a ridiculous swell, that it can only be compared to the Spouse's "walk" home from the Bronze Medal Game tonight down Granville.

The crowds were so large that it was shoulder to shoulder only. Like the entire street was a packed Tokyo subway car. People tried to escape by ducking into the McDonalds only to have the fast food joint fill to capacity. Walking was a dead concept. Replaced by crowd surges that would propel you forward. The Spouse was visibly shaken. More than we all were last night at the Whistler base watching the last five minutes Canada/Slovakia.

I don't know if I'm more scared if we win or lose tomorrow.

WHAT THE HALAK?

I'll give 2,010,000 rubles to anyone who thought it would play out this way.

Did we think we'd face Russia at some point in the tournament? Sure. 

But that's where it stops.

Did we think we'd square off against them as early as the quarters? Uhhh... nope.

Did we think that - if ten goals happened to be scored in the game - neither Ovechkin nor Sid would have a single point? No way.

Did we think we'd hand them their fur-covered hats and send them back with their tails between their legs on the next Aeroflot charter to Moscow after an absolute thrashing? Nyet.

We could spend countless lines of text recounting how the boys came out like gangbusters and made the country proud (and lord knows the crowd on Granville St. last night was more than showing its pride), but instead we must now look forward....

... to the Swedes.

Yes, the defending Olympic champs now are the only thing standing between us and a berth in the Finals. Old bear Forsberg looking for one last chance to be on a postage stamp, the Hank-and-Dan-tical twins working their telekinetic powers down low, the tower of strength Lidstrom manning the defensive end, and King Henrik flashing the leather in the blue ice.

If they don't give us a hell of a game, I'll wash down three pounds of meatballs with an entire jar of pickled herrings and ......

..... bzzzzzztttt .........

[Sorry, just getting a message through my headset. Hold on a sec.]

..... What? SERIOUSLY???? .......

Umm. Forget that comment about the herring.

*****************

Ok. We can all breathe a big sigh of relief.

When we learned that we'd have to steamroll Russia and Sweden to pave our way to the end, I don't think any one of the 33,000,000 of us felt great about it. Undoubtedly, we all would've preferred it had set up differently.

But now that the golden Kronas have been vanquished, we're all but assured to play on Sunday, no?

I mean, we'd much rather have Stephen Harper make a side-bet with Ivan Gasparovic than Fredrik Reinfeldt, right?

Wrong.

*****************

Certainly, no one's put much stock in the Slovaks' chances.

After they got worked by the Czechs, everyone gave a little head nod. After they took down the Russians in a shootout, everyone thought it was a fluke. After they made Latvia look like, well, Latvia, everyone felt the universe had righted itself.

Let me tell you, though. Having seen them in the flesh during our family outing on Saturday, I have but one thing to say:

These guys are for real.

In fact, I don't think it's a stretch to say that we'll have a tougher time with them than we would have had against Holmstrom et al.

You might now be saying, why Oduya think that, Skip?

Well, here's the scoop. The Top 3 reasons that we absolutely cannot start thinking ahead, and why we're going to need to play 60 minutes of real old-time hockey to stay alive in this tourney:

(1) Know thine enemy: From the moment that our roster was announced in Saskatoon - and, arguably, since our flame-out in Torino - Canada's hockey brass has had its eyes on one team and one team only. Our roster was compiled to do only one thing: beat the Russians. Now that we have, though, are we prepared for what's to come? Did the head honchos spend enough time scouting Slovakia, or did they (like you) assume they'd be playing Sweden?

(2) Check your fancy-pants at the door: Although the Russians had more than ample ability to dangle endlessly, we have a defense built to protect against that.  The Slovaks, however, are a no-nonsense, nose-to-the-grindstone, duke-it-out sort of squad.  We seem to have had problems with this sort of team (e.g. Switzerland).  

(3) It all starts in net: I have watched nearly every Habs game this year.  The one constant throughout their up-and-down season has been how underestimated and underappreciated Jaroslav Halak is.  Trust me.  He's more than capable of stealing a game.  Not only that, but he seems to get better the more rubber he faces.  I know that we're expecting Canada to get 30-45 shots tomorrow night, but that could be just what the Slovaks want.

Should be a show.  Saddle up.

- the Skip

The Great Maniwaki Pre Game

Over the years, the Skip and I have been witness to many epic sporting spectacles. Some so fantastic they need to be relived to even be believed. Some of these matches have ended unfavourably. Many have ended in complete and utter mind numbing elation and bewilderment.

The Skip has just exited the HQ balcony where he was having his pre game smoke/contemplation.

The Skip: I feel like I'm preparing for battle.

Me: Me too.

And then proceeded to tape up my ankle.

Soon we will exit HQ, plant ourselves at a tavern table, and like many times before, do our part for our squad. For myself I can say in all honesty, that I go with a great glowing red heart, calm and confident.

Why? Because as the Skip said it best the other day after a ponder.

"Don't worry, Wayne said it's going to be ok."

The Olympic Day

So the Skip and I kicked off the day at the Great Oly Barn, taking in the Belarus/Switzer-tilt. After Canada's Game 2, we both have decided that the Swiss are the new international enemy to rally against.

Case in point. After the first period, Roman Wick, was tied for first in scoring in the whole tournament. These Swiss are insidious, effective and determined. And they have emerged.

We sat way up in the uppers, so far that the tons of concrete that sat behind our heads served as the only section behind us. We bantered as casual observers throughout the match.

"Why is Sergei Kostitsyn third in scoring in the Olympics, yet demoted to the minors from the Habs?"

"Why do Belarus thinking they're the Russians, by continually setting up fancy plays? But go nowhere?"

"Why, as the periods and days go by, do I harbour more resentment for the Swiss?"

To be honest, I feel that I have taken in this tourney in its fullest. I have attended. I have been involved. I have been emotionally invested. I have been blase. I can say in all honesty that I haven't taken in this much local hockey since my days as a lad in rural Sasky. Who would've thought the Olympics would rekindle that Civc Centre sense of community?

This was punctuated by the back and forth we had with our fellow residents in the nosebleeds. The Skip got animated at a poor puck decision by a Belrus forward who thought his last name was Malkin and passed instead of shot on a prime chance, racing to the net.

After listening for three periods to our transplanted HQ couch nonsense, she informed us that we'd won another gold. Women's ski cross. Awesome.

Evntually Belarus collapsed in the shootout, so we ducked out, and headed for Sasky house. Stood in the rain as the Vancouver winter finally decided to kick in. Entered the massive beer tent, where the First Mate was there to greet us, and took in the festivities. Sask Premier, Brad Wall, walked amongst the common folk as a country band cranked out "Devil Went Down To Georgia." It was fitting.

Game on. Rocking barn. We all needed to watch this game as a province and as a nation. We all needed to just relax and let the lads get they're groove back. Sid scored. Iggy scored two. Even Nash and Niddermayer scored. It was great. Bob was stopping pucks on his home turf. Sure it was against Germany. Sure it was to be expected. But whatevs. We needed it.

Fuck I hate to say it. I really do. But we needed a reason to believe.

We left halfway through the third because we had tickets to the medal ceremony. We hiked back to BC Place. Passed Quebec House and Hockey House and Ontario House.

All showing the game. Inside and out. All good.

Made our way through the VANOC maze and into our seats. Met Dice and Narn. The Spouse was sent on a real trek, but eventually met us, at our new perch in the BC Place nosebleeds.

And this venue. My word.

This was the Olympic Games. We had a view of two halves of the stadium. One being the stage, podium, flags, and ice deck for the dignitaries. It was amazing and it really hit home. Everything up to now had been the Olympics, but now were really at The Olympics.

Speed skating medals were handed out. We stood for the Korean anthem. Holy smokes, here we were.

The Russian appeared on a live feed from Whistler. They got medals. The national anthem was sung. It's one of Ma's favourites, the Skip's favourites, and my favourites. We were in the right place.

The Ski Cross Women were up. As they approached the podium, the place went crazy. They took they're places. Then the anthem. The Skip, with a surprise move started singing in French. I joined in with the remnants of the words still rattling around from Grade 1 French immersion in Burlington, Ontario. Dice sang, the Spouse sang, The Mate and Narn and all of BC Place sang.

These Olympics...I tell you...we were in a massive snow palace, lucky enough to sing our national anthem, after a warm up game, a gold, and a redemption match taken in amidst our prairie neighbours.

The Loop

Let's just start this at the end and work backwards.

The Skip: Holy fuck.

Me: Yup.

****

Walked down Granville St. where everyone was celebrating Virtue and Moir's Gold Medal hustle. I must say, that lift to shoulder blade perch was one of the most insane contortions I've ever witnessed. Cirque Du Glace. And definite cause for another downtown fouferra.

Passed a young Canadian hooligan engaged in conversation with a very large dude. The youngster seemed quite taken aback by the guy he was talking too. The big guy looked familiar. After they parted ways, I inquired to the hooligan, "Who was that?"

"That's..." he started.

"Rob Blake." We said in unison.

***

Watched a massive show at Robson Square. Laser lights. Lit cauldrons. Fireworks and flame shows. A crazy, crazy crowd. Freestyle skiers and snowboarders zip lined overhead. A hockey goalie emerged as podium raised about the crowd and whipped them into more of a frenzy. It was like some kind of pagan, Canadian scene with our own very Great Canadian Lord Humungous. Talk about The Road Warrior North.

****

Mulled around the live CTV News stage at Burrard and Robson, as they were doing the 11 o'clock news. Hooted hollered like one of those guys in the background.

****

At the corner of Robson and Thurlow, tried to comprehend and process my now very surreal surroundings. These Olympics have definitely made this city I have known for so long, a very different place.

****

Recognized a man walking down Thurlow St towards me, involved in a seemingly very intense conversation. Paused. (Froze actually.) My very Canadian social processing filter kicked in as I debated letting him carry on about his business. He did seem quite busy. Decided that blatant interruption was really the only course of action.

Butted in. And apologized while doing so, as my very Canadian filter would not allow me to do otherwise.

Me: "Mr. Gretzky. I'm sorry. I've just got to shake your hand."

The Great One: "It's ok." And continued on.

***

Observed The Torch, as I figured I needed to go for a solitary look. As I've spent many, many years walking these streets contemplating many, many things. Sometimes you just need to get some air and appreciate things alone when great things happen to you and your city.

Maniwaki Locker Room Speech

1st Intermission. Down 2-1 against the Yanks. The Mate has settled down the dressing room by invoking some good ju-ju.

Bob. Yup.

Hockey Day At HQ

Look, I'm not going to lie. Things are rolling along at more than a healthy clip. You could say they're frantic. Manic even. 30 000+ people in the downtown core last night. What felt like the busiest night of the Olympics to date. The herd home was shoulder to shoulder and started right from our section at the Oly Garage after the Lat/Slv rout and continued all the way home.

So before we weigh in on what's going down today. Let's look at yesterday's events. From here on, I admit, the recaps are going to be more direct. Let's roll:

As you already know, the Skip and First Mate landed and were within the borders of the lower mainland. Muskoka and her dude, Geoff also rolled in from Whis. A huge morning breaky followed by a stroll to the Inukshuk, with plenty of pictures in tow.

Game time was soon. Skip, Mate, Muskoka, myself weaved in and out of crazy walk up to the place. Made'r to our section, just a few over from the game the other night. And proceeded to watch the slaughter. In short, Slovakia made even shorter work of the Latvians than Russia did the few nights before.

Me: They're less fancy than the Russians.

The Skip: They're efficient. They don't have time to be fancy.

And the model of efficiency they were. The Latvians could barely muster a shot, and poor Edgars got just shelled. Even the normally rowdy Latvian crowd was noticeably quiet, or perhaps just drowned out by the amped up Slovaks. Well, how could the Slovaks not be ruckus? After the shoot out showdown the other night, (don't worry, report is coming) they made up 29 000 of the 30 000 cats on the streets last night.

****MANIWAKI MEDIA ACCREDITATION**** Although the game turned out to be a complete rout, some intermission items of note.

This new section happened to be right in media row, as the Sportsnet Hockey Central panel emerged in between periods. Pretty ok to see Bob Mackenzie and the crew do their thing live. Made you feel like you're watching a pretty big tourney.

Keeping in line with the Tretiak interview the other night, the in house sit down tonight was with Scotty Bowman. What was even cooler was that we realized it was taking place a mere five rows up from us. So we watched that live as well. Bowman was gracious enough to sign a few autographs afterwards, and the Skip got his stub signed.

Where's Muk Muk? Certainly nowhere to be found, as the scoreboard shell game apparently changes each game. Our digital delight for the day? Where's Miga? Didn't even begin to measure up.

So here we sit right now. Russians 3 Czech Republic 1. in the third. As there is much to weigh in on and assess, let's put a few things under the Maniwaki Super Sunday lens.

I am officially deeming this day as Upset Sunday. Expect to see a lot of long faces later on. The Skip disagrees. But I'm calling for for a very unwelcome Miracle On Ice 2. Why?

1. We're Playing Too Tight. We're too nervous, afraid to lose. The hands are not soft. There is a lot of thinking going on. Too much. Babcock is juggling lines by the second. Chemistry is being crushed before it's allowed to develop. Sure Sid managed to grind it out and come through in the shootout the other night, but really, we got lucky.

2. The Yanks Are Legit. They dispatched the Swiss easier than we did. They handled Norway easily. They're young. They're fast. They don't give a shit. Everyone can score. And everyone will. Expect Parise, Kesler and Drury to have huge games tonight.

3. And They've Got Great Goaltending. Today's the day Brodeur melts down. Bob won't fare much better. Miller will roll up his Uncle Sam sleeves and handily out duel both our number ones.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there will be no joy on Granville tonight, as Canada ,Mighty Canada will have struck out. Don't sweat it too much though...it's not elimination yet and there's plenty of tourney left.

MORNING GLORY

[On this, Day 3 of our Olympic adventure, the First Mate chimes in with some early morning reflections...]

Wide awake at the crack of dawn. So quiet. It’s as though the world’s spotlight has been turned off for just enough time to change the batteries. The reset button in effect between festivities. Not wanting to miss the moment, I decide not to change out of my pj’s, and instead slip on a hat and a jacket, grab the building’s access pass and walk out the door. Let the pooch sleep.

Hmm. Now what? This way. Why not.

Oh wow, cherry blossoms in February! Hey is that Russia house? Oh yeah, what are those cars called again – the Aston Martins or something? Yeah, that American figure skater said he was going to buy himself one after winning the gold. Some kind of obsession with James Bond. Who cares. CTV headquarters. Wow! The Rockies! … but I can’t get a clear shot. Get closer. Fences, flags, buildings. Sign: “Olympic Viewing Platform – Left”. I follow, hoping to get find the clearing I am looking for, get a clear shot of the bay with a picturesque Cypress backdrop. Hey isn’t that where they broadcast... holy $#@!

… and there she was.



She had been calling my name, eager to bid me welcome.

MY. Olympic. Moment.

Almost worth its weight in gold.

- the First Mate

YUL --> YVR

Viewing the Olympics in HD is one thing. Let me assure you, viewing them in real life is quite something else.

The trek has now been made from the Sugar Shack to Mauler HQ.

And this is right.

It's difficult to describe the increasing level of excitement that seems to be permeating the atmosphere the farther west you go. Like the pioneers following the Oregon Trail, the First Mate and I packed up some dried meats and boarded our Air Canada covered wagon, not fully knowing what to expect as we ventured towards the sunset.

What we've found appears to be the Olympic spirit.

A brief stopover in the YYZ revealed a gate dedicated solely to Vancouver flights, and (perhaps unsurprisingly) multiple kiosks hoping to shuck some garbs upon the unsuspecting Latvians, Croatians, and Koreans that were about to join us on our cross-country adventure.

Let's call it the first trading post.

As we took our seats, the number of people donning the red, black, and white made it seem that - following a brief instructional video apprising us on the virtues of seat-belt attachment and removal, cabin depressurization reaction techniques, and deplaning procedures in the unlikely event of a water landing - we were going to break out in a rousing rendition of O Canada.

Four and a half hours later, it hit.

Holy crap. Here we were.

The arrivals area was chock-full of Olympic mania, HBC-sanctioned merchandise, and big screen tv's. Needless to say I consider it a more than promising sign that we reached the baggage carousel just in time to see Canada's favorite cougar - Cheryl Bernard - draw to the button for an extra-end victory.

It's on.

Leaving the airport, it's as if the city just wanted to say hello. And welcome.

What's the first thing we see?

Byen-v'noo?

Hello, indeed.

- the Skip

Compiling The Footage

Ok. Yesterday. Could quite possibly be written as a trilogy, or even as a season of "24" as the craziest day yet descended on the lower mainland.

I have just woken up, made a huge Ibuprofin sandwich, and am just about to dart out the door again. Please remain patient while I sort through this carnage of events that was Feb The 18th.

Sick- O

If there's one event I wish that we could beat the Yanks in it's men's half pipe. In Salt Lake, our guy Michalchuk was the favourite going in, but crapped out early. In Torino, we didn't crack the top 10. Watched the qualifiers from HQ today, and the semis and finals from the shack.

Had a huge cheering section at the house sitting watching the action. My compadre, the Pollack, the Quebecois hostess (a musical theatre major and Metis fiddler in the Opening Ceremonies) and full roster of rowdy locals. N'ary a better crew to watch an Olympic half pipe jam.

Basically there were pretty much two words that any one could say.

"Shaun." and "White."

The guy's as dominant as anyone can be in their respective sport, in their heyday. He's got qualities of Wayne, Jordan and Tony Hawk. Look, I won't attempt to explain the mind numbing runs this guy threw down on Cypress today. Let's just say I don't think most of us could put together better runs on our X-box. Just put down the controller and try and comprehend this nonsense.

Where's Muk Muk?

So today was International Hockey Day in Vancouver, as the big tourney kicked off. I started the day at the tavern and watched the US square off against the Swiss and after the first frame, initial Maniwaki scouting is confirmed. The Yanks mean business.

How do I know this? Not because the opening jitters were quelled quickly as by the second period the young guns gelled. Not from two highlight reel goals from the US to open the tourney. Not from the Americans' physical play that became more evident as the game wore on.

No, the reason the Yanks mean business, is because Ryan Miller has got spray painted on his mask, Uncle Freakin' Sam rolling up his sleeves. These kids are here to play. Final score: 3-1. Some thought it should be more, but let's remember. These lower ranked European squads, while not boasting a ton of NHL players, play together so often they have their chemistry in place. Not to mention the Swiss program which triumphed our ours in round robin play in Turino. The Young Gun Yanks did more than just ok. Just wait.

Finished my time at the tavern. Drove directly to the station to pick up sister, Pajakistan, as she emerged from the brand new Canada Line. Pretended to be a dignitary, stopping in the Olympic lane no stopping zone, only to get waved back by a traffic cop and swarmed by a sea of pedestrians. It was like a scene out of the Bourne Identity. The foot traffic cleared and sped off in our small import hatchback.

Took right off of the main Olympic drag right at the corner where I witnessed the race to end all races yesterday, and then inched along the incredibly packed streets.

"Congratulations Maelle Ricker on winning gold." Another one. Awesome.

As far as representation is concerned, it seems the Russian contingent is in the fullest of forces. Team Russia unis are everywhere and Russian is the most common foreign accent you hear. If I don't run into Putin, at some point I will be very disappointed. For the last few months, Brother Carn has been diligently researching the Motherland, as a future family trip is inevitably to be made. Hearing all of the mother tongue around town lately, I can say that I'll be checking the flightcentre periodically for Transsiberian passes.

Got home. Chilled. Flipped on the TSN feed. Canada was just about up against Norway in the opener and everyone was making a big deal about it. Look. I understand. But I'm not going to add to the excessive hype. Yes, I want us to win Gold as much as the next guy, but we're putting too much pressure put on our lads. Let's just chill out, crack a Kokanee, and let them play.

I wish there was an actual instrument in existence named, "National Hockey Barometer." I'd love to see what it read at the end of the first when it was still 0-0. The dial must've somewhere between "legitimately concerned" and "light panic."

I could break this game down, but you watched it as well as the highlights thirty times as well. I mean please...

Even Bob had a good game. However, it's not group play that has the Maniwaki barometer at only "slightly concerned." It's the elimination games. No matter how stacked we seem to be, we are one bad Brodeur or Bob outing away from an Olympic exit. If Miller or Nabokov or even Halak get hot in addition to a rolling Kessel, Kesler, or Gaborik, we could be out the Garage doors quicker than you can say Jonathon Quick.

And I haven't even mentioned the names, "Malkin" and "Ovechkin" yet.

We ate a huge family din din, and the Pajakistan and I departed for the Olympic Barn. We were to attend the big Russia/Latvia showdown tonight. I swear that one of VANOC's security strategies is to get you running like a mouse in a maze to get anywhere, as entering GM Place was not as easy as it usually is, crossing the street from the Skytrain.

But the stroll up was great. We walked over a concourse over Expo boulevard, approaching the Dome. It was a very "Gladiator" moment as we approached the Great Colosseum where Alexander The Great would soon set foot in.

Great seats. Lower bowls, right where Russia attacked twice. The scene was so surreal. I don't know where to begin. How about the line up? That boasts Ovechkin, Malkin, Semin, Nabokov, Gonchar and Markov? And that's just for starters? When the teams filed onto the ice, everyone was losing it. Olympic hockey with the rock star dream team. Right here.

I expected anthems, but there were none. Both squads circled around, and eventually squared off.

Then the puck dropped. And it was on.

I expected complete annihilation.

Which looked to be the case as the Russians swarmed the Latvian zone early and refused to relent. The Latvian goalie, Edgars Masalskis, really earned his lats as he turned away an absolute barrage of shots early. Eventually it was overwhelmed as Danis Zaripov punched through with the first goal two minutes in. The inevitable rout was coming.

Radulov scored next. The funny thing is is that this guy rapidly became my one of my new favourite Olympic antagonists. It's great. He's the guy that basically told the NHL to take a hike, and then gets placed on the Team Russia national squad. And he's really good. Every time he was on the ice, he was up to something. Making plays, getting in the face of the Latvians. He's like a grizzly Russian bear foraging for whatever he can kill. Always patrolling defending his territory. And his disdain for the west is even better. He's the closest thing to a true Soviet era player. Only tougher, meaner and with a badder beard.

Ovechkin was next to do his thing. With less than a minute in the first he chipped one in. The place went crazy. I felt like I was at a huge rock fest and the buzz band just took the main stage. The guy not only lives up to the hype. The guy is the hype.

Departed during the intermission for booze. Man... even the GM Place concourse feels like the international village. Team Russia and Team Latvia gear was abound. Russian was spoken amongst men standing in the long line for the bathroom facilities. At times, I honestly thought I was watching a KHL klub game at Trade Union Sports Palace in Nizhny Novgorod.

Let's also not forget about the Latvians. Unbelievably, the loudest cheers and most lunatic fan behaviour came not from the Russians but from the Latvians. Cheers of "LAT-VI-A" echoed throughout the rink and the stands lit up every time the Latvians got the puck. When they actually managed to squeeze off a shot (maybe one or two in the first) you'd think they just won the gold medal. There is no way these Latvians will finish dead last in the tournament.

Which was proven during the second when they held the Russians to only one goal. (A power play goal by Malkin assisted by Afinogenov and Kovalchuk. The lines were ludicrous.) The scoreboard entertainment had also been adjusted for the Olympics as a video "wack a mole" type game came up, with one of the Olympic mascots jumping from tree to tree attempting to fool everyone as to his whereabouts.

Yup. "Where's Muk Muk?" was quite the hit, as that l'il bugger managed to evade the collective detection of GM Place.

And the second intermission interview? None other than Russian legend and acting GM for the Russian Squad in Vancouver, Vladislav Aleksandrovich Tretiak. I explained to Pajikastan that this was the guy that backstopped the mighty Soviet Union for years. The guy that could routinely rob the likes of Phil Esposito, Wayne, and Mario. The great goalie that even Ma and Vlad The Dad had watched live in Moscow during the '72 Series. Talk about a true statesman. Leading a contemporary hockey Super Power into battle while bridging generational gaps as an afterthought. I had to stand and applaud.

The Latvians finally put some buckshot in the Russian Bear, early in the third. as Herberts Vasiljevs snuck one past Nabokov. The Latvians went crazy. Life in the stands had gotten positively jubilant for the Latvians. It was 4-1, with the Latvians all lit up. Perhaps we'd get a competitive game?

Absolutely nyet. As less than a minute later, and in true Jordan-esque domination, Ovechkin stormed right back to the other end of the ice and put one in the Latvian net. This probably was the biggest show of Goliath crushing David that GM Place had seen since MJ single handedly destroyed the Grizzlies in '96.

The Latvians seemed deflated. But only for a moment, as they rallied behind their squad again. After seeing this game, I would love to go boozing in Latvia. It seems like it would be a blast. You could drink Zelta and watch your hockey team lose for a week straight and have a blast the entire time.

The Russians didn't let up. Zaripov and Kovulchuk added to the lead. The rout was on. We sat back and just watched this squad warm up in the opener.

But those pesky Latvians didn't go quietly as Girts Ankipans managed to put another one past Nabokov. The place lost it. Pajikstan and I jumped for joy as well. These Latvians, despite being a small nation, sure are loud and proud. Even in the face of vastly superior skill and inevitable defeat. To say they wear their hearts on their jersey's is an understatement. I truly hope they make a case for themselves in this tourney.

Morozov put one in for good measure. Which was fitting as that's also the surname of relatives of ours. Way to go to Alexei for scoring one for the fam. This made it 8-2 with a minute left. We all cheered and counted down the final seconds. Cheers erupted. Flags waived. Cameras flashed. In true Olympic spirit, the two squads lined up and shook hands. They all raised their sticks and saluted the crowd. Pajikistan and I hung around and watched them exit the ice. Then did so ourselves.

Never mind, "Where's Muk Muk?"

Where fuk fuk were we?

A what had we just witnessed? We wound our way around of the concourse and stumbled like sailors down Granville St, still drunk on the fumes of international hockey, elite sportsmanship, unwavering national support, and a standout page written in the history and heritage of our fam's squad.

Heats On Cypress

Woke up feeling damn spent today as I've been running at Mach 9 since Friday, fuelled by a combination of coffee, Kokanee and general Olympic euphoria. Stumbled into the living room, poured a large mug, perused the headlines, and finally caught up with the blogging (thanks for bearing with me and checking back regularly, she sure is a whirlwind right now...)

Had the feeds flipping on the tube the whole time, and finally settled on men's snow cross. Never really being a huge fan of the BMX race inspired event, instead favouring half pipe and the non-Olympic sanctioned slopestyle, today's mad dashes down the slopes had managed to pique (sorry..) my interest.

Warp factor speeds, banked carves, rocket airs and open ice hits had me locked in. As the preliminary rounds wore on, and the 21st century Crazy Canucks - Drew Neilson, Rob Fagan, Francois Boivin, and Mike Robertson - kept winning, I knew I'd have to leave HQ sooner than later in order to catch the final somewhere.

My destination? LiveCity Downtown. Grabbed the pup and we were off.

Marched down to Yaletown and followed our route along Hamilton St. Yaletown right now is an absolute zoo. Restaurant patios are full at all hours of the day. Screens from taverns broadcast any and every event going. I'm sure they've even got "Olympic corporate price gouging" on the home shopping network. Vendors are set up everywhere and the crowds look like something out of a 1970's Bond film.

My ankle is still killing me so I hobbled along, dragging the dog along with. All the damn smells from all the street vendors have got him pulling in every direction, and unfortunately in all of the vast mobs, Caesar Milan is nowhere to be found. But whatever. I soldiered on. If Getzlaf can suit up for Canada, I could sure as hell limp a few blocks.

Finally entered the fray, as LiveCity Downtown sits in the perfect spot, right next to the CBC building and steps away from both GM and BC Place. Line ups were already lunatic, but luckily two screens could be viewed. The upper three quarters of the LiveCity screen were visible from beyond the gates, while another full screen which sat on the Canada House roof gave a more preferrable view. I had a dog. I was lamer than a lame dog. Why bother braving the lines? I had all I needed. Even a Bailey's and coffee from the Media Club across the street.

At first I was a tad miffed that I couldn't hear any sound, but then remembered that Jamie Campbell's god awful commentating was a major part of my decision to leave in the first place. And this vibe had an impromptu "man on the street, try catch a glimpse of the World Series from beyond the fences in 1939" feel to it.

I turned to the Canada House roof screen. Cats kept bailing on the course, and since I couldn't tell who was who, I asked some a few on lookers.

"Was that our guy?"

"No, that was our guy," the stone cold serious German woman draped over the fence replied. I just love the Winter Olympics. The only thing that would make them better would be if the Soviet Union would just up and reform for two weeks every four years.

Turns out some of our guys missed the finish line as well. Neilson and Boivon crashed out of the quarters, and Fagan in the semis. From what I could surmise we had one guy going for Gold. And what happens right before the big race?

Canada House, in their infinite wisdom, decides to switch feeds to women's hockey. If you have read these e-pages in the past, you already know how I feel about the Canadian women's hockey squad. If you haven't, you will soon learn.

As that.

Is a rant.

Best saved for another day.

I readjusted my position, perched on the spot of the fence that the disgruntled German woman had vacated and strained to watch the LiveCity screen. Once again, here I was amidst a massive crowd, all caught up in the moment. All amped up on the imminent proceedings.

And what a race. The start lights went green and the four racers dropped into the course.

It was an absolute battle to the end. Robertson had jumped out to a quick lead after a spin out and tie up by the others close to the top of the course. He appeared in command, but that crafty defending champ, Seth Westcott was able to quietly catch up. After Roberston bonked the the lip landing a jump close to the end, it slowed him down, leaving Westcott room and momentum to strike.

Which he capitalized on and gained a slim lead on Roberston. As they both launched off the final booter, it still seemed like anyone's race. Just insane. Just crazy. Just Canuck crazy. I was jumping up and down on the fence screaming as if Henderson had just scored for Canada. Everyone was fixated on the screen, yelping as well. Westcott ended up edging Robertson in the air, only to cross the line by a mere nose.

Holy smokes.

My heart rate had flat lined. I couldn't move. People were keeling over, and celebrating at the same time. Nobody know knew how to feel. We had picked up another medal. The dog was pulling in the direction of the hotdog stand. It was the text book definition of what a gold medal race should be. The dog scraped me off the ground and we headed back. With a brief detour past the hotdog stand.

It was only Day 4.

HONGBO-WOW

So it's finally happened.

Olympic history.

Undoubtedly the biggest story leading into the Games, the nation and the world bore witness to a most memorable accomplishment.

And we only had to wait until Day 3 of competition. I don't think we could have made it much longer.

Thank God.

I refer, of course, to figure skaters Shen Xue and Zhao Hongbo, who laid down a near-flawless routine highlighted by side-by-side triple salchows, and in the process broke a world record by scoring 76.66 points in their short program.

Just one word: wow.

Oh yeah... other highlights of Day 3 included a bronze medal by Kristina Groves in the women's long-track 3000m speed skate, clipped by a mere 0.2 seconds for silver.

And... ummm.. anything else of note?

Right.

Our long national nightmare is over.

Merci beaucoup, Alex, for allowing us all to move on. You've singlehandedly refoucused media attention onto the positives, something we were in desperate need of.

From here on in, broadcasters will be able to follow storylines taking on a supportive tone as opposed to producing the selfish, pressure-filled, myopic tripe that we've been subjected to until now.

And I, for one, am extremely grateful.

Encore. Merci. Felicitations.

- the Skip

The Hit

Plenty to of angles to view with the 2010 protractor. Especially tonight with;

That 720, misty flip x-up to Olympic Gold?

So there I was at the shack, slinging shit per usual. However tonight was a smidge busier than usual with it being Valentines Day, in addition to some big convention going on in town. Had the free ski moguls on the Sportsnet, and kept glancing over my shoulder, when a split second presented itself, to catch what I could.

Sometimes this tactic works flawlessly. Other times it fails miserably. My Polski compadre, Sziz, and I were engaged in a spirited conversation with some snowbirds from Calgary as well as with a local West End resident. Everyone was eyeing the men's comp with the anticipation that The Nation would finally reel in the big one tonight. After last night though, things remained pretty reserved.

However, we all did notice that Bilodeau had nabbed first and was holding. When his run final run was up, I was fortunate enough that he was wearing a Canada uni and not a Cubs jersey. Around the joint glasses clinked, plates commuted to their tables, and prime rib evaporated. I was oblivious to all of it. For about half a minute I stood literally in the eye of the storm, eyes fixated on the screen as the bustling and chaotic establishment churned around me.

Sometimes you just tune in at the right time.

Watching Alexandre Bilodeau rocket down the moguls course could only make me think of one thing. Skateboarding. As I've mentioned previously, I've ridden some form of board for more years of my life than not. During said years, I've been privy to many, many, many sessions. And this one was one of those will be remembered for years to come.

Why?

Not because he won gold. But because he nailed that trick.

He took off from the gate like the demon on the Maudite label, and sucked up every mogul like it was the last pint of the aforementioned bière in existence. Knowing he had to come up with a seriously, continental sized run to clinch, I could only speculate what he'd throw off the first huck. But I didn't even come close as the bizzare McTwist x-up, (as best as Sziz and I could surmise) was thrown down with such authority and landed with out an afterthought that I knew it would be impossible to beat.

It was like a session of days past, skating at China when you see that guy drop in, who has absolutely no fear, yet all the balance in the world. The guy that blasts monster backside grabs out of the bathtub routinely. Only to veer hard left into the teacup and carve it up like it's a Christmas roast beast in Who-ville. And then when you least expect it throws down one move that's so insane you remember it for years. Like my friend who kick flipped into the vertical teacup. Or the dude that nose manualled around the whole park for a lap only to drop into the cup before annihilating it. The guy that doesn't own the podium but owns the bowl.

And that's what Bilodeau did when he launched and landed that crazy 720 headed beast. When skaters land something so sickeningly, putrid that it can't be believed to be possible, they bang their decks against the coping or concrete or whatever's handy.

If I had my board I would have smashed it against the bar, probably snapping it in two, when Bilodeau stuck it and kept going only to size up his next line.

I poured up a round of Maple Whiskey for us all. The snowbirds, the local, the Pollock and myself all toasted the historic Gold.

If Bode Miller started swilling this instead of Pabst, he'd win gold as well.

HEIL OF AN EFFORT

Dear colleagues at CTV, TSN, and Sportsnet;

Did you know that Canada's never won a gold medal on home soil?

And that no Canadian athlete has ever won a gold medal in an Olympiad that was hosted by a city in Canada?

And that there has never been a situation in which - during an Olympic Games taking place in Canada - an athlete born in Canada was crowned champion?

And that "O Canada" has never been played during an Olympic medal ceremony that took place in Calgary, Montreal, or Vancouver as a Canadian (individual or team) stood atop the podium?

And that there has never been a person who, at the time, was in (exclusive) possession of a Canadian passport while winning an Olympic event that took place in the summer of 1976, the winter of 1988, or the winter of 2010?

And that, heretofore, no person ever having been born in one of ten Canadian provinces or three Canadian territories, who, having been trained as an Olympic athlete, went on to compete in a domestic Olympic competition, and, after all results were posted - being timed, measured, or judged - was selected from amongst all other competitors (*caveat - this refers only to all other competitors, who, also having competed in the same Olympic competitive event, were not Canadian residents or citizens, and, thus, by extension, were - by default - residents and or citizens of other nations in the world) to be deemed the victor, and thus, in the process, was considered (athletically) - at a minimum, on that given day - the best (in a selected game, match, or particular skill set) of all (people who were born and / or resided under another federal jurisdiction, Canada notwithstanding, unless, of course, the compatriot bested another Canadian resident in an Olympic Games on home soil (or ice...or snow, if the crystalline structure of the solid-state water was in a slightly different form), though the second Canadian athlete was not granted a victory lap, high-five, or interview) - one person who, internationally, was considered (legally) Canadian left the awards ceremony with the largest bouquet of flowers and the shiniest and - when in consideration of current-day precious metals markets - most valuable slightly rounded object hung from a ribbon (or some similar manner of medal-mounting device and/or object) 'round his or her (or their, should the case have been a team, and thus not individual, Olympic event) neck(s).

Enough.

We get it.

If I need to watch Jamie Campbell and his over-coiffed 'do or Jennifer "need-to-eat-a-steak" Hedger remind us once more that we're still awaiting a champion here in Vancouver, I don't know what I'm going to do.

Which brings us to Jennifer Heil.

Poor girl.

With the weight of 9,984,670 square kilometers of rocks, trees, and snow on her 5'4" frame, she blasted through the driving winds and rains to come up a painful 0.94 points short of shutting everyone up.

And oh would that have been nice.

Not just because she would instantaneously have become part of Canadian Olympic lore, nor simply because it would have forced our domestic broadcasters to choose a new point to beleaguer.

Instead, I wish she could have won it for her. Just her. Not for the 30 million other residents whom she graciously acknowledged as having elevated her to this level, not for the seven-year-old girl who sent her a hand-drawn image of a Canadian standing atop the podium (on home soil, no less!!), and certainly not for the myriad journalists that have earned their keep to this point by going on ad nauseum about one and only one storyline.

The pain and confusion expressed on her face last night as she stood book-ended by stars and stripes revealed that the woman we all respect and admire and whose spirit we all aspire to embody has hopes and dreams of her own.

For the 30 minutes following the final run leading up to the podium ceremony, she was the seven-year-old girl who wanted to sketch out a childhood dream with her sharp new set of Crayolas and send it away to her hero.

If only someone had given her a piece of paper.

Jennifer. From the Sugar Shack, we're proud of you. And don't let any Duthie, Osmak, or Williams make you think any differently.

Not for one moment.

- the Skip

The Western Perspective Part 2

Ok this thing has really become the post that would not die. I could probably spend all 17 days just writing about the Opening Ceremonies themselves. But nay, too much going on. We wrap'er up today.

The following is our squad's collective experience and analysis on random key moments of the Opening Ceremonies. From our vantage point on the floor at LiveCity Yaletown :

The Video Part To End All Video Parts. For more years than I've lived on this planet than not, I have ridden some form of board or another. So the back country snowboard drop in montage and subsequent line etched down the mountain was met with great Maniwaki approval. It was one of the greatest pieces of riding footy I've ever witnessed. And even better, to buck convention, the rider wasn't clad in the stereotypical red jacket. He dropped gaps and spuns threes down the face, eventually flying through the rapidly illuminated maple leaf. So far. So good. Real good in fact.

The Anthem. I know there's a lot of opposition out there regarding new Nikki's rendition. (Where did she come from? I hadn't heard of her until a few days ago.) Welling with national pride, I attempted to sing along, but couldn't muster a syllable never mind a line as the magnitude of such an enormous moment, coupled with our immediate surroundings was to say the least, quite moving. This was like Canada Day on MGH. (moose growth hormone) Finally I belted out a very out of tune "...glorious and free!!! (hey...she changed the key, not me.) but that was about it. Dice turned around, acknowledging the sheer awesomeness of the occasion as well. The two of us hadn't stood in the midst of such a swell of patriotism since Grade 5 when we both got chosen to read our Remembrance Day poems in front on the entire school. And tried our damndest not to break out into fits of hysterical laughter as we stood on the stage.

The Big Bear. On this I must concur with the Skip. Haven't we all seen this a million times? Everything was going so well and now it seemed like we were subjecting the world to a show you'd see at Canada's Wonderland. I feared where the rest of the evening was going after such a strong start. Which as confirmed by the appearance of ;

Nelly and Bryan. Look, I know a lot of Canadian music fans have a hate on for Bryan. Not me though. I had a copy of Reckless when I was a kid which I rocked out routinely too. Nelly's got some standout tracks over the last few years as well, especially those Timbaland jams. However, watching them belt out this dreadful, overproduced jingle (written by I don't know who...I hope its not David Foster) made me feel like I was watching a cross between the Junos and the end of The Phantom Menace.

But Then The Ice Cracked. Which of course I had to applaud. The technological acrobatics performed in the stadium were quite a marvel indeed. The cracking ice. Wow. And the whales??? What!!!??? Was this the same floor that Lui Passaglia place kicked on for so many years? Wasn't he scared of all those orcas? I was astonished. So was the entire Yaletown congregation.

Sarah's Interlude. Like how could this not happen? Especially at the point where the snowy landscape finally subsides to allow lush BC greenery to take root and sprout. (no not that kind...) Talk about the Lilith Fair moment of the whole Ceremonies. Let's just say I understood I could appreciate its logical place in the program. And that's about it. Next.

The Many Nations. There is much controversy within the respective culture over the participation of some of the Indigenous Peoples in the Olympics and at the Opening Ceremonies. I, however, really had to applaud the heavy emphasis of the program which spotlighted First Nations people from all corners of the country. From the tundra, to the plains to all coasts. I know wasn't everyone, and I know that everyone didn't necessarily want to be included. And maybe some groups will brand it as over glossing, propaganda and a mere token gesture. But the way I saw it was that cultures of many Nations were celebrated and broadcast to billions of people. This is a good thing. With this in mind;

How About This Guy? How about the hip hop slam dunk by Shane Koyczan? Not only did he bring the ruckus to BC Place, the Live City, the Lower Mainland, the Province and the Nation. He brought it to the globe. Still think T.O. is the centre of the universe? Try Koyczan's centre ring perch in BC Place during the Opener. He literally radiated the aurora borealis as he so eloquently rhymed and wove a Canadian tapestry so vibrant that if it were tangible it could sit next to any Group Of Seven piece. Talk about the sleeper hit of the whole night.

And Yeah That's Just Some Sand In My Eye. I don't know what's wrong with me. Am I just getting older? And more parental by default, despite the fact I have no kids? Or maybe I've just been in the West End far too long and have picked up a sensitivity to the subtleties and nuances of musical and theatrical performance by osmosis?

I don't know and I really can't explain it. For all intents and purposes I should have scoffed at the prairie Peter Pan as he vaulted his way over the fields of the shimmering and elusive wheat fields. Yet I couldn't look anyone in the eye, flipped up my hood and turned my attention to the further screen. And just grinded through it.

For whatever remote reason this bit really reefed on the heart strings. It makes no sense. Perhaps it was the Joni Mitchell soundtrack (the Spouse's absolute favourite). Maybe it was Superman-esque "higher than a tall building" vault over the endless fields (which always gets me) Broadcast right next to the cityscape back drop of where I live now? Added to the fact that I was experiencing this massive global welcome with some of my best friends from back home that I've know all my life? As well as the entire city, the entire country and hell.. what felt like the entire galaxy at that point?

It really was my "Who Has Seen The Wind Moment". And it really got me. And it came out of nowhere.
Jesus, I feel like Messier at one of his sweater raising ceremonies. Let's just move on before this gets any more messy.


Hallelujah. As the silhouette appeared amidst the dry ice, our squad immediately braced for impact as we assumed that we'd have to slog through a schmoltzy Michael Buble number. It was raining already and we'd been standing for a long time. This didn't need to happen. You can imagine how relieved we were when the shadowy figure was revealed to be KD Lang. There's really not much to say. You saw it. I saw it. In 50 years, that performance will be running on the CBC feed out to the lunar colonies during retrospective Canadiana programs. My friend Doug said it best the next day;

"If that's the voice of Canada, I'll stand on guard for thee."

The Finale. We at Live City were losing it. We had been standing for hours, the rains were coming down, and here we finally were witnessing history. These final minutes I'll remember forever. Donald Sutherland, and Betty Fox leading the Olympic Flag procession. Rick Hansen emerging out of the smoke to be the first to bring the torch on it's final victory lap. Steve Nash getting an absolutely deserved Olympic moment. My new Canadian hero, Catriona Le May Doan, remaining cooler than everyone else during the drawn out delay, then seamlessly turning with the torch to face the crowd when the Canadarm failed. (It is a true shame that she never got to physically light the cauldron, but wow, she sure did in spirit. She definitely beats Phil Espisito's slip up to bow, for Greatest Canadian Recovery Of All Time.

And I swear that at that moment, one of the Olympic Gods must've been on a lark, because not long after after Brian Williams voice came over the airwaves, "There seems to be a problem with one of the pillars..." as we all recoiled in collective disbelief, the PVR settings suddenly were displayed over both LiveCity Screens. Complete with channel lineup and record settings displayed in all of it's digital glory. The entire place let out a thunderous laugh, and loosened right up.

There we all were. Despite all the controversy, the debate, the miscues, the weather concerns, and this last gaffe, there stood thousands of Canadians braving the elements, braving everything and in the end letting it all just roll off our back like we always do.

Finally the cauldron rose, the pillars placed, and Greene, Nash, LeMay Doan, and the Great One lit The Flame for all of us. Tangibly and by proxy. I like to think that during the lighting, Catriona Le May Doan was a beacon for the rest of us. She symbolically held the flame for every single Canadian on the floor and reminded us that while we all couldn't stand on the BC Place floor and light the flame, we actually were doing so in spirit.

Picking Up The Last Leg. Of course the only guy in the entire country who could take the torch to it's last lighting at the Convention Cenre was The Great One. We all screamed and cheered. I probably haven't rooted for Wayne with such fervour since the Cup run of '84. Say what you will about the pick up truck convoy, but in the end, especially after everything that had happened, it was fitting.

Live City laughed like banshees as the screen showed average guys randomly run after the truck, joining in the relay. The hotel/bar worker that initiated the first sprint after the truck. The Native kid on the bike that kept pace. The hooting and hollering from average Canadians on the sidelines. This was Georgia St in Vancouver and this was practically any street in Canada. These are the cats I see every day. So do you. In the end, I loved every second of it.

And it was a nice way to end the journey. As Wayne finally made his way to the Convention Centre, we all braced for one last ignition. It was raining pretty hard, and much had already happened. We all took a collective breath. And held it as Wayne managed to light the pillar (so far so good) the flame inched its way up (come on, you can make it) seemed to briefly fizzle for split second at the top (oh no not again!!!) and then finally exploded with light to signal to the lower mainland and the world that despite some adversity, it just didn't matter:

The 2010 Winter Olympics in beautiful Vancouver and Whister British Columbia were finally here. Glorious and freely, we exited the gates, took our eyes off the stage and joined the world.