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.

The Western Perspective Part 1

Well if there was ever a night to be a proud Canadian and drink way too much beer, last night was it. As is evident by the HQ couch as it cradles both mine and the Spouses sorry Canuck carcasses, as we attempt to fling syllables at each other while flipping through the channels.

Yup. Just hung. One big Olympic sized, "ouch."

So by now I'm sure you've read the Skip's damning report from l'est regarding last night's Opening Ceremonies. I had a really good guffaw over it this morning as it helped sooth my screaming brain cells. Whilst I agree with some of the assessments put forth, I must paint an entirely picture of last night's soiree.

From the other side of The Dominion;

The call came in early in the week from my friend and fellow Doukabour, Mike. He was assembling a squad to watch the Opening Ceremonies and wanted to get into the heart of action. The destination, Live City Yaletown. It was a solid plan.

We all ditched work/school/virtual unemployment early and converged on the venue from many corners of the city. We had at least 3 hours to kill before the big opeining drop in, so we figured we'd check out a few of the "attractions."

What we were met with was one of the most audacious and ultimately preposterous displays of corporate captivity that I have ever witnessed. First things on the agenda was securing eats. As I had raced down to Livecity in eager, early anticipation I had forgotten to lunch so I hit the international smorg.

And oooohhh, nothing like a selection of jamaican patties, calzone, and butter chicken from a myriad of nations to make a guy feel like the world really was in town. Where would I start?

In the end Dice and I decided to go domestic, each ordering a bison burger from the Canada kiosk. Forget the rest of the ruckus surrounding The Games so far. The failing torch pillar, the rain on Cypress and the not so peaceful protest, the real underlying tragedy at these Olympics so far is the ultimately wretched, processed, crap that's slopped out for 8 bucks at official sites.

So vile this sandwich was it made the menu at COSTCO seem innovative and delectable. And that goes across oceans. The 1/2 bbq chicken I consumed not an hour later from the India counter didn't fare much better. By this point I was just eating for padding and to avoid being starved during the ceremony. I still regret not asking for $20 in loons and popping them intermittently like tic taks.

[in a bit of an unorthodox move, I am posting only the first bit of our ceremony experience, as even typing each sentence hurts immensely. Also I must depart for work, so the remainder will still be up post-shift.]

***

[Ok back. And isn't it funny how events unfurl. More on this later.]

We still had a few hours to kill so we figured we'd check out some of the promotional tents. Line ups were pretty long in front of some them. The cheery Coca Cola promo people out side the massive red Coca Cola Thunder-tent were even handing out tickets for admittance at a later time. They were very secretive about what was inside. If we elected to return it would have to be in few hours.

We parked outside the Samsung tent. And waited for half an hour to get in, just taking part in the inanity out of sheer boredom. Turns out the inane wait outside could not compare to the sheer ridiculousness on the other side of the stantions. Immediately we were corralled into a room in front of a big screen and refused access to the rest of the tent until the Samsung promo video had played. I turned to the Spouse in horror. I felt like McDowel in A Clockwork Orange.

What greeted us inside was like a glorified section at Future Shop. A couple of cell phones scattered around the premises as well as some very rudimentary video games with that Quatchi character. All to live soothing soft rock by some songstress who just booked the most soul destroying show in all of Vancouver.

We escaped. Forked out for some overpriced coffee and waited. It was just about time. The Spouse and our pal Allison figured that they just had to see if Willy Wonka was indeed in the Coke Thunder-tent. They presented their tickets and entered. We didn't know if we'd see them again.

The rest of us scoped out the scenery, found our place to set up shop, and waited. It was getting electric. The stage had two huge screens on either side, both broadcasting the CTV feed. The best thing about the set up was the backdrop or lack thereof behind the stage, as it sits open providing a spectacular view of the False Creek. I would definitely be there on Tuesday night watching Alexisonfire destroy Yaletown, but there's a Russia/Latvia tilt to take in.

Finally, the Spouse and Allison emerged from the clutches of Coke. They were visibly shaken. Their story will be told at a later time. And after dealing with some of the Coke brass themselves tonight myself I can sympathize with their plight.

It got darker. It got quieter. And then wow. Thousands of voices shouted all the way to Gander.

And the show began.

Tomorrow. The rest.

OPENING CERE-MOAN

Really?

Seven years to plan and $30 million to spend, and that's what you come up with?

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

As the First Mate and I packed up the car to make our way home from watching what should have been one of the proudest moments in our nation's sporting history, she asked a seemingly innocuous question:

"So... what did you think?"

My response:

"Do you want the politically correct answer or the real one?"

Let's start with the good. KD Lang's rendition of a national treasure stands alone as the "wow" moment of the night, followed closely by the orcas and salmon swimming through the floors of BC Place, and, of course, the inevitable roar that greeted our darling Ms. Hughes and her HBC-clad compatriots as they entered the Colosseum.

The list of unforgettable moments goes on and on. For example... ummmm.... yeah... when they... well, no.... but it was really cool when... well not really... but wasn't it amazing when... hmmmm.....

Let's move on...

... to the embarrassment of a half-empty dignitaries balcony upon the ceremony's commencement;

... to the atrocity that was the performance of our national anthem, where those responsible for the musical arrangement felt it appropriate and just to take utterly shameful and misguided liberties by (i) singing it in two different keys and (ii) adding lyrics;

... to the honorable Mr. Furlong, who will undoubtedly use his Tipperary-kissed Irish accent as a crutch to explain why he apparently - despite having seven years to do so - did not take an additional twenty minutes to learn how to pronounce properly the eight French words he was required to say and bothered not to double-check if the sentences were even grammatically correct.

And these are just some of the details. As with everyone else, I could bitch at length about the individual moments poised for greatness that instead served as an immense let-down, but there is a much deeper and more important point that must be addressed.

The utter failure that the world was exposed to last night was not simply one of technical glitches and hydraulic mishaps. Rather, it was the inherent irony that - despite the insistence that we are now ready to "own the podium" and show the world who's boss - we consistently find ways to undermine the country's best talents by overthinking what should be seemingly straightforward decisions.

Take, for example, the (patently evident) absence of our greatest and most widely-recognized cultural ambassadors, Cirque de Soleil.

Rather than granting full creative control to Monsieur Laliberte and his equipe, VANOC instead decided to forge their own path by creating nothing more than a forgery of a visual spectacle. In essence, the planning committee deemed themselves capable of reinventing the wheel, eschewing the modern-day engineers who've already modified the wheel and attached it to the bottom of the space shuttle.

For Godsake, if your goal is to create a historically memorable visual arts performance and you have immediate domestic access to the greatest minds and bodies capable of doing so, why on Earth would you settle for second best?

* Note: Yes, I know, the company line being spouted throughout the media since 2006 is that Cirque de Soleil was "too busy" to devote themselves to the Olympics. Please. Do you think that they became as successful as they have by turning down opportunities to showcase their product to over a billion people at once? Really? *

Let's put this in terms that everyone will understand.

Imagine that you find yourself behind the bench of a shootout in a do-or-die game. Winner moves on. Loser goes home. You look down the pine and see Wayner chomping at the bit to get out there.

If the Great One says: "Put me in, coach," what do you believe is the apt response?

Would you say: "Wayne, our country's riding on your shoulders. Go get'em."

Or would you instead give him the silent treatment and hand the referee a sheet listing Theo Fleury, Ray Bourque, Joe Nieuwendyk, Eric Lindros, and Brendan Shanahan as your shooters?

You get my drift?

I suppose it is appropriate, however, that we chose to grant Wayne the honor of lighting the flame. Unfortunately, though, it was all too fitting that this came in the form of what was perhaps the most Canadian moment of the entire evening:

Some guy standing in the rain on the back of a pickup truck as they drove around for 15 minutes looking for a place to end up for the night.

Yup.

- the Skip

Just sayin'...

The Big Day. She's Here.

Just got back from the torch relay at the Inukshuk at English Bay. All I can say so far is that in the 15 years I've lived in this city i've never seen so many people to genuinely and overtly happy. Just beaming. It's like everyone's five years old and it's 6:30 am on Christmas morning, and the big present that's been sitting under the tree for what seems like a millennia will soon get the wrapping ripped off.

A quick pit stop/rest/blog post/coffee/hang with puppy at HQ and then back out the door to take it all in. And there definitely is a lot of "all" to take in. Throughout the next 17 days, I invite you to join us as we weave in and out of the five rings, experiencing The Games from more vantage points than a downtown east side security cam. If in the past you've followed these e-pages, I am ecstatic to report that that the cast of characters in this two week tale will be epic and extensive. It's safe to assume that we'll have some things to say.

Game on.

"Hey! Why don't you pass me some of that Athens' brand..."

On The Subject Of Policy And Placards

Let's start on the hill.

My sister and I had just dropped into the Harmony Bowl on Whistler Mountain and were flying through fields of fresh powder. The sun was blazing. The view was a spectacular panorama of mountain tops sprawling out to the horizon. Skiers and snowboarders were hiking ridges, dropping chutes and careening down the slopes. It was like a new section of the resort had opened on a cloud and everyone was welcome to check out the new lines. Just stunning.

I imagine it was the closest thing to what winning Olympic Gold must feel like.

It is with this thought in mind that I want to hold onto as I attempt to weigh in on the 17 Days Of Games about to begin. And everything that goes along with them.

Admittedly, there is an element of internal conflict I hold surrounding the Olympics. I'm a huge sports fan on one hand, yet on the other I'm a product of the punk rock practice of questioning those matters that need to be questioned.

When the bid for the Games was first announced, I couldn't bring myself to support it, no matter how much I wanted to see the games here. Do we really need two bobsled tracks in Canada? In Western Canada? Two speed skating ovals? The overall costs seemed to be pretty extravagant for just a two week shin dig.

And with the 6 bill price tag that BC is now facing, maybe they are too extravagant. Those are the challenges that will have to be addressed in the future, after all the hardware was been handed out and the brooms go through BC Place. What the total costs will be end up being, we don't know. We could break even. We could make the Montreal Games look like a case study in investing for Forbes Magazine. But for now, I'm not going to lie, I'm pretty damn excited the Olympics are here.

What I do know is that included in this hefty bill are some quality, big ticket items. A much needed upgrade to the Sea To Sky highway. The Canada Line, which runs out to the airport and alleviates traffic congestion. We don't have eight lane 401 style freeways running through Vancouver, and I would attest that most locals don't want them. A boosted transit system is not a bad thing. Nor is adding lanes to a previously narrow, winding and incredibly busy highway that has seen far too many deaths on it.

Then there's the issue of poverty in the downtown east side. Many have asked how we can justify having a Games when the poorest neighbourhood in Canada is blocks away from the Olympic Village. A legitimate question. As are concerns about displacing people that live in the single room occupancy hotels in the notorious area. (Which to my knowledge has not happened.) Our current Mayor, Gregor Robertson was elected on a progressive platform, with homelessness in Vancouver being one of his central issues. The city has not tried to hide and has even set up a media centre at Woodwards to attempt to explain the cities ongoing struggles with these complex issues.

Should they be the only ones to speak for the city? Probably not. However, at least Robertson and company are light years ahead of previous City Councills that would've stormed Hastings and Main with bulldozers pushing everyone out to Burnaby. At least he's facing the international media dead on.

Unresolved land claims are also being highlighted. And while I can sympathize, I have to question the Olympics as a forum to bring about this debate.

I have no problem with creative resistance and protest. I supported the Battle In Seattle and many of the other G8 protests. But protesters, petitioning during the Olympics have to be very careful as to how and where they tread, lest they lose many of those who would support them.

Why? Because as I said at the top. You are trying to evaporate the feeling of the collective "Cloud 2010'" that many are on right now. And with doing so, garnering new support is going to be a very difficult thing to do. In many cases you will quash in people the innate hopefulness that is the core of the Olympics Contest, which will only foster resentment towards you, no matter how noble your cause appears.

So am I turning my back on my radical roots and saying shut up completely? Of course not. To put it forth the best way I can, if you've got something to say, don't do something inane like this:




Instead, think more like this:



And now I will take my own advice and use my own damn forum to address a few things before we ignite the cauldron.

1. The VANOC Thought Police. Fuck off and don't tell what I can and can't say. If I want to walk around Robson with a shirt that says "VANOC THE FOC OFF" than I should be able to do it without worrying about Johnny Law.

2. The Corporate Racket. I've seen less thuggery on a full season of The Sopranos. This, this, and if you can believe it this are just a few examples of this corporate gangsterism. Who's really running VANOC? 50 Cent?

3. Stupid Protesters. Like I said above. If you've got something worth saying, don't get your dreadlocks in a mat and accost some athlete who's been training his or her whole life, most likely living pretty slim while doing so. Get creative, be effective. I don't know... go get a blog or something.

4. Bitching Local Yuppies That Are Inconvenienced By Road Closures, Noise, etc... It's two weeks. Get over it. At least the dreadlock guys have some legitimate shit to get worked up over...

5. The Weather. I am petitioning the Olympic Gods for no rain on Cypress over the weekend. Sun...ok sure. If you must. Just no rain.

Since I've rambled long enough, probably leaving much out in the process, and not truly nailing my point, I'll leave you with some words from my Ma. Who left this on my e- wall after I asked my on line friendsters to point me in the direction of some links regarding resistance and the Olympics.

After reading this I can only mumble to myself and bump into the walls of HQ since while I've always known that I'll never be able to write half as well as she can, reading this just seals the deal. See for yourself;

"As a lifelong socialist and proponent of justice for the disenfranchised, my words may suprise and offend, and because we are Canadian I apologize in advance. Protest is a worthy activity. But to be effective, it must be strategic. To attempt to draw attention to the miseries of our imperfect world in the midst of the greatest celebration our country has seen -- and needs-- is akin to throwing a birthday party for your child all the while reminding him that his grandmother is dying of cancer.

What good comes of ill-timed faux conscience? By drawing attention to the inequities that are an inevitable piece of our sorry existence at this time, we do injustice to those who suffer as well as those who have gathered to demonstrate what the best of our intentions and hopes can be.

There are two avenues to human perfection on which we travel. One is music and the other, sport. Let's forget about lip synch and steroids; cost overruns and spending. Let us celebrate the best in us all. I will pay my taxes willingly; donate to charity and continue to advocate for social justice. But for two weeks, I will celebrate and I invite all to join My Olympics."

Hey, those Olympics sound like pretty alright games to me. Real good ones in fact. Get the butane ready because the torch sparks up soon.

O-Links-Pics Rehab

Less than 48 hours until the torch lighting, and still many questions hover over the lower mainland. Let's walk boldly and without hesitation into this cloud of conjecture and see what's what.

1. Getz-Carter. Well looks like Ryan Getzlaf was spinning backside 180's into the unknown on Whistler the other day as well, as his tweaked ankle has got him labelled as questionable for the tourney. Jeff Carter has hopped a West Jet and will be on hand to suit up should Getzlaf not be able to recover in time. If I can offer any medical advice to my fellow Sasky. Heed this prescription and you'll be sure to suit up for the puck drop against Norway.

i. Find a comfy couch.

ii. Grab a six of Okanagan Spring 1516, a bag of frozen corn, a Costco sized bag of tortillas and some 7 layer dip. Put that ankle up,slap the niblets on that shit, forget about the Olympics for a day and watch the Superbowl rerun on the PVR. If you have a dog, get that li'l guy some salmon jerky and have him camp out with you.

iii. If your PVR feed is from CTV, please delete that shit immediately as you won't be able to forget about the Olympics for a second, never mind a day. Find a good old fashioned Yank feed, complete with the big Don Draper ads and relive the southern voodoo that was Superbowl XLIV.

iv. Pay heed that Manning couldn't win it himself and a balanced group effort with guts managing ultimately won the big game.

v. Forget that every game you play after the round robin will have the pressure of 40 Superbowls. Take solace in the fact that you'll be in BC, the province that has more flavours of weed than Horton's has donuts.

vi. Actually forget that.

vii. No wait!!! Actually don't sweat it.

viii. Think of Curt Schilling, lace that shit extra tight and go get'em.

2. You Too Vonn. Why? Because I want the chance to bump into you at Garfinkles. Yeeeeiiiiiii.....














And really;

3. If This Guy Can Play... Anyone can play.

4. And That Means Anyone.

Wednesday Morning Quarter Pipe

Ok. Not bad.

Looks like she's shaped, iced up and ready to go. And that all the shuttle runs and air drops have been successful so far, so Shaun White and his shred-thren should be relatively happy. For now.

However, the moguls aren't looking too shit hot as Canadian freestyle skiier, Alexandre Bilodeau, ripped the course on Monday. And not in the way he would've liked.

Seems from the story though, that much manicuring and grooming gave Tuesday's run a better review from Bilodeau (probably after a visit from the VANOC Thought Police). So the official line is that the moguls course is at best semi-rideable now and crews are putting in quadruple shifts to get'r done.

While there will be enough snow, in the end the Olympic Gods Of Mount Cypress will have the final say, as they ultimately dictate the weather the day of. VANOC and Rogge can appear as confident as they want and trumpet the course's readiness, but the fact remains;

If it rains it's going to be a fucking disaster.

Plain and simple. You don't need a pro pipe groomer to tell you that either. Just ask any local skiier or rider. These runs absolutely suck when its raining. I've attempted many a rainy run on Grouse, and every single one of them have been a complete waste of Sunday morning hangover on the couch with coffee and laptop.

I've even on occasion, wound my way all the way up to Cypress, with a full car of cats jacked up for a day's ride, only to turn around and limp back to town after being met with the dreaded, wretched, rain. I can't even fathom the thought of Olympic events being run in that swill. What's been a mild pain in the past for me and many others would be absolutely insult leading to inevitable injury to the athletes that have trained hard for years for this jam.

Makes a guy wonder though why the events weren't run at Blackcomb to begin with. All of this snow shuttling, stress and extra cost, could've been easily avoided, as Blackcomb has a great pipe and snow cross course already, as well as a moguls course. Might be a bit of a mission to get all the media and spectators up to Seventh Heaven, but not as much as air lifting in snow from Manning Park. Tell me this last week couldn't provide a full season's worth of material for Ice Road Truckers.

So Saturday. We'll see what happens...

Maniwaki Morning Quarter Back

Well, I'm sold. That was a game. Since the last few Championship games I've watched have been unbelievably compelling Hollywood dramas, usually decided in the last few minutes of the fourth, I should really get some raw chicken wings and a 12 of Bud tall boys mix it all together in a bowl and leave said bowl in Stanley Park as a thank you offering to the Football Gods.

From the Tyree catch, to the Cards collapse, to even the 13th Man implosion at the Grey Cup, and now to this onside kick business...I think I'm starting to see why cats dig this game.

So as there will be plenty of in depth analysis floating around the broadband and the fiber optic feeds, allow me to provide my rudimentary post game . From this angle:

1. A guy walks into a bar and says... "Sean Payton is cocky and arrogant, and you just don't want guys like that to win. I'm rooting for the old guy." This was last week, as I watched the Vikings suffer there own version of the extra attacker. Not being fully versed in the NFL's personalities, I considered this Albertan patron's assessment as I watched Payton in the post game. Sure the coach looked the part of a southern Florida MVP Fratboy, who probably owns the entire Limp Bizkit back catalogue, but I wasn't immediately galled by his speech or demeanor. I would have to see more in order to pass judgement.

2. And the verdict is in. Holy. Fuck. I haven't seen anyone take this many calculated chances since Christopher Walken in The Deer Hunter. And to have practically all of them succeed? In the end, he fared better than Walken did. Payton could walk through New Orleans with a coronet and scepter, fanning himself as pretentiously as Karl Lagerfeld after a Monaco runway show and it wouldn't phase me. I stand by guts managing even if it doesn't pay off. And that onside kick was the biggest sporting shocker I've seen since Jake Taylor's called shot/bunt in the final frame of Major League.

3. But what about the other Peyton? Who expected that roll reversal? As Simmons says;

"Isn't that the final stage for a great athlete, when we expect an impeccable performance from him during a truly dire situation?"

When Manning drove the wagons right back to Louisiana after the on side kick/td drive, I figured that Fat Sunday was about to wind down. I'm sure you did too. Watching him and the Colts connect on what seemed like every play was unreal. I don't know how he does it? I was terrified at every snap. It was as inevitable as watching the Yankees in '99. You just kept waiting for the other cleat to drop. Sure the final interception Manning threw was quite uncharacteristic, but damn..like any good hurler, he marched to the moon to give his team a chance.

4. But so did Brees. Able to match Manning, and keep it together despite such an intimidating Colts offense. In the end, I have to say that Brees didn't appear as dominant as Manning. But he was imposing enough to keep the train on the tracks. Brees's effort, along with some clutch D and some incredibly unorthodox clutch calls from sideline really made this a team effort. And thus;

5. The Best Team Won. Cue the fireworks!!! Stir the gumbo!!! Cast Harry Conick Jr as Brees in the inevitable big screen adaptation! All in all, sure it was a feel good story, but one I could roll with, as I was on the edge of the couch for four solid quarters. Even when I wasn't supposed to be. Man, the Football Gods do work in mysterious ways.

Maniwaki Pregame...

Much to come throughout the day. For now let's just turn our attention to the HQ jumbotron:



T Minus 4:40 to kick off. Ankle swelling has stopped and is receding. Have camped out on couch with coffee, dog and a bag of frozen corn.

T minus 3:47. Marc Savard has put Team Maniwaki on the board with a goal. Since I'm 84 points back in the pool and very lame and pathetic in more ways that one, I'll take the positives where I can get them. Oh look, Chara with an assist! Maybe I should put some cash on today's game...

T minus 3:30 Shannon Sharpe, Marino and Coach Cowher hit the airwaves. Complete with ostentatious analysis and laughter so forced you'd think the ghost of Joseph Stalin was just off camera.

-3:18. Wynton Marsalis plays over a montage of Katrina footage. How can you not want the Saints to win? That wager is looking more and more enticing.

-3:16. Remembering many, many, many foolhardy bets from many, many sporting contests past, common sense kicks in. Official Maniwaki predicion: Peyton.

- 2:10. Some incredibly long trailer for a flick that looks like a cross between Harry Potter and Big Trouble In Little China. It features Nick Cage looking like Blues Traveller and some kid that looks like he's an Effron. What??? The Sorcerer's Apprentice...???

-1:57. Katy Couric interviews Obama. I'm hoping for some Super Sunday gold. Jobs, the economy, health care, blah, blah, blah....I heard that he's throwing a Superbowl party at the White House and has invited a bunch of Republicans. I don't care about this politicking I could see any time on CNN. I want to see McCain caked on Bud while Senator David Vitter scrolls through the contact list on his blackberry.

-1:40. Steve Freakin' Winwood performing Higher Love? I know Vlad The Dad must be all over this. However, I must petition the NFL, ala Brother Carn and demand the return of Janet Jackson. Seriously. Ever since JJ gate, we've had nothing but safe, safe old timey rock/pop music. Look, Sir Paul, the Boss and the Who are great and all, but let's spice up the gumbo here. How great would the building bylines be if in January, Jackson, Lady Gaga and Sir Paul were announced as half time performers?

-1:32. Now we're talking. A "Road To The Big Game" montage of with some bone crunching metal.

- 1: 27. Cohwer goes to the clink and interviews Plaxico Burress, who got two years for shooting himself in the ass with an unlicensed weapon. I'd still be laughing maniacally if the whole thing wasn't so damn depressing.

-1:10. Oh look Marino has the sit down with Peyton. Look I don't hate Manning, and I don't deny his talent and impact on the game. I'm sure he's a nice enough guy. But goddammit I just can't cheer for Gomer Pyle. I just can't.

-1:08. Holy smokes, the Spouse got back with some koubassa but it's no good!!!! DAMN YOU CHOICES MARKET!!!! DAMN YOU!!!! Looks like I better throw some ice on the ankle. And some on my Super Bowl appetite. Damn. Nothing worse than foul koubassa on Superbowl Sunday. Lameness and patheticness have just reached surprising new lows.

- 00:53. Couric interviews Brees, as they stroll through post Katrina New Orleans.

-00:47. Holy Oly! Elizabeth Manley and Katarina freakin' Witt both laced up and put on a show at the Robson Square rink today. Witt is still as graceful and as hot as ever, and Manley...well...she's still the Sweetheart of the Stampede...How is she not married to Manning?

-00:33. Rihanna and Jay Z? Backed by a full string section? Interspliced with Saints/Colts regular season footy? Ending with Jay Z hoisting the Lombardi? Ok, even though I'm not a huge football fan, I'm locked the fuck in. Bravo NFL films, Bravo....You just managed to blow every other crappy extended movie trailer I've seen today out of the broadband.

-00:17. Fuck I stink. I need a shower.

-0:00. Missed kick off due to scrubbing and de-lousing.

1st Quarter. 13:07. Spouse has returned with chips, a fresh koubassa and beer!!!! Holy awesome Spousal support system! Lameness and patheticness have evaporated in one fell swoop!!! She's a real keeper!

Ok, Indy has just kicked a field goal, so I'm happy that bets were not placed. This thing could be over by the half. Most certainly there will be some sort of post game. Whether it will be extended or a byline remains to be seen. Go Saints.