It's more than just a day at the beach. No, really. It is

Have to admit, I’m starting to dig this beach volleyball gig.

(See what I did there?)

Great venue, fast and exciting game with other, um, ancillary benefits and the four Canucks competing are pretty cool dudes and dudettes.

Guy could get used to the job.

By if you think it’s all hits and giggles and Coppertone, music and scantily clad athletes of both genders, think again.

When I was talking to the fellas for yesterday’s yarn (here in case you somehow missed it and shame on you if you did) the ears kind of perked up when they talked about scouting.

I know it looks like athletes – great athletes, mind you – just playing games in the sun and on the sand, turns out there’s a lot of video breakdown and strategy sessions long before they get on the court.

“If you don’t stay up to date with technology you’re behind the 8-ball,” was how Josh Binstock put it. “When you start a match, you have to know their tendencies. Back when Mark (Heese) and John (Child) were playing (and winning a bronze for Canada back in 1996), they could feel it out and by the second or third game they’d know their deal. Now if you don’t come out of the gate knowing what people like to do, you’re behind the 8-ball.”

Like knowing what?

“What they do under pressure, what they do early, if they pass the ball into a certain place, where do they tend to hit it?”

The thing that changed it, and made it a far better game in my humble opinion as a longstanding member in good stead of the Canada Quadrennial Beach Volleyball Writers Association, was the move to have a point scored on every serve. No sideouts, put the ball in play and see who gets a point. It moves along rapidly, there’s something on the line every second and it makes it far better.

“It was hold on, side out, hold on, side out, then you make your move,” in the worlds of Martin Reader. “Here, by the time you decide to make a move, the game’s half over.

“You can’t coast through matches here, you have to come out foot on the gas pedal right away.”

So there is a bit more to the game than some may think.

Oh and did I mention it’s a great venue with a fast and exciting game with other, um, ancillary benefits?

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How come no parents name their daughters Petula any more?

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Couple of firsts yesterday.

Got on a single-decker bus.

Got call “guv’nor.”

Cool.

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Couple of questions:

Why do judokas wear jackets?

Why is a field hockey pitch blue?

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In a way I suppose this is good because you’re not eating deep fried brown things at 1 o’clock in the morning but, really, I think Our Friends The Brits need to re-think this whole pub meal situation.

At least in the joints I’ve been in – and I can attest the tastiness of a sweet nectar called Lightfoot that we sampled in the Ship Tavern last night – kitchens close at like 8 or 9.

Seeing how we don’t tend to get anywhere until 9 or 10 and could use a wing or a hunk o’ fish or a pie or something like that, it’s quite problematic.

Good for you, sure; but since when would that matter to me.

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Coolest thing I saw here yesterday?

If it wasn’t Yao Ming getting his picture taken while towering over two tiny volunteers in a car park adjoining the Main Press Centre, it was these cool guards down by the Horse Guard’s Parade.

We only stumbled upon them because a volunteer games us wrong directions to the beach volleyball media entrance with was the first minor hiccup of the Games; these people are more helpful than maybe at any Olympics I’ve been to.

And because we were right by 10 Downing and Buckingham Palace, the Churchill War Rooms and other pretty big spots, there were more soldiers than anywhere I’ve been.

And I did see for the very first time, heavily-armed army dudes – I mean like guys toting very imposing machine guns as heavily-armed – which has not been the norm.

Unlike Beijing or Athens or as far back as Barcelona (machine-gun toting dudes at the entrance to the media village there), these Games don’t seem to have that kind of overt presence.

Sure, there’s a missile silo here and there (although I haven’t seen one yet) and I know some of these guys are packing heat somewhere hidden but it’s not quite as in-your-face as it’s been in the past.

Guess that’s a good thing.

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Okay, Irregulars from here, I need a Pub Down An Alley in the Trafalgar Square, Horse Guard’s Parade area. Seems my days might end there for a couple of nights and since I’m in the neighbourhood, may as well check out a local or two.

Thanks in advance.

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Okay, can we please get the competition fully underway?

I don’t know, I’m sure I’m in a minority but I’m only going with “good” for the big TV show here Friday night.

Not ready to bestow “great” on it.

Sure, it was cool with the smokestacks, the flying rings, Bond, the whole sheep-in-the-meadow-thing and, of course, Our Gal Her Majesty Liz.

Nice touches, all. And there were others, for sure.

But if one of the enduring images many will have is of Mr. Bean goofing with the symphony, well … I don’t know.

The first part was very cool, although they kind of raced through the music a little bit and the ending was okay.

Not sure about the flame-lighting thing, though. I think that’s a one-person job, someone who epitomizes the host country and the Olympics, I get that it’s all about passing the torch and next generation and all that jazz, I think that might be better served in the closing ceremonies than the opening.

I don’t know if it should have been Roger Bannister but he would have been my choice. Shockingly, though, they didn’t ask me.

One thing they really have to do, and I have no clue what the answer is, is to find a way to shorten or speed up or something the parade of athletes.

It’s simply too big, and takes too long. I understand entirely the joy every last one of them must feel when they step in the stadium to be welcomed by the fans, the fellow competitors, the world. It is, for many, the best moment of their lives and it has to be a thrill of unimaginable proportions.

But it’s bad TV, I cannot imagine it’s all that much fun for the athletes after the initial wave of euphoria and while I wasn’t in the stadium I’m sure it must have dragged on.

Luckily for the athletes who have to compete today or tomorrow, there was a way to sneak out after walking in; they could make a turn and exit rather that stand or sit around for the rest of the night.

Bet a lot did.

Anyway, it was good, not great. Just good.

You want to come away awed or something when you watch these things open. The archer in Barcelona, Ali in Atlanta (and that was a sad sight, him there Friday), the spectacular expense of Beijing.

Today? Not awed.

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Ok, I owe Irregulars who gave me Lamb’s Conduit a great big thank you.

Perseverance is a fine establishment (Wainwright’s going on the list of favourite amber liquids, I’d say), we did wander down to The Lamb to check it and, all in all, it was a fine night.

Shefali and Kemi were entertaining in the “hey, we made new friends” thing that happens around things like this and how could you not like a joint that welcomes you with this sign on the outside wall:

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Hey, the Raptors did stuff.

Not at all newsy, of course. They signed John Lucas III and re-signed Aaron Gray but I have to think we’re pretty much done now until at least September.

Lucas fills a role as an emergency guard and is an upgrade on Ben Uzoh, as a fifth big Gray’s a solid returnee; neither will shift the balance of power in the league but they’re the kind of deep rotation guys you need over the course of a long season.

Figure Bryan’s pretty much out of money, roster spots and moves because there’s nothing going on with Calderon and nor should there be right now.

Time to let things sit, I think, and see what they’ve got when camp begins.

And I think, on the whole, it’s been a pretty good summer. Not great, not horrible, just good.

Who’s new?

Lowry, Fields, Ross, Valanciunas and Acy, right?

Who’d they supplant?

Well, Uzoh, James Johnson, Jerryd Bayless, Jamaal Magloire and Solo.

I’d say the new guys, overall, are better than they departed guys and that’s what you want, the evolution of a roster.

I have no clue – no one does – on how it’ll all work once they start doing things but there is more talent on this team than there was on the one that started last season.

Thankfully.

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Hey, members of the world’s press corps, listen up:

PERSONAL SPACE IS IMPORTANT AND AN ISSUE YOU MIGHT WANT TO THINK ABOUT WHEN YOU’RE IN MY FACE ON EVERY BUS AND IN EVERY QUEUE.

Thank you.

Oh, one more thing.

IT’S BEEN HOT, BUY DEORDORANT.

Regards.

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I have the vaunted basketball-beach volleyball doubleheader today.

Women vs. Russia in the hoops, men vs. the Brits on the dirt and since Prince Harry seems to be the patron of the host beach volleyball team (that’s a pretty bright Prince, I’d say) I may get my first dose of royalty this afternoon.

Maybe he’ll stop and say hello.

And maybe he’ll bring his sister-in-law. That’d be cool.

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London.

The Smiths.

Yeah, this works.

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I’m sitting in the Main Press Centre right now, a cavernous joint that’s the media hub at Olympic Park (each venue has its own press centre but this is the one with all the amenities) and I’m glancing at the many TVs.

There’s table tennis on one, beach volleyball on another, one’s got nothing but a static shot of the swimming pool, another’s got some rowing.

Yep, the Games are on.

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No, sorry, didn’t get to much of the mail so the usual fare will have to wait a bit. When I get some down time we’ll get to it, until then you’re welcome to try and say hello.

Click. Write. Send.

Cheerio.

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Guy goes to archery and no one has an apple on his head

Sorry I’m a bit late but this morning I was an expert in …

Archery!

Yep, renewed my membership in the Canadian Archery Writers Association this morning out at Lords, watching Toronto’s Crispin Duenas finish eight of 64 in the individual men’s ranking round.

That’s good, right?

Well, sort of, he said.

“Believe it or not, today was kind of a rough day for me, I know I can shoot a lot better than I did today but I’m really glad I came out with the result that I did.

“The rain didn’t bug me at all and there was no wind so that was really perfect, it was just perfect shooting conditions for me, unfortunately I didn’t do as well as I wanted but I wanted a top 10 finish for today and even with bad shooting I got it.”

Anyway, he goes into Monday’s elimination round ranked No. 8 and gets Egypt’s Ahmed El-Nemr in the round of 32.

But the real reason I went?

To see Lord’s Cricket Ground.

It’s almost 200 years old, seats about 28,500, is hallowed land to the sport and I’m glad I got there. It was one of the must-see venues, too bad there was a bit of a drizzle so the picture thing didn’t quite work.

My man Crispin – wrote about him in Beijing, I believe, which would have been the last time I wrote about archery – was kind of cool with the facility, too.

“I want to know how they do their grass because in a 70-metre by three-metre area (the length and width of the shooting lane), I only saw two weeds and in my grass, which is five metres by five metres, I’ve got I don’t know how many. I have to talk to their groundskeeper.”

The sound you hear is some groundskeeper getting fired because of the two weeds.

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So, you’ve all heard of Flat Stanley, right? Little kids story about the cardboard cutout who travels all around the world as something of a teaching tool?

Well, we’ve got Flat Randy here to honour Mr. Starkman. Dozens of ‘em are floating around the Games and we’ll present the final book of pictures to his family sometime.

Yep, I got one. And he went to the Ship Tavern with me the other night.

Wonder where he goes next?

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Raptors schedule?

Didn’t really look at it much, to tell you the truth.

Do know we’re travelling Christmas Day and that bites but after going through last year, this one’s a snap.

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So we’re sitting on a patio outside the main press centre sipping yesterday afternoon when one of us gets the bright idea that we need some snacks.

And, no, not McDonalds.

So what’s Not Grace Kelly find?

Mixed vegetable crisps.

Oh yeah.

Little shriveled vegetables passed off as potato chips and, I tell you, if there’s a more conflict-inducing snack than healthy vegetables that look like chips, I can’t think what it would be.

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Joe Jackson, anyone?

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Brian Williams is, without a doubt, one of the all-time greats.

Can’t think of a more authoritative Olympic voice than him, it’s not a Games without him and when we ran into each other yesterday, it was an honour to share some time.

And, trust me, when he’s talking you through the parade of athletes during the ceremonies tonight, all those little snippets of information he’ll give you come only after hours and hours of hard work and preparation.

We got a look at his briefing book, a binder that had to be three inches thick and, sure, he’s got all kinds of research monkeys that have provided him with information but he had so many hand-written notes, little facts he’s picked up because he’s a voracious reader of newspapers, that he probably could have done it all himself.

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Oh, to live in the fast lane.

I’m walking down the little High Street they’ve set up here between the Main Press Centre and the International Broadcast Centre – a row of shops and bars and post offices and the like – and I see two people sitting with Starbucks cups.

Me being, you know, starved for coffee and unable to find a Starbucks in the Olympic Park, had to stop and ask where they found it because I need to go there.

Well, it seems there actually isn’t one. Not unless you’ve got a credential that’ll get you in the NBC compound because THEY HAVE THEIR OWN STINKING STARBUCKS!

Us?

We have a little jam-packed coffee kiosk that makes a passable latte but not anything like I’m used to.

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No alleys last night, nice little reception at Canada Olympic House in Trafalgar Square and then some quick fellowship at some joint around the corner.

And remember how I told you that you can just walk out of pubs with your pint and stand outside?

Well, it works well in alleys, not so much on main streets. In fact, this joint – and I didn’t get the name – had painted a white line that patrons weren’t supposed to cross lest they get smacked by some cab coming around a tight corner.

And the pub seemed to have in its employ a young bloke whose only job was to make sure no one crossed that line, as we were reminded about a billion times.

No one did, though, and everyone escaped without be slammed by an oncoming vehicle on the wrong side of the road.

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Okay, off to write another archery story, maybe do some basketball and perhaps find a stool to watch the ceremonies. We only got two tickets and that’s cool with me.

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The best venues I've seen are down alleys; and some Raptors news

So I’m doing a little hit on the BBC radio’s 5Live show this morning (I know, la-ti-da indeed!) and the presenter (British for ‘host’) asks me what I think of the facilities.

And you know what? They are fine in a rather understated way, as you’ll see when this little bash full gets going tomorrow night.

Nothing too fancy or over the top at all, which is perfectly fine.

The stadium isn’t “pretty” by any means, it’s certainly not like the Bird’s Nest in Beijing but no one’s painting dirt around it green to pretend it’s grass like they were doing a day or so before the Athens Games began.

It looks nice but not overwhelming and since this little show costs way too much money to put on anyway, it’s fine that they didn’t go over the top.

Olympic Park -- the East End acreage that has the stadium, the velodrome, the pool, the arena and something else I can’t exactly remember at the moment – is, in a word, functional.

Lots of open space for the people to wander, the requisite super store of souvenirs, allegedly the world’s largest McDonalds (no, haven’t been; won’t go) and places where people can just hang out.

It seems to work and that’s what matters.

But what really matters are the historic venues, where they have married British history and sports tradition with the Games. We saw the beach volleyball at the Horse Guards Parade, they’re using Lords Cricket Grounds, Wimbledon, places like that.

The venues here are going to be less breathtaking for their newness and design but they might be more picturesque and more familiar than any ever and that’s quite all right with me.

Guess the goal is to see as many as possible, just to say I did it and if I can convince Tall Foreheads that I can get good stories out of shooting or archery or the beach volleyball, it’ll be possible to accomplish.

Getting to see the places is maybe the best part of the gig. The stadiums in Beijing were incredible (it’s amazing what a kazillion dollars will get you) and the ones in Sydney back in the day were just as lovely.

The best ever, though?

Barcelona. Hands down.

Not sure the view from Montjuic will ever be duplicated.

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Another night, another alley, another great pub.

I tell ya, I know how to pick ‘em. Or at least find ‘em.

This time is was The Ship Tavern, first built in 1549, rebuilt in 1923 after fire destroyed it and it’s outstanding.

Had the single biggest hunk of haddock in fish and chips I’ve ever had – the thing had to be a foot long – and some of the best house-brewed ale I can remember. And, surprisingly, I can remember.

Comely lasses, too.

Best part of this whole pub thing?

You walk up, order at the bar, pay and then can wander hither and yon, even outside, if you want to. Grabbing a pint, chatting with a local or two and then standing the gathering dusk in an alley is some way to spend a few hours.

What's it say when the first souvenir of the trip is a t-shirt from a pub?

I (heart) this city so far.

(An aside to the Irregulars with other suggestions: You know the Ship Tavern is at Holcomb tube stop, will head the other way from the hotel next time we venture out)

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TOD got edged 16-0 and the catcher broke his hand?

Some things never change.

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Any Raptors fans still here?

Not sure how much of this is out there this week – don’t really care since it’s old news anyway – but James Johnson is a Sacramento King and John Lucas III will be a Raptor, likely this afternoon.

The Johnson-for-a-second-round-pick deal has officially gone through and that leaves enough money lying around for Toronto to sign Lucas as a third point guard.

He’s supposed to get his physical today, sign his contract after and he could very well be “introduced” to the media tomorrow.

Oh, and we are coming to Halifax.

Think the big buntoss is down East today sometime to announce it. Not sure how long we’ll be there for but it’ll be a gas, am entirely looking forward to it.

Oh, one more: Schedule’s out tonight at 7 o’clock your time. Have fun with that, not sure what I’ll be doing at midnight and whether I can break away from it to look closely.

We now return you to other matters.

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Sure, London Calling was first (and I wonder how many headlines or ledes to stories will use that stale phrase during these Games) and you had some others but …

Yep, nothing says Old Blighty better than Roger Miller.

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Mail?

Why not, could be some free time during the day tomorrow but I think we’ll do just one on the weekend, Saturday looks stupid busy for all of us.

Click. Write. Send.

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Kind of caught off guard when we were riding in a bus from the press centre back to the hotel last night and we passed a petrol station.

Gas is only 1.28 here and I thought that was kind of cheap.

Oops. It’s pounds, guess maybe I was wrong.

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There is a guy right this minute across the desk from me obviously having a Skype conversation with his family somewhere and I’m quite glad that his young son is wearing his Thomas The Tank Engine pajamas.

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All right, rather slow day ahead, some more women’s basketball to write, think I might get a chance to get over to the arena again to find out what’s happening and there’s a COC cocktail reception tonight at Canada Olympic House in Trafalgar Square, I believe.

Last quiet day before things really get going; wonder if there’s an alley close by.

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It's nice to be understood when you speak

Wow, it’s amazing what five or six hours of sleep will do for a guy.

Feel entirely rejuvenated. And by rejuvenated I mean barely hung over, lucid enough to get this done and alert enough to get through the day.

Feel like a million pence.

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There are dozens and dozens of reasons why London was a good choice to host this little shindig but, from our perspective at least, one stood out:

It’s in our own language.

I can’t tell you how much easier it is knowing that if you approach a volunteer or a cop bobby or a soldier you can converse with them easily, figuring out where to go, how to get from Point A to Point B, where things are.

It hit home hugely on Tuesday afternoon when a quartet of us were trying to navigate entry into the beach volleyball venue, a joint that wasn’t really ready to accept visitors but a place we had to get to for the Canadian practice.

We got off the tube about two stops too late, it ends up, so we were on the wrong side of the fenced-off grounds and somehow talked our way through back entrances and closed gates simply because the guards could understand us.

Usually, at least at the last two of these things I’ve been at, any conversation is greeted with polite smiles and blank stares and ends up with me pointing at my credential and the volunteer or soldier pointing aimlessly in some other direction.

Not here. Nope.

We had two young army dudes open a door in a fence they were guarding to let us down some back road, the next soldier was able to answer our questions about where the actual security entrance was and the polite police officers who stopped us every 100 metres or so understood what we were saying when we said it and merrily sent us on our way.

Civilized, I tell you.

And way, way easier.

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Yeah, you will get some views around here.

And when we were hanging out at the beach volleyball and talking about the venue and the Horse Guards Parade with the athletes, Marie-Andree Lesssard kind of hit on her rather cool existence.

“I think we’ve very fortunate on the world tour. I recall in Milan we were playing in front of Il Duomo … in Rome we play in the Olympic Stadium next to these centuries-old statues, In Paris we played on Champs Elysees so we’ve been very, very fortunate.

“You’re grateful when you’re on the court, whether it’s going good or bad, you’re going, ‘Oh, my God, what a great life I have.’”

Wonder if there’s Beach Volleyball Grunt gig out there I could check out?

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Mail?

Not sure if we’ll do one or two or just throw ‘em out as bonus items but may as well solicit what I can.

You know the drill.

Click. Write. Send.

And I’ll probably say this six or seven times as we go along but any and all London suggestions welcome; I’ve got to try to get out more.

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So I’m walking from hotel to bus stop the first morning and off the main road there’s this alley, like there is off every road.

And, of course, down the alley are a couple of pubs and going on about 90 minutes plane sleep that’s as far afield as I was about to get.

I can report that Greene King IPA is so-so, the Jeffe is, as always, a nice alternative and if you end the night The Bar Of All Hours, a Cobra or two (originally made in India, now in London) isn’t a bad way to go.

And thus endeth Night One.

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This is kind of cool.

Stop by the variety store (or news agent, I guess) to pick up some fresh air and water and the guy looks at the credential and says, “oh, Toronto Star?”

Um, yep.

“Nice. I have relatives in Markham, I’ll tell them to read your stuff.”

Small world and now I’ve got an in at a place where you can pick up a loose Stella if you’re so inclined.

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One of the table conversations last night got around, as it sometimes does, to music and we’re trying to come up with the list of top songs with London in the title or about London.

This was the overwhelming winner, right?

What else have you got?

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I see the Americans drilled Spain last night over in Barcelona and if anyone thinks it means anything, I believe they are sadly mistaken.

If there’s one thing about international basketball that stands out more than anything else, it’s that teams never, ever show their best stuff in meaningless games, and often don’t do everything even in some first-round games.

For Spain and the US, the tournament doesn’t start until the quarter-finals, there’s no way in the world they both don’t advance, and to put any stock in what transpired in a friendly is probably not wise.

We’ll have a full look at the tournament in, I believe, Saturday’s paper but at first blush, you have to figure those two countries are going to meet again. With everything on the line.

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This is cool.

Took what’s known as the Javelin train from Stratford station out here at the Olympic Park to St. Pancras station to start the beach volleyball journey yesterday.

It goes about 225 kilometres an hour – about a six, seven minute ride from start to finish – and it’s an impressive way to get in and out of this park area.

From a guy who’s used to the Smelly Ford Focus in QEW traffic, it was a nice change.

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Wonderful words to hear at the hotel

Pip, pip, and all that stuff.

(I’ll get used to the vernacular as we go along, promise)

I know I’m in London ‘cause I’m writing this in the lower back seat of a double-decker bus headed out to the main press centre.

We’ll be a little shorter than usual today; got about 90 minutes sleep in two 45-minute stretches so pardon the lack of wit and, I’m sure, more than a couple of typos.

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So, for the first time of the seven of these I’ve done, we’re housed in a hotel rather than a media “village” and get this!!!!

The lobby bar is “OPEN ALL THE HOURS!”

Seriously.

Now, that’s living.

It’s looks like a lovely hotel, the Grange Holborn in the West End and in the 15 minutes I was in there before heading out to the main press centre, the air conditioning worked like a charm and the shower had solid water pressure. Can’t ask for more than that.

What we’ll miss, of course, is the communal feeling you get in those media villages, where thousands of like-minded souls from around the world would be housed in what are de facto high rise condos.

They always had an outdoor bar, a shopping area, a convenience store, a common breakfast room and you’d always run into someone you knew.

Might be a group of Canadians, could be a handful of Yanks, some Europeans. Every night you’d come back and you’d know who’d had a long, tough day by the number of people at the tables swapping stories.

You’d get to know new people, too. You’d see a group of, say, singing Germans one night and then the next night you’d see them again and by the third night you were nodding acquaintances.

By the end of the Games, you might be offered citizenship.

But that was then, this is now and there’ll be all kinds of interesting twists, I think. The hotel, unlike the media village, doesn’t require a credential to get in so who knows what kind of riff-raff we’ll be dealing with.

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Not a bad way to welcome weary travellers at Heathrow.

Salvation Army Band just before passport control

 

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Hope you folks who were whining about the grass needing some water back home were happy with that thunderstorm that hit about 8 o’clock last night.

I can tell you the 250 or so people who were trapped in the plane at the gate with me at Pearson for the better part of an hour weren’t all that pleased.

Yeah, we got a “red alert” warning about electricity in the air, and not the good kind, either, just after we boarded.

Sat there and sat there and sat there some more until we were finally able to push back and get on our way.

No whining, though, comfortable aisle seat near the front, a mini-TV screen that worked and maybe 90 minutes of shuteye.

Dream journey.

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So, what happens here between now and Friday when they kick things off?

Well, some competition – I believe Not Grace Kelly is off to Coventry tomorrow for the women’s football, the lucky soul – while the rest of us get acclimated to the bus system, the main press centre and the amenities.

There’ll be the odd news conference here and there for athletes competing early in the Game so there’ll be some real life stuff to report on a little bit.

But, truly, it’s mostly about figuring out how things work so we can really hit the ground running come Friday morning.

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I’m taking the 10-minute walk from the hotel to the media bus depot and two minutes in I run across a Subway and 90 seconds later I pass a Pizza Hut and you have my solemn oath never to step in either for the 21 more days I’m here.

The Starbucks that’s between them? Well, that’s an entirely different story.

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Know all those stories about nightmare lines at Heathrow and how horrible getting here is?

Not my experience.

Might have been the smoothest one yet, landed, two volunteers met us at the top of the ramp, walked us – I had Stumpy and Sy from the Sun on my flight – through passport control, they validated our credentials in about 90 seconds and by the time we got through there the bags were on the carousel.

Train ride to Paddington, complimentary ride to the hotel and it wasn’t two hours from wheels down to hotel room opened.

(Yes, I realize the jinx in there, don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.

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Oh, Raptors news?

I hear the schedule might be out this week or next so you can plan your summers.

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All right, off to explore a bit and get my feet under me.

More, better stuff tomorrow, I hope.

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These Games have a ways to go in providing stories

Time to shift in to full-on Olympic mode, I believe (which guarantees Raptors news sometime today in my Life Of Jinxing), because the big airplane leaves tonight and the next missive will be from Jolly Old England, Air Canada-willing.

Not sure how we’ll do for time here but that plan is to have something for you to wake up to each day; pardon me if I miss one early morning, I have a feeling there might be some late nights.

Anyway …

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I have no idea what awaits us in London but I am sure some good stories will pop up because they always do. Like these:

(Pardon me if some have been repeated by they’re what I’ve got)

Barcelona, 1992

Opportunity lost

It’s the first day of the Games, I’m there primarily to cover the Dream Team and Canadian boxers and who knows what else.

First day, I’m sent to cover shooting with is about a three-hour bus ride towards France and three of my boys – Brunt, Farber and Cole, as I recall but I could be wrong – decide to do the boxing draw right by our village.

I drag my sorry butt to the shooting range to cover a guy who finishes 36th or something and it ends up being a line of agate in What Canada Did.

The other three?

They get a private scrum at the boxing venue with Nelson Mandela.

Yeah, that Nelson Mandela.

First time South Africa had been in the Olympics in decades, Mandela was a boxer and, of course, he’s there; I’m on a bus to France.

Atlanta, 1996

Scary ride

Perk and P. Hunter and I grab a cab after the final Saturday night at the track because the volunteer bus drivers had pretty much quit. We’re off to a bar, of course, but the cabbie seems to be going a different route. We’re in a rather dicey part of town, groups on one corner, yutes on the other and now the cabbie decides he needs some gas.

Pull up at the station, guy standing near the pumps and we figure he’s going to: “Good evening, gentlemen; fill ‘er up with regular?”

But, no. He slides open the side of jacket to reveal what looks suspiciously like a gun and says:

“We ain’t selling you no effing gas.”

Yep. Gotta love Atlanta. And that was after the bombing.

Sydney, 2000

A shocking attempt

We’re housed on the grounds of what used to former mental hospital, stark barracks that weren’t too bad and the nice Aussies decided to spice the place up with a pen of kangaroos that were on our walk to the bus spot.

Well, we felt for the ‘roos, they looked all sad in their little enclosure and an intrepid colleague who shall go nameless decided one night – with some help – to let the little cuties out.

An attempt to open the gates led to the discovery that those sneaking Aussies had gently electrified the fence, perhaps knowing that some one would want to “free the ‘roos.”

Athens, 2004

Greatest. Line. Ever.

Main press centre had a nice open-air rooftop bar we discovered early in the journey; a somewhat quiet oasis from the hustle and bustle.

After a particularly late night, I’m standing there sipping and chatting with the comely bar wench because that’s what I do.

Her English could be better – like I cared – and when I asked how late the joint was open, she looked confused and trotted off to speak to a boss or someone.

She comes back, all smiles and says:

“Sir? We are open all the hours.”

Beijing, 2008

Aliens among them

The women’s soccer team played a lot of its games in Tianjin, a huge city about a three-hour bullet train ride from Beijing, forcing more than a few of us into long road trips.

We go one day for a night game with our tickets in hand and land at the main Tianjin train station, a rather opulent, obviously refurbished building with marble floors and all the amenities.

Well, our trip back late, late at night, was from Tianjin East station.

Let’s just say it’s not quite as nice.

We walk in about 11 p.m., a group of bedraggled Canadians wearing credentials and looks of exhaustion to find families – scores and scores of families – sitting in total silence on the cement front stoops, reclined on bags of rice, waiting for the overnight train to Shanghai.

Can’t imagine many of them had ever seen a Canadian, or an American, or any Caucasian and the stares we got – again, in total silence – was amazing.

London, 2012

Who knows!

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Basketball?

Nothing, really. I presume there’ll be some minor NBA news in the next little while but the feeling I’m getting from talking to just a few people is that things are going to shut down, or calm down considerably, for the next little while.

All the Raptors have to do is get James Johnson to Sacramento do his physical so they can finish the John Lucas III deal; they need to finalize Aaron Gray -- nothing’s signed yet and we know nothing is done until it’s done, don’t we? – and then it’s going to be coasting mode, I would imagine.

Which would be very nice, wouldn’t it?

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Am sure you saw or heard the news about the Joe Paterno statue being taken down at Penn State yesterday.

Aside from it being an obvious move to remove some of the horrible memories it must evoke for most right-thinking men and women around that campus I truly think there is a cautionary tale here that should serve all kinds of people well in the future.

I don’t know that anyone should ever erect a statue to a living person, we don’t ever know the secrets they hold, the danger is omnipresent about lionizing someone who isn’t precisely what they purport to be.

Now, yes, I am sure there are some living people who deserve such honours like that; I’m sure there are people among us who are what they are, free of terrible secrets or complicity in unspeakable acts of depravity.

But that’s too bad.

We as a society have a tendency to lionize people for what we think they are and how they present themselves and don’t even want to ask if what we’re doing is right.

It was a mistake to put the thing up in the first place, I think. Such honours need to be reserved to celebrate life lived, not one that’s in the process of unfolding.

We rush to glorify. We shouldn’t.

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An expected process is unfolding as it should

Not sure this should come as any big huge surprise given the circumstances and what we know but Marc Stein’s reporting Jose’s agent and Bryan are working to find some deal that’s amenable to both sides.

Now, it doesn’t mean anything is imminent – although we all should know how quickly things can change – but it does make sense to explore all avenues.

If nothing happens, nothing happens. But after listening to Bryan the other day talk about “multiple teams” that called about Jose in the wake of the Lowry trade, there could be some fit somewhere in the league.

Would suck a bit. Despite the bleats of so many of you, Jose’s a fine NBA point guard, he’s given six solid seasons to this organization and I think a point guard combo of he and Lowry would work just fine.

Have been trying to reach Jose directly but he’s with the Spanish national team getting ready for the Olympics and a bit preoccupied. I wonder how much of this might be an agent trying to drum up something for a client, which is what agents are paid handsomely to do and which is just good business practice.

As soon as the Lowry deal was leaked, ears perked up around the NBA about the possibility of a Calderon departure and if I know one thing about NBA general managers it’s that when they smell blood in the water, they go all low-ball with any offers. It’s part of the dance.

But of this we can be certain: There are talks going on -- how serious they are no one knows -- but I also know Bryan isn’t going to do a deal quickly just to do a deal and if this goes into the season before other teams decide they have a point guard need, so be it.

However, if something happens, you have to be certain that Bryan gets a point guard in return or is looking at someone in free agency.

A Lowry-Calderon duo, or Calderon-Lowry, would be a position of strength; a hedge against inevitable injury with two proven NBAers and a tandem with a difference in styles that would change game.

I don’t think any of you would be as confident in, say, a Lowry-Ben Uzoh combination, would you?

I don’t know what the eventual outcome to this will be – my spidey sense says status quo for a little bit – but if it happens, it’ll be a tough day; we’ll chat about that then.

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Thoughts are with all you triskaidekaphophia sufferers out there.

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So it’s about 30 C last evening, not a cloud in the sky, the Mighty Red Tigers are ready for action.

And we get rained out.

Yep.

Somehow, the zany folks who program the sprinkler system for parks here decided that 5 p.m.-6 p.m. would be a good time to water the infield and that 6 p.m.-6:45 p.m. would be a good time for left field to get some sustenance.

Dopes.

Kinda reminds me of this, even if it is rather low quality and doesn’t have the best line of the scene:

“I can get us rainout.”

But what the Mighty Red Tigers aren’t is …

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You guys are good.

It wasn’t 10 minutes after news leaked out that the Houston Rockets were going to use the amnesty provision on Luis Scola that I got the first question about him here.

And, after some of my own due diligence, it’s not happening.

While they’re lots of love for his game – and I’m a huge fan – it’s not really the best fit for this organization as this time and they’ll take a pass. The combination of money, years left, roster composition and where they are in the building process means there’s a lack of interest.

Sorry.

But you guys are good.

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You know, sometimes there are benefits to doing this gig.

One of my sort of branch-out jobs this week was to be part of the paper’s “Help” series and I was able to piggyback on a golf thing to get some tips myself.

Turned out to be a not bad story, and a pretty good video that’s here and Bradlee Ryall (his website’s here) up at Braeben here in Hazelville (New motto: Home Of Inappropriate Sprinkler Time) is one outstanding teacher.

If he can massage our subject’s swing and make it seem so logical and sensible to a guy watching, I can just imagine what he’d do with a full range of lessons.

“Great athletes come to me for golf lessons and they’re robotic. They’re great football players or basketball players or hockey players and they’re just a different animal over the golf ball. You have it in you to be great, it’s just how can we get that out of you.”

We probably weren’t at the practice green for more than 45 minutes and I came away with a far better understanding of what I need to do around greens thanks to Bradlee and Steve.

And trust me, after scuffling it around the last time I played – barely able to hit it out of my shadow – I could use an hour or two of intense instruction since I’m not getting nearly the weight I should in The Friendly Nassau Matches.

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Hey!!!!!!

Summer League starts for the HOTH today!!!!! Pumped?

Anyway, the roster finally got released last night – it’s here for your reading pleasure – and I caution you, as I do every year, with these words:

Summer League doesn’t tell you who can play, it tells you who can’t.

Best thing I ever saw at Summer League: Hoffa getting 10 personal fouls in one game (you can’t foul out of Summer League games, sadly); it was a classic moment.

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Mail, please.

Haven’t heard from some Irregulars in quite a while.

You know the drill.

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Dunking and singing and trying to jazz up a night

Well, that was entirely underwhelming, wasn’t it?

Maybe Saturday night’s better – and I can’t see how it can’t be – because a rookie-sophomore game and dunk-in is not the way to really create some buzz.

But it does create stuff like this:

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You know that I’m not a real conspiracy theorist but at least this year when we’re sitting through the dunk contest there won’t be an over-riding sense that it’s, um, fixed like last year’s was.

Rudy Fernandez still got jobbed by judges a year ago who pined for – or were pointed in the direction of – a Nate Robinson-Dwight Howard final and there is no real foil for Wee Nate this year.

Which means it might be fun and it could sure use some jazzing up.

Can DeMar win?

I have no idea but he sure sounds like he wants to have some fun. Every time the thing comes up he talks about how he’s never lost a dunk contest, how he’s got some creativity in him and how he wants to entertain the crowd.

Was sort of hoping to see some of it Friday but after he made his first one and Eric Gordon pulled off a Chris Andersen imitation on his first, the thing was pretty much over.

DeMar went all boring and simple with his second, Gordon missed again and the yawns began.

Funny thing was, I was more impressed with Gordon’s attempts. They had some juice to them and at a bit higher degree of difficulty but DeMar put it pretty well after:

“You can’t miss. You just can’t.”

I have no idea what the kid’s got in mind for Saturday – he’ll enlist the aid of Sonny Weems on something he told me after Friday’s dunks – but hopefully it’s a step up from his debut.

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I don’t know if it’s the Olympics or the snow or the economy or the malaise that’s sweeping our industry but it seems the numbers of chroniclers in Dallas this weekend is way down.

Take Friday’s media session with the all-stars.

It’s usually packed and you can’t get near a player you want to talk to for any length of time or for many real questions. But this time around, if to you waited with even a modicum of patience you could get what you want; I had time to chat with Chris Bosh, talked to Chauncey Billups for a while and had DeMar entirely alone at one stretch.

The thing that was most impressive? Not many people were there doing silly stuff like the year one of the representatives of the international media carried around a tiny horn he wanted to get everyone to play. Seriously.

We had one group delivering tiny Chinese New Year’s packages and asking the players to say Happy New Year in, I believe, Cantonese, but that was about it.

Was kind of refreshing, actually.

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Look, I don’t know Kreesha Turner from Tina Turner and I hope young Kreesha goes on to have a long and illustrious hit-filled career as a crooner.

But, for the love all that is Canada, couldn’t someone have perhaps checked that she’d get the words to O Canada right before trotting her out at NBA all-star weekend.

It’s “in all thy sons command” and not “in all our sons command” and that’s a mistake that’s made about once in every five games I go to.

Oh, and it’s “the true north, strong and free” and not “our north strong and free.”

Yeesh.

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Sixteen months until the deadline and already I’m bored by NBA labour stuff.

Yes, it’s pretty serious; yes, there was legitimate news Friday when the two sides chatted.

Yawn.

Folks, it is right now posturing and simple negotiations. You throw out wild proposals knowing they’ll cause angst and you work toward some middie ground.

Friday, we had union boss Billy Hunter and Derek Fisher slamming the league’s first offer of a huge cutbacks in every imaginable economic facet from the value, length and guarantee of contracts to the share of income.

Saturday it’ll be David Stern’s turn to get on the podium for his annual state-of-the-league address and I’m pretty sure it’ll be all labour, all the time.

Snore.

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Nash, Gretzky, Le May Doan, Greene?

Yeah, I’m okay with that.

Shame about the cauldron malfunction, though.

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I’m looking at my notes from Friday night and first page, first thing scribbled it says:

“No one’s here.”

Yeah, it was a rather underwhelming crowd – exuberant and kid-filled but underwhelming nonetheless – that greeted the start of the Rookie-Sophomore Silliness.

Place filled up pretty well through the night, although certainly not to capacity, and that’s part of the problem with this weekend: It’s one night too long.

Used to be just Saturday and Sunday and that seemed to be just fine with all concerned; crowds were big, the party atmosphere was just as good and we weren’t subjected to a night built entirely around a 40-minute game between kids who have no real desire to play.

If they insist on keeping Friday an integral part of this thing – and that genie’s not going back into the bottle – they need to jazz it up somehow.

I’m thinking something with a charity or fund-raising component and kids; maybe doing something with a local charity as part of the Day Of Service; something like the U.S. Open tennis does on its opening night.

No idea how that all comes together but something needs to change on the Friday night.

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So I’m thinking, because I love ya so much (and because deadlines are such that we won’t get an awful lot of post-shenanigans stuff in Sunday’s paper) that we’ll do the regular mailbag Sunday morning and also provide this usual glut of information and entertainment.

Lucky, lucky readers.

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You can douse that flame now, thank you

So, it’s over. Or almost over.

The ceremonies are about to start, I got a couple more to write for that pesky newspaper but, then? Then it’s over and somewhere in this vast land there are a bucketful of Tsing Taos with my name on ‘em.

This is the first time in the six Bun Tosses Like This I’ve been to that we’ve had this sort of thing to write so I’m not sure if I get all teary-eyed and wistful and mushy and melancholy or what.

Nah.

Too out of character.

Final impressions though? Maybe a few

The Games have been extraordinarily well run, with attention paid to the smallest of details, with volunteers that couldn’t do enough for you, a transportation system that should now be the benchmark for every future Games.

The venues? Some were breathtaking, the Bird’s Nest from the outside more breathtaking than any. But some were banal. The ballparks were pre-fab, the basketball arena could have been dropped in Wukesong from any NBA city. The archery field (Pitch? Yard? Facililty?) was tres cool but the soccer pitches were surrounded by running tracks and that made the action seem kilometres away.

And there was a sterility that was a bit disconcerting, to tell you the truth.

There wasn’t a lot of joy among the people, it didn’t seem. They were happy, no question, but unbridled excitement? Not so much. It was strange.

All in all, they were a Good Games.

They didn’t approach Great.

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Remember yesterday’s question about taekwondo and its suitability to be an Olympic sport?

Well, how about the Cuban guy kicking the ref in the head after his bout?

Reports are circulating that none of three judges gave him a point for it.

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Every four years, it seems, I go to a track meet. One quadrennial it’s in Athens, the next it’s in Beijing and there’s every chance the next time I see athletics will be in 2012 in London.

But I gotta tell you, they got some cool stuff at track.

Was watching the men’s javelin on Saturday night here and they’ve got these little remote control cars that run the length of the field taking the javelins back to the throwers.

They’re just like the little cars – maybe a tad more enhanced and powerful – than Super Son or your kid used on the driveway when they were toddlers.

Not sure where the guy was who was controlling them but he was having a gas. He’d do little figure 8s or sharp turns or run the things backwards for a few metres.

Made a night at the track a bit more entertaining.

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Pau Gasol is much tougher wearing a Spain jersey than he is with a Laker uniform on.

Maybe it’s familiarity with his teammates, I’m not sure. But you can bet Kobe Bryant’s going to remind him at some point in the NBA season when he reverts to his usually soft self.

It was like oldtimers night at the Bird’s Nest when I was there.

They interrupt things for medal ceremonies, of course, and taking part were the great Cuban Alberto Juantorena and the legendary Sergei Bubka.

I don’t know all that much about track but those are two giants and I think other sports should use great athletes from the past more often.

Of course, I don’t know who that’d be in many of the sports but they should do it anyway.

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Oh, right. The basketball game.

It was a great one, the best I saw here (missed the Argentina-Greece quarter-final, unfortunately) and a fitting end to what had been a rather uneventful tournament.

Spain was great, watching them cut and move without the ball and make pinpoint passes in traffic was a clinic in international play. Rudy Fernandez is going to be a helluva good NBA player, that Portland team is going to be very, very much fun to watch.

The Americans, though?

A cut above. They played as a team, they played with purpose, they never once strayed from the idea that they needed to work together.

I remember months ago against Jose Calderon what he thought about the Olympics and his initial reaction was that if the Americans played with purpose, they’d be virtually impossible to beat.

He was right.

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Caught up with Carlos Delfino very briefly after Argentina's bronze medal win over Lithuania.

He’s pretty happy with the chance to go play in Russia, especially for the money he’s going to be making. And when someone on the edge of the conversation suggested he’d be back with the Raptors – who still have his NBA rights – he sort of shrugged and said, “maybe.”

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There’s one in every crowd.

Dwyane Wade’s shooting free throws in throws in the middle of the third quarter of the gold medal against Spain and some comic in the upper deck starts chanting ‘M-V-P, M-V-P.’

Guarantee you he wasn’t from here.

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Okay, as I mentioned, it’s time to be done for now. And there’s an excursion to the Great Wall on Monday here, a long, long flight home on Tuesday so I’m not sure when I’ll get back to these parts again. Probably not until Wednesday sometime so don’t fret that your comments are being ignored.

And don’t worry, I may have some time on the flight to get to the mail that’s been building up.

It’s been a blast stepping out of the basketball world for three weeks or so, hope you liked it. But it’ll soon be time to be Raptor-centric once again.

See ya.