A time to look forward and back

So, did everyone survive Amateur Night, er, I mean New Year’s Eve?

Not sure why – perhaps it’s because of a dearth of invitations or simply the ravages of age – but New Year’s doesn’t quite hold the allure it did in the past for partying or getting silly or even getting dressed up and going out.

Feel the same?

But, oddly, it does put me in a bit of a reflective mood, much moreso than, say, a birthday or anniversary or anything like that.

Not a melancholy mood or anything like that, nor a true taking of stock of where I am in life and work and all those things.

I just seem to spend a bit of time thinking about what’s gone on in the past calendar and wondering what might lie ahead.

It’s a fun endeavour at times, often brings a smile, sometimes being a wistful feeling, every now and then it can devolved into a wee tiny bit of sadness.

But I think it’s important that we all slow down a bit last night and today – not because of the banging inside your head or the party favours dangling from the bedside table as a reminder of some zany moments – but just because it’s important to slow down every now and then just to catch your breath and think a bit.

Think about things like …

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Best day, workwise

Has to be the Monday after the London Olympics.

The First Lady Of The Beat, Not Grace Kelly and I (along with our sort of new friends from Finland) at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.

It was a perfect end to a long, tough trip, just sitting in a classic pub catching up and telling stories and averting international incidents.

A great, quiet, nice dinner later that evening with The Mighty Quinn, a rendezvous with everyone else at the Ship Tavern to end the day and it was just about perfect.

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Hey, those of you Of A Certain Vintage.

Remember this guy?

Of all the New Year’s traditions – and I don’t have a lot except a grandmother’s insistence that First Footer be a dark-haired male or the coming year would not be good (google Hogmanay or first-footing if you like) – listening to Guy Lombardo just after the stroke of midnight was pretty cool.

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Best day, family version

Sitting in a golf cart at a nice course in Niagara Falls while Super Son was driving us around on a totally-relaxing two-day father-son getaway that was as relaxing as it sounds.

Not sure Super Son was as interested in the golf as he was handling the cart as a newly-minted driver but it was cool and fun and totally made me feel old.

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The hopes for 2013

No, I don’t do resolutions – they’ve always gone the way of the wind by about Jan. 11 – but this probably is a time to set new goals for the next little while.

Here’s five:

Better parenting.

Less, and eventually no, Fresh Air.

Good stories well told.

Less impatience, more tolerance.

The shedding of some excess poundage and a reduction in those ghastly blood pressure numbers.

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Three things I’m glad I saw

Diana Matheson’s goal.

Rosie MacLennan’s gold medal.

A full day at the gym.

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Three things I hope I see

A playoff game.

Super Son fully licensed and driving me around.

Smiles on the faces of friends.

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And, finally ...

A wish for good health and peace and prosperity and happiness for you all.

If this is time for reflection, it’s time to say thanks for another great year and a plea for one as equally interesting as 2013 unfolds.

I hope this little endeavour continues to grow and prosper and we find some more fun things to do.

As we’ve said countless times, this is like the world’s greatest cocktail party in some cool bar; people of all manner of background and location getting together to entertain and, sometimes, infuriate each other.

Not too many of us know each other, at least in any traditional sense, but we’ve come to know each other at some level, haven’t we? Don’t imagine I could pick too many of you out of crowd (we need to get a super-secret Irregular handshake or sign or something, don’t we?) but I know you’re there and I appreciate it more than you can imagine.

That’s been the blessing of the past years and I hope it continues as the next calendar year unfolds.

A very, very Happy New Year to you all. May 2013 be even better.

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Staying caught up is the next important task

Here’s a question we’re sure to be asked when it comes time to debrief after our London excursion:

What do we do now?

How do we follow Olympic sports?

What kind of resources – time and money and manpower – do we pour into it?

No easy answers, are there.

The thing is, I think over the period of the London Games readers got to know a bit about some athletes many had never heard of and enjoyed their stories.

Big names like Paula Findlay and Simon Whitfield and Jessica Zelinka and Christine Sinclair. Lesser names like Rosie MacLennan, Derek Drouin and Richard Weinberger.

They all captured our attention for a little bit, some more than others, but are they now resigned to small little briefs every couple of months on the back pages of the section when they compete in some World Cup something or other in some farflung locale?

History would suggest yes and that’s actually too bad.

I guess we need to make some adjustments to what we do in the so-called “off years” for Olympians, both summer and winter.

Sure, we should pay attention to the big global events, the world championships, the major meets in all sports, but I think we also need to tell stories about the people more often.

It’s hard, it takes time and a dedication of resources and manpower that a lot of media outlets don’t have in these times of cutbacks and shrinking staffs but I think it’s important.

Everyone I’ve talked to since I got back from London wanted to talk about the people they’ve just heard of and become slightly familiar with.

To let those athletes drift off into anonymity now would be a mistake, one we can’t afford to make, I don’t think.

Sure, the Olympics are huge and a natural hook for telling stories. But finding other hooks, telling other stories – and I mean stories, not results-based dry reports – is equally important.

Agree?

And if you do, keep hammering us until we do it.

Thanks.

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I just heard on the radio that Willie Nelson’s in the hospital. Nothing serious but …

Why not some Willie Nelson?

Plus, I (heart) this song.

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Oh, from my period of basketball neglect, I missed these two wee updates.

Canada Basketball’s had and has, a couple of girls teams on the go.

The girls under-18 just finished its FIBA Americas qualification tournament for next year’s under-19 world championships in Lithuania and finished fourth, good enough to earn a berth for next year. It’ll be the fifth straight time Canada’s been the world juniors for women and it pretty much keeps the organization on track to build on what the senior women have done.

And the girls cadette (under-16 team) is in the middle of its world championship over in Netherlands, they’re 1-2 with a day off today and a game with Mali tomorrow.

Once that wraps up – and once the senior men’s camp comes and goes here this weekend – it’ll be time to take some time off and take stock of where the organization is.

It would appear at first blush that it continues to be headed in the right direction; they have good people in place, a solid pipeline of young players who may one day be major contributors to the senior teams.

Of course, they could use more funding and sponsorship and now that the action moves off the court and into the offices, the pressure gets turned up a bit on the staff and board to make sure the teams have the money needed to run first-class programs.

Next year’s a big one – qualifications for the senior men and women for the 2014 worlds, world championships for the juniors – and if they want to keep the ascension going, some company or some rich individual is going to have to step up and help.

Know anyone?

Oh, and the other thing they have to do? Get Allison McNeill back under contract, if not for the next four years, at least for the next two.

Take care of that, would you, Canada Basketball people?

Thanks.

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No, I haven’t found any body parts anywhere near Casa Doug but the way they’re turning up all over the area, who knows what the day holds.

These truly are weird and awful times, aren’t they?

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Hang on a sec.

A 14-year-old girl swam Lake Ontario?

Gotta love those under-achieving yutes.

Seriously, I guess it’s just the natural evolution of kids these days but, man, don’t some of them do some incredible things at such tender ages?

Back in the day – and I mean way back in the day – some 14-year-olds were just trying to figure out how the world worked, not conquering it.

Well done, young lady.

When you hear about things like that, about kids doing extraordinary things, it kind of gives you hope that the world isn’t going to entirely to hell in a handbasket, doesn’t it?

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Okay, one more day of real-life stuff and decompression and it’s back to the regular grind. Wonder what that’s going to feel like.

 

And in the end, a nice day of solitude

Here’s the deal, folks.

I’m pretty much done here.

It’s been 23 days, my guess is somewhere north of 40,000 words typed, stories told, pictures taken.

And I’m plumb tuckered out with about six hours left before the flight.

So …

A few little things to empty the notebook and we’ll be back to something akin to usual tomorrow morning, if that’s all right?

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You may not know this about me but I’m not the most, um, energetic guy in the world when it comes to exercise. Sure, I’m pretty good sitting at a desk or on press row or in some media room but when it calls for an ambulatory day, sometimes I struggle.

Except, for some reason, the day or two after these Olympic things come to a close.

Four years ago, we dragged our dead tired carcasses up the Great Wall of China with almost the whole Star team at that time.

Yesterday here?

Was a solo day, most of ‘em had already blown town and – quite honestly -- I needed solitude more than anything. You come to these things and you cannot get away from people and if you can imagine the various personalities, egos and quirks of a group of talented writers and photographers, you can imagine there’s a clash every now and then.

Nothing serious, of course, and blowups blow over very rapidly but when it’s time for some “alone time” it really, really feels good.

So the hours-long trek from was unusual but necessary.

It went hotel to British Museum – Rosetta Stone is pretty cool – to Piccadilly Circus and the gigantic Lillywhite’s sports store.

Then off to Trafalgar Square for a wee bit just to see it one last time and then over to Covent Gardens and finally back home to the Russell Square area.

Or, right, forgot the other stops:

How does The Ship and Shovell (their spelling, not mine), the Coal House and the Round House sound as a series of one-pint resting stops along the way.

I tell you, a quiet day alone is truly an outstanding way to end a journey.

And where’s the final resting place:

Why, of course.

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So someone catch me up, please.

What’s been going on back home?

I hear TOD are in the toilet thanks to more injuries than anyone could have possibly imagined and the Argos just whacked their best running back for reasons that seem quite convoluted.

Anything else?

And that is going to be the hardest part about the next couple of weeks, trying to get back to some semblance of norm here and in other work pursuits.

There will be inevitable let-down coming off something on such a grand scale of this, I imagine it’s going to be a bit boring getting back to the relative humdrum existence of Raptors games and practices whenever they start.

The good thing? I’ve got at least a few weeks before anything really comes up Raptors-wise and the national team camp will be fun for a couple of days.

The bad thing? We need to figure out how to write the regular daily stuff in a different way, if it’s at all possible.

These last three weeks have been a hoot telling stories more about people than sports, I’m not sure how that translates back into a daily beat existence. Got any ideas?

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Know what we should do?

A mail bag.

Maybe for Friday if I really feel like loafing and taking a full weekend off, maybe for Saturday if other stuff comes up.

But let’s try to do one.

Do you remember the drill?

Thanks.

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Things I have to do as soon as I get back:

Watch Super Son drive. Yikes!

Walk Super Dog. Probably six or seven times tonight, that’s the kind of energetic little animal she is.

Hug Super Wife. When she gets me at the airport, Air Canada-willing.

Check in with Mighty Red Tigers. I think the regular season winds up Thursday, post-season might start Saturday. Kind of been out of touch.

Watch TV. Haven’t turned the one in my room on the entire journey.

Plop on couch. I need some sedentary time, big time.

Avoid work. Yeah, boss? I’m a ghost for the next few days.

That’s not a bad list, is it?

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All right, kids.

I’m out.

Thanks for all the kind words since we landed, it’s been a gas telling stories here that I couldn’t get in the paper in a million years. Think we’ve done a pretty good job having some fun, we’ll figure out how to keep it going when life returns to normal.

See ya.

 

 

 

 

Averting an international incident, and Canada Basketball news

I would imagine this is how some wars got started.

The First Lady Of The Beat, Cathal (Not Grace) Kelly and I are in the best pub on earth – Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese – having one of the best decompression afternoons of the trip.

We’re sitting at a table in the front room, which is actually a very tiny space in a centuries-old building that’s a rabbit warren of different subterranean levels when in through door comes this rather large man who looks – I swear – like Santa Clause. White hair, white beard, the kind of body type you’d associate with Santa.

Well, he and a younger fellow, speaking a language foreign to us, sit down just over there and we’re, um, eavesdropping a wee bit.

Can’t for the life of us figure out what the language is and the conversation goes like this:

Me: “I think it might be something East European.”

Not Grace: “No, it isn’t. Could be something Scandinavian.”

First Lady Of The Beat: “Is it Greek?”

Santa’s helper turns his head and says, in near perfect English:

“How about Finnish?"

Oops.

Seems the guy’s a tax lawyer or accountant or something like that, Santa – he really wasn’t Santa as it turns out – is his father who’d been visiting for some of the Olympics. The kid's lived all over the world -- he said he went to high school at Columbine as an exchange student.

They seemed particularly unimpressed with us, likely because we’d been chatting about them a wee bit. They seemed to think Canadians are the same as Americans, didn’t really get too excited about us being journalists and Pops, especially, just kept grumbling in Finnish about something.

Yeah, we sure do know how to make friends and influence people.

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If your day includes a quick walk through British Museum – too crowded yesterday to linger, maybe today will be better – and then a stop at public house built in 1430 (Thanks to whoever gave me the Cittie Of Yorke!), more wandering and the Cheshire Cheese, you’ve had a pretty good day.

And the Cittie of York is a pretty impressive building.

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Oh, right, forgot to tell you.

Steve Nash, in his role as general manager of Canada’s senior men’s basketball team, is bringing together 20 or 25 of the country’s top prospects for a camp in Toronto that starts around Aug. 22.

I’m told the college kids, the teens and the NBA guys are supposed to be around for the better part of the week in what’s a very important first step on the trip to get the team to the 2014 worlds in Spain (Boss? I’m going, right? Right?) and then the 2016 Olympics in Rio.

It’s same kind of thing Jerry Colangelo did when he first became managing director of the American team, get everyone together and on the same page, start some kind of team-building momentum that’ll make it easier for the guys to give up big chunks of their next four summers to play for Canada.

What Canada Basketball wants from Nash is for him to develop a family attitude around the team, make it impossible for people to say no when they are asked to play because it’s a good and fun environment.

The camp will do that, it’ll let the players start to get to know each other on and off the court; a journey they hope ends with a solid finish in Rio four years hence.

Oh, and I’m hearing that they’re thisclose to naming a head coach and Jay Triano, if not a lock for the gig, is certainly high on the list.

Not entirely sure that’ll get done by the time the camp starts but it’s really a secondary issue at this moment, this is about starting something for the players, to get them to commit to the future and feel good about it.

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I will fully admit to being out of gas over here now.

Took an extra day because at one point a trip to Paris was in the back of my mind but after 23 days here and an awful lot of buses and trains, the last thing I want to do is travel.

In fact, next time someone needs to remind me I like to go home on the Tuesday, not the Wednesday.

Thanks.

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Stevie Boy did some good work over here, it would appear.

That’s one of the weird things about being immersed in the Olympics, you don’t get to see what your paper looks like, you don’t get to listen to what your friends are talking about or what the big story of the day is back home.

You’re in a vacuum, you write, write some more, send it along and someone does something with it. There’s no true sense of how it’s all playing, you just do your best and hope it’s good enough.

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Okay, one more walkabout and then that’s it for me and London, I think.

And judging by the number of cars on the streets around here today, the locals are coming back and will probably be quite glad to see us leave.

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You know I (heart) you folks, right?

Well, I don't know who did it or how they did it or why they did it but to get back to the hotel room relatively late to find a gift bag of goodies with a lovely hand-written note from an appreciative but anonymous Irregular was one of the nicest things ever.

Seriously, I was utterly taken aback and since i have clue who you are, I just need to say thank you here.

Thank you.

A lot.

 

 

This one goes almost to the top of the list

Well, that was pretty a pretty good bash, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t at the ceremonies, that fell to a Spice Girl-mad colleague and I don’t do ceremonies in person anyway, but that was a good way to send these Games off to the recesses of the mind, a fun show that was far more informal than the opening and a party rather than a ceremony.

Heck, even The Who came back to life; narcoleptic and, well, awful at the Super Bowl, they obviously play far better at home than on the road at things like this.

So where’s it rank?

Totally personally, I have to now put it a firm third, maybe even tied for second, behind No. 1 Barcelona and right there with Sydney for a place on the podium.

Why?

Well, there are a few reasons, some personal, some professional, some institutional.

First off, the people were just incredible. Friendly, overwhelming in their numbers, always willing and able to answer questions, point in the right direction, help a fellow out. I can’t hammer home enough how the face of the Games for people like me are the volunteers we interact with every day, the folks here were top notch.

Professionally? They went swimmingly. Buses ran when buses were supposed to run, the infrastructure worked without a hitch, never had a problem filing from wherever I was and they were a logistical dream. And, as we know, it’s all about me. And us.

Now, coming off Beijing had to be a hard act to follow. The Chinese spent more money than imaginable, built exorbitant venues that were amazing; to ask anyone to match it would have been impossible, and unfair. The Brits? They built functional and not at all over the top. They combined history (Lords) with contemporary (the stadium was pretty but not overwhelming); the legacy will be the memories, not the vacant venues. Sure, in comparison to China and even Athens they might have scrimped a little but no one was worse off for it, and the aftermath will be easier to swallow.

No, the folks here should be proud. From the people holding the clipboards at the bus stops to Lord Coe, they put on a Games of which they should be proud.

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And, why not, right?

They were good last night, they were better back then.

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Quickly, a few personal moments that I’ll remember for a while

The shot

No, not a basket or a goal or anything really to do with sports. I got to see Nic Batum absolutely pull back and drill Juan Carlos Navarro in the jewels with the punch of the Games.

The beach

Of course you can build a beach in the middle of a historic area and pull it off quite nicely. Makes for a breathtaking view, too.

What’d I see?

I was there for the lone gold medal performance of the Olympics and I’m not at all sure what Rosie MacLennan did in all those flips and turns and twists but it was impressive.

Caught in the middle

Standing inside the velodrome – and I mean right inside and almost on the field of play – while a medal ceremony went on about 30 metres away was pretty cool. Hearing God Save The Queen waft down from the stands, almost everyone singing along, was super neat.

Travelling around

By my count – and you have to realize that after three weeks the mind gets a little fuzzy – I knocked off about eight venues and the only regret was that I didn’t get to Wimbledon. The best? We’ll get to that a bit later.

What you write

When I got here, and even today if truth be told, I know nothing about Katniss Everdeen. Yet he/she/it made it into one of my stories. A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do to get something filed that’s marginally interesting.

Best moment, sports category

Has to be The Goal. The 92nd minute one by Diana Matheson to end the football bronze game. I had to ask Cathal exactly what happened but I did have my eyes up when the ball went it and that was, by far, the most dramatic athletic moment I witnessed.

Best moment, non-sports category

I was sitting on a porch at Lords watching the arrow shooting and there was a band – an army orchestra as a matter of fact – just down from me playing on one of the verandas. No, it does not get any better than that.

Yeah, this was a pretty darn good gig, all things considered.

Glad I made it.

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Okay, have one little writing thing to knock off and then it’s off to explore this wonderful city. And that’s without wearing a credential around one’s neck and not toting a computer bag.

That’s going to be odd.

See ya later, will get to any comments sometime this afternoon.

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London 2012: USA-Spain gold medal game

Hello, folks.

Remember what this is?

For Canada: Good Games or bad Games? More bad than good

Holy smokes.

These Games are over today?

Seemed like it was just 10 months ago that we arrived, how come they have to end so soon?

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Good Olympics or bad Olympics for Canada?

As many medals as Beijing, fewer gold than at any Games since 1976.

Wanted a top-12 finish among countries and, as I type this, it doesn’t look like they’ll get there.

All in all, I’m saying bad.

Now, I don’t know how the Canadian Olympic Committee will spin it when it has its final news conference to wrap up the Games – and nor do I really care all that much.

From the inside, and I’d suspect from the outside, Canada didn’t quite measure up here.

Now, it is some ways unfair that we come to know some of these athletes for a fortnight and rush to judge them based on one performance on the world’s stage because all of them are brilliant enough to have got here, many have won World Cups or world championships and their talent cannot be denied.

But sports is about The Moment and popping a big one when everything is on the line. Greats do it – Usain Bolt, Mo Farah, Jessica Ennis, Bradley Wiggins are four who quickly come to mind here – and it provides those memorable moments that make the Olympics special.

Canada?

Canada didn’t have many of those at all.

Yes, Diana Matheson’s goal against France was special but it was cast in the context of the loss to the United States in some ways.

It will unquestionably “the” London Games moment for Canadians, won’t it? And it’s because there are so few others.

These will be Games we remember for Paula Findlay and the men’s sprint relay team, for Dylan Armstrong and Jessica Zelinka, for Mary Spencer, for the boxers who got jobbed, an equestrian scandal, another synchronized swimming debacle, for moments of disappointment and sadness on the big stage.

Too bad.

But that’s why these games, despite the medal total, have to less than anyone hoped or expected.

And that brings us to our lone gold medalist and I’m tying this just after 9 a.m. in London so it could change.

And Rosie MacLennan’s win should be held up as one of those huge performances that should be remembered.

Yes, it was trampoline, one of those odd sports in the minds of many, but the fact not many of us know anything about it can’t diminish the accomplishment.

Quite simply, on the day of the biggest challenge of her sporting career, on the biggest stage, MacLennan put on the best routine she’s ever done.

That, my friends, is an Olympic performance.

Too bad we didn’t have many others.

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They do this song after almost every final here and it’s very, very cool.

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Things I say every four years, Vol. 1.294.603

“How many rounds are there in taekwondo?”

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I think it might be the relaxed nature of the old pubs here that make me like them so much. Just blokes and lasses sitting around having a pint, no loud music, no servers wandering by wondering when you’ll next order.

But this was a bit much.

Looked up from my Tribute at The Ship sometime last night to see a lady walking with a dog on a leash.

Yeah, a dog.

Now, I don’t mind dogs – Super Dog can be a bit of pain but she’s relatively harmless – but I’m not sure they belong in Public Houses.

It was a tiny little thing – looked like a Jack Russell terrier – but, still.

A dog?

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Don’t forget, if you’re around when the gold medal basketball game starts – 3 p.m. here, 10 a.m. in Hazelville, check your local listings wherever you are – we’ll have one of those IGBT we like so much.

Stop by any time.

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I know I can get this back home, but The Swan has Staropramen on tap and it’s quite a tasty concoction. How come no one’s told me about it before.

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No, I am absolutely not going to the closing ceremonies.

They’re a TV show, actually, so I’m going to write a basketball story and find a TV in some little joint with some friends and close these Games the way they should be closed: Pint in hand, a wistful feeling in your heart.

But I will say this, wherever I am, there will be Brits who drop in for quick second to at least see some of what’s on TV.

It’s happened dozens of times over the days, when Mo Farah runs, people get off the street and into pubs; when Laura Trott cycled, people put lives on hold for a few moments, duck in to the nearest place that’s showing it and cheer.

The British media, for the most part, have been over-the-top cheerleaders for the duration of the Games, they hail their medallists unabashedly as heroes and it’s caught the fancy of the regular people.

We saw the same thing in China four years ago but that was to be expected; I have a feeling if you didn’t openly cheer for China you’d be kindly asked to go live in a part of China that no one should live in.

But here?

These people – public and media – are nuts. All this calm, British reserve has been, frankly, rubbish. They cheer and celebrate and it’s been quite something to see.

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Okay, gotta get to the gym and get settled and spend the entire bronze medal game and 90-minute break before the gold figuring out a perfect two-day mini-vacation in this great city that starts whenever my eyes open tomorrow.

I’ve got Cheshire Cheese, Red Lion, Lillywhites at Piccadilly Circus, maybe a shot back at the Cabinet War Rooms and Cittie of Yorke pub on the list. What else have you got?

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A fitting tribute to a great, great guy

Marnie McBean made me cry.

How’s that for turning the tables?

The COC did an outstanding job with a breakfast to honour the late, great Randy Starkman here this morning (it’s why I’m a bit late) and when Marnie got up there to speak on behalf of athletes, to tell the 60 or so people there how much my good friend and colleague meant, it just got to me and, truth be told, it had to get to every reporter in the room.

And when Randy and Mary’s daughter Ella and his brother Laurie reciting a poem they’d written in memory of my guy, well, it was almost teary time again.

Randy’s been a constant presence throughout these Games. You go to almost any event and someone asks how Team Star is doing without our anchor. People from around the world, guys I see once every four years, offer condolences and want the message sent back home as well.

And maybe that’s why I really enjoy these things and wish I could do more on Olympic athletes. It’s been my history that they are delightful people and wonderful athletes with interesting stories to tell and you can truly get a connection with them by getting those stories out.

No one did it better than Randy, no one in Canada ever will. It’s not an easy job, we are by nature and nurture a cynical lot who are sometimes as happy to find flaws as we are to find goodness.

But here, that cynicism is suspended. Someone back home last week suggested it was hard to write about the sports because we don’t know them and, often, neither do readers. But it was easy to point out that we’re not here to write about sports, we’re here to write about people who happen to play sports. It’s a very different animal than I’m used to, a very different animal than we typically deal with in North America. I can see quite easily how, if you did the job full time, you could get attached to some of the men and women and demand that people follow their journeys by writing about them.

Can’t remember if these were Marnie’s exact words but this pretty sums up what Randy did and how he did it for so many years.

“Randy was there when we were nothing. He was there when we became something.”

We knew what he meant to us at our paper and in our lives, it was nice to be reminded again what he meant to the people he wrote so eloquently about.

And he’s still with us in some small way.

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Anyway …

One of the lads at The Swan said I needed to hear this.

So do you

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Having been fed a typical British breakfast every day for about an eon – that’s how long we’ve been embedded here, isn’t it? – I can safely say it’ll be a very long time before I can handle beans and mushrooms with a morning meal.

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So, after two days of watching the American men’s basketball team here, I can safely say this:

I’m glad I didn’t have to see them in the first round.

Not that they’re bad guys or uncooperative or play with any kind of sense of entitlement or anything; in fact, I’m hearing quite the contrary from some of my boys who’ve been around them.

It’s just that, in some ways, the games I’ve seen have been boring.

Sure, there’s a little buzz in the building when they come on the court, people rise to take pictures of them when they leave it, the inevitable “wow” moments in the two games have been greeted by slack-jawed wonder and ovations. But other than that, they’ve been kind of boring in the two games I’ve seen.

Here’s hoping Spain pushes them tomorrow and it’s a game rather than an event.

-Things I hear once every four years:

“How do I get to BMX?”

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Hey, what are you folks doing tomorrow at 10 a.m. back home?

Want to come to an IGBT?

Just like the olden days with the Raptors, we’ll be here to goof around and watch the gold medal basketball game. Well, I’ll be watching it, I’m not sure what the broadcasters wherever you are will do.

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You don’t often see an accredited member of the media at a basketball game wearing a Chicago Bulls Dennis Rodman replica jersey.

I have.

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You know how you can tell we’re getting close to the time they put a lid on the fire?

No one’s running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to get to two or three events in a day.

There’s just enough to keep everyone busy and no one over-worked with one, perhaps two, venues to go to. Other than that, this is a weekend of press centre days and wrap up stuff and it’s a very normal weekend.

We deserve it.

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It’s official: Racewalking is the silliest-looking sport at the Olympics.

And I now know that one of the Aussies in the men’s, um, race, is about 15 minutes behind the leader thanks to the rather loud reporter sitting a row away from me talking to his office.

Oh, and the leader:

“Cheating like buggery.”

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There's a difference one medal to the next

Hey, sorry I’m late.

Was at a women’s soccer news conference that droned on over here this morning.

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Was having a discussion with someone yesterday in the aftermath of The Glorious Soccer Victory about the value of medals.

Not monetary but the value in perception and I think we made the case that not all bronzes are created equally and that team medals seem to capture the imagination of people more than individual ones.

The thing with teams is that they are an ongoing thing at Games; they play a lot, interest in them builds, there are more compelling stories to tell as the days unfold and there is a “win or go home” playoff round that can be anticipated.

It’s not to say a weightlifting bronze or a wrestling bronze or a judo bronze is in any way diminished but building to a crescendo as teams do just seems more interesting. Maybe that’s the North American in me, or maybe it’s the fact I like to follow things and tell stories over a few days rather than just do a one-off thing, but teams create a better buzz, don’t they?

Even if they ultimately lose, I think they just get into the collective consciousness a little bit more and become “ours” more than an individual does who pops up out of nowhere to become a one-day story.

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I am quite glad to report there are no stories out there of young fellas driving cars into houses on their first day behind the wheel.

Well done, Super Son.

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Who doesn’t like a little Vera Lynn to calmly get into the day?

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As was pointed out to me after I mentioned it in The Biggest IGBT Ever by a handful of helpful people in varying degrees of disgust, it’s not …

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie; Oy, Oy, Oy

It’s

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie; Oi, Oi, Oi.

Sorry for the mistake but I still hate that chant with, as a friend used to say, the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns.

Sorry, Australia.

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Yes, am off again to the basketball to catch the men’s semifinals tonight.

No, another diary is not coming unless they tell me to do it; it was fun but we need to debrief and see if we can make it better.

Got any suggestions?

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Conductor bloke on train to Coventry yesterday:

“First-class service is available at the back of the train and there are four cars. You need a first-class ticket to use the first-class accommodation.”

And here we were thinking we’d just trundle back there.

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We get to The Swan at the end of yesterday, guy behind the bar who knows us asks what’s been up for the day.

Been to Coventry to see the football, I tell him.

“Oh, nice. Football, good. Coventry, not so good.”

Bang on assessment. It’s a drab little city with, seemingly, very little to offer. It did, however, have a nice little store at the train station that’d had a sale on Stellas (two tall cans for four pounds) to make the hour-long train ride home a tad more amenable.

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Hang on a sec!

Dwight Howard got traded?

Wow, who saw that coming?

But he got traded for Al Harrington, Arron Afflalo, Nikola Vucevic and Moe Harkless and a bunch of draft picks from teams that are better than Orlando?

Wow.

Anyway, it does take time to see how trades of this nature really pan out – like two or three years – but the initial reaction is that the Lakers are waaaaaaay better and the Masai Ujuri could end up being the executive of the year.

You put Howard with Nash, Kobe and Pau Gasol and I don’t think it matters who the other guy on the floor is; that’s as good a team as there is in the league.

And Denver gets another very good player in Andre Iguodala from Philly but still has a trade exception worth about $13 million and, really, didn’t give up anything of consequence. If they use that money and add another stud they might not be as good as the Lakers but in an ever-changing West, they’re still pretty damn good.

Philly gets Andrew Bynum and loses Iguodala and maybe that’s an upgrade and maybe it’s not. If Bynum’s healthy – far from a sure thing – he’s as good a centre as there is in the league but for right now, I’d just say the Sixers are different. Not necessarily better, just different.

Orlando?

I don’t get it. I really don’t.

The four guys they’re reportedly getting are, well, frankly underwhelming and we have no clue what the draft picks will be but whatever they are, they are years away from being major contributors.

I don’t know – and no one really does – what other legitimate offers were out there and since Howard had handcuffed them from the beginning, perhaps this is the very best they could do.

I just don’t think it’s very good.

It’s not Williams-Williams-Mourning-pick bad, but it could be close.

Best thing, if the deal does go through? We don’t have to read one more sentence on what sources say about a Dwight Howard trade.

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All the right answers from Valanciunas, and Garbo's here!

I think I might end up liking this Jonas Valanciunas guy quite well.

Finally got to see him play in person yesterday and he actually wasn’t that bad. Ran the floor extremely well, good on pick-and-roll offence, not so good on pick and roll or post defence but big and quick and he’s going to be a player. A pretty darn good player it looks like right now.

Not sure he’s a favourite of the Lithuanian coach, who buried him on the bench most of yesterday to go with a small lineup that got drubbed by big, and very good, Russia.

But that’s one game, no sense rushing to too much judgement on the kid, I still go back to various reports from people I respect with no affiliation with the Raptors who say he’ll be just fine.

He does give a pretty good quote.

After introducing myself as a scribbler from Toronto, to which he replied “good to meet you” and that puts him ahead in my books, first question out was what did you learn here?

“I learned how not to foul out.”

Badda-bing!

Gotta love a kid who can deliver a line and someone who knows what he’s up against.

“I get tough lessons on how hard the fight is under the basket, I need to gain some pounds and gain some power. But I’m still young.”

Dwane? Have you been telling the kid what to say?

Next up for him is a couple of weeks off – he’s been on the go pretty steadily for about a month and a half – and then it’s back to the gym because now he’s got some idea of what’s ahead of him.

“I played against all the NBA stars so I think that was good experience and it’s going to help me for next season.”

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I come around a corner leaving the mixed zone after talking to Jose and who do I run into?

Garbo!!!!!

The one and only Jorge Garbajosa, who has to be in the top three or four Raptors of all time in my books, was standing there waiting to talk to Pau Gasol while accepting congratulations and hugs and kisses from a handful of Spanish journalists.

Garbo looks like he could still give you 12 and 10 on any given night but his career as a player is over.

Now he’s working for the Spanish basketball federation (“A big shot? Oh, no. I don’t know what I’m doing, they think I can help") and one of his primary gigs is to help prepare for the 2014 basketball World Cup.

And if you don’t think I’m already planning to weasel my way to Spain for three weeks or so to hang in Barcelona, Seville, Gran Canaria, Malaga and wherever else they play games, you don’t know me at all.

(Boss? I am soooooooo going. Thanks. Just wanted to let you know)

Anyway, another great Garbo line, right up there with “if I am the rookie of the month, this league is (blanked)” came to mind.

He used to bust on people, jokingly, for their choices in fashion, ties and shirts were a big target. One day we’re standing there, he looks at person who shall go nameless – honest, it wasn’t me, I’d take great pride if it was – and smiles:

“If you wear that in my city, you will get beat up.”

Love the guy.

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Think you’re having a bad day?

Well …

Pack up all troubles in your old kit bag, please.

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Things I never thought I’d hear myself say, Vol. 10 or so:

“You know, maybe it’d be kind of cool to do a day-long web diary of the basketball quarter-finals.”

And this is what you get after a dozen hours in the O2 Arena.

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Hey, this is Thursday, right?

Less than a week to go!!!!!! And if you don’t think Monday is going to be spent on a walkabout that includes stops at The Ship, The Cheese, Citte of York and The Red Lion, you don’t know me.

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You can also tell it’s getting close to the end because everyone’s getting a tad more testy.

Angry that buses are either full or a minute or two late, a tad hot under the collar at the crowds and the crush, a bit chuffed if things run even a wee bit off kilter.

Haven’t seen any true explosions yet – lots of grumbling last night but no swearing or punches – but it’s coming. Someone will tell me about some dust-up any night, I’m sure.

And then the Olympics will be complete.

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Okay, Mr. K and I are off to the football thingamabob up or over or down in Coventry (I should really look at a map) and you’ll see the fruits of our labour here later on.

You’ll also see or have seen (this time zone thing is messing me up big time) Christine Sinclair because did the right and honourable thing by delaying any discipline for the team’s antics after the semifinal until the bronze medal match has been played.

Sure sounds to me like the mandarins of the sports realize the referee was awful, she kind of decided the outcome of the match and know that dropping any suspensions before today would have been a gross miscarriage of justice.

And I wouldn’t at all be surprised if the whole thing is swept under the rug eventually, or a suspension is offered for some “friendly” some time down the road.

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And now, a personal moment, if you’ll indulge me.

This is one of the great gigs in the world, being a sportswriter. You see history on courts and you see history in the great cities of the world and it’s a priviledge to be able to try and tell some stories.

But there’s a toll. The 110 or so nights you’re away from home each year wreak havoc with family stuff, you miss things that are important because there’s not much alternative.

It takes great and loving people to put up with it, they sacrifice as much as we do, if not more.

They need to know how hard it is to be away on those big moments, how much you wish you could be there to share them.

So, Super Son, have yourself a helluva good 16th birthday, it’s a watershed moment that I hope you’ll enjoy to the hilt; I wish I was there.

And, no, you cannot drive the Smelly Ford Focus around the crescent.

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