The year I went to the Winter Olympics

Friends,

It's been kind of a good month for me. I saw my team win the freaking Super Bowl. I was promoted at work. I spent four days with the fam down in San Diego, returned to work for one day (long enough to win a raffle) then left for Vancouver and the Winter Olympics. Giddyup.

If Mark Twain could live two weeks off a good compliment, I should be able to milk these for a solid 3-6 months, right? I mean, sometimes I'll just be driving down the street listening to some country song when it hits me Tough Actin' Tinactin style: The Saints won the Super Bowl, and I saw it in person.

(and I got promoted...and San Diego...and the Winter Olympics...baby, I am a lucky man)

In most stages of my life I would be nervously waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not this time. Things are going my way. Let's see how long we can ride this out.

Speaking of things going my way, let's talk about the incredible last minute decision to watch the USA - Canada hockey game in Canada, shall we? The original plan was to beat border traffic by leaving early Sunday morning. Thankfully, we came to our senses: let's watch the game, cheer on our underdog team, leave by 7:30, home by 2 AM. Game on.

And what a game it was. You know the game story already, so let me add some commentary rather than synopsis:

First of all, you should know that Canadians are insane for hockey. I'm sure you've heard as much; to paint the picture a little further this is like football in Green Bay, soccer in Brasil, playoff baseball in Boston...but if possible, this is actually more insane. We're talking pickup hockey games on Granville Street, more Crosby jerseys than cars, people cheering and high-fiving Friday night for an ordinary victory over Switzerland 30 hours earlier. Something like half the country -- including people in The Yukon, Northwest territories, et al -- watched the USA - Canada game. I literally cannot imagine what Vancouver will be like if Canada storms back to win gold.

Suffice it to say, we were outnumbered at the sports bar. I'm guessing the ratio was something like 198 to 11, though these are unofficial numbers. Yet there we were, sporting the American flag amidst the focused energy of Canadians flags, syrup, jerseys and clamato-infused daytime drinks (apparently they don't have tomato juice up north).

And...it was awesome. Just awesome. I'm not exactly the most patriotic of people -- I've famously rooted for Japan in Little League baseball and Italy over the US in soccer -- but there's nothing like a border war to help me locate that part of my personality. With every shot and especially with every goal I found that extra level as a fan -- my voice deepening, my throat throwing out the volume with more gusto. The game grew so exciting I even forgot about the Seinfeld's car level of BO coming from the Canadian behind us.

(and yes, I did run across the street for Febreze. Gotta combat the BO somehow)


After the US went up 4-2, we were cut off from the bar -- as an issue of policy, not one of belligerence. The Canadian goal made it 4-3 and we knew things would be insane down the stretch. After the empty net goal sealed up the victory, the texts started rolling in. I don't think any of us actually thought "we" would win this game. It is so much more fun to root for the underdog. The whole situation is gravy. Especially when, as we've established, it's your year and nothing can go wrong.

My friend Bryan after the first goal

Other highlights:
Curling
We went Saturday night. Previous to this I had never realized Olympic events could be in a residential neighborhood, but...let's just say we were on the verge of being written up for noise violations as we left the rink. To grasp this, picture the residential town 20 minutes outside of whatever city you're in, then envision there being an Olympic event there (giving hope to places like Wyndmoor, PA, Medford, MA, Beaverton, OR and Estes Park, CO).

My friend Charles, watching every moment of Olympic coverage with his newborn daugher, texted me to do something crazy. Apparently curling had been on all day. Charles, you texted the right man. Within minutes, we were selecting a British curler to cheer for, giving him a ridiculous nickname and -- because Josh does freelance graphic designer in his spare time -- headed to Kinko's to have official signs printed. And thus David Murdoch became David "The Duck" Murdoch:


Random awesomeness from this game (match?). Britain is beating Canada 6-5 headed into the 10th and final end (inning). Josh and I are in the middle of quacking aloud (you know, for "The Duck") when the crowd bursts into a spontaneous "Oh Canada." Talk about your goosebump moments. Suffice it to say I don't think this would happen in the U.S.

The curling club
We had to pay a one dollar (yes, one dollar) cover charge to get in here. I've never been to an elks club before but I would imagine this is what it's like. Good times, but we were the youngest people in there by at least 86 years...and let's just say I don't think my future wife is hanging out in a curling bar right now. Note the dim lighting and overall Jane Fonda-era vibe in the below:


TV Interviews
Several of the countries had “houses” that were meant to enlighten you on culture in that country. So, the German house served bratwurst, the Russian house focused on Vodka, the American house left the water running all day, that sort of thing. Anyway, we were in the corner of the Swiss house, minding our own Canadian-beer influenced business, when I saw a camera crew setting up. I recognized some sort of foreign characters on their microphone and pointed to my roommate Josh (who speaks Chinese). Improbably, inexplicably, this strategy worked. The news team immediately started walking in our direction. Instead of wanting to speak to my Chinese roommate, however, they want to speak to all of us* and they want to do so in English

*This is where I switch to present tense. I know you’re not supposed to switch tenses and especially not in mid-sentence. I can’t help it. When I’m excited I want to be in present tense

They ask us why we’re at the Swiss house. I answer. They ask whether we’ve been to other houses. Josh answers. They ask all these other questions and then they get to what everyone’s been wondering:

White Chinese Reporter: And do you have any special connection to Switzerland?
Me: Actually I do. In 1987 my parents took my brother and I over there to visit some friends they had made. We loved it in Switzerland but what I really remember is that it was the first time my parents ever heard me curse.

I look back at the reporter. He has an amused smile on his face. True, it may have been “Americans are such idiots” amused. But the relevant word here is still "amused."

Fast forward two days. It’s Sunday. We’re making our last run through the city before hitting The Regal Beagle sports bar for USA – Canada. We head to the German house for the first time. It’s awesome. As soon as you enter, you’re greeted with a huge selection of German beers and meats. I order a bratwurst. I drench it with slaw and mustard. The rest of my friends head inside but for some reason it’s necessary for me to finish eating prior to entering the beer hall. I take too aggressive a bite of the brat and the meat/slaw portion starts squirting out the other end of the bun. My meat to bun proportion is way off.

In front of me a woman from NBC is interviewing the head of the German house…
and she stops…
and she turns…
and she looks me in the eye and starts walking in my direction…
and I make eye contact back at her and…
ZOMG, am I going to be interviewed by two international news networks in three days? Are all my ex-girlfriends going to see my on TV and know the mistake they made?

I start thinking of other war stories from the 1987 Pacchione European Vacation and…she sees a cute blonde decked in out in USA paraphernalia, right down to the country name painted on her cheeks. Wait! No! That's my interview!

But alas. On the day of the biggest American hockey game in 30 years, a cute blonde with an American hat and red, white and blue "USA" painted on her cheeks apparently looks the part better than a dude wearing an orange Syracuse shirt.

I walk by them. Lindsay has a huge smile on her face and is being asked to sample a bratwurst before a national audience, telling the world what her connection to the German house is. There I stand, not three feet away, betrayed by my lack of painted patriotism.

Oh well. At least I'll know for next time. Until then, I'll always have Chinese TV.