Saturday, August 4
(Please excuse the typos. Hurrying. Theres much Olympics to explore.)
Breakfast: Mixed fruit, ham, great link sausage, scrambled eggs, canaloni beans (pork n to us rednecks), wheat toast with currant jelly, orange juice, yogurt. Alas, no awesome crisp bacon. Its supposed to be crisp, Adele said, with just a hint of an Italians frustration, which she is.
Nicki woke up still excited about the British Museum. Its the best in the world, and its right across the street, and I havent been there yet.
Commute: Caught the 8 a.m. red double-decker bus from Russell Square to the MPC. Streets were Saturday quiet. But already folks were jogging along the Thames and riding bikes across the Tower Bridge. We passed another double-decker bus that was playing loud music. France TV, it said. And a commentator-looking blonde was gyrating in a womens three-piece suit in front of the lights.
Volunteer du jour: Michael, with a six-day growth of beard and a spectacular smile. Im here to chat with you, he said when we asked what hes doing at Olympic Park. Hes perfect. He took 10 days away from his job at a bank to volunteer (he got three days back), wouldnt trade the experience for anything, stands eight hours smiling and talking to people and is spectacularly friendly.
Email from home: Next time someone insults Oklahoma, tell 'em you feel sorry for them if where they are from there was no one as beloved as Will Rogers, as loved as Mickey Mantle, no one who wrote as many good songs as Woody Guthrie, no place that inspired a play as popular as Oklahoma!, and no athlete as great as Jim Thorpe.
Lunch: Yogurt, peanut butter, crackers, cookies.
Email from North Carolina yesterday: FYIthe weather report given on the Today Show by Al Roker predicted 111 for Hobart. And they made a point of saying Hobarts name.
Todays confirmation that George Bernard Shaw was right when he wrote that we and the British are two peoples separated by a common language. A gormless person here is someone who has absolutely no clue.
Speaking of Shaw, last night coming out of The ExCel Centre, all I wanted was a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air.
The wonderful food layout at the Montague rhymes with Warren Buffet. I told Alene that we say buh-FAY. A Frenchman sitting at the next table said, BOO-fay.
Heres my thought on this separation of words: the language is English, not American. Its theirs, for crying out loud!
I was discussing language with a group of reporters Wednesday. Most of them still care, thank goodness. One said, I started doing something after we were in Sydney 12 years ago. I say, no worries instead of no problem. I have found myself doing the same thing. Its clearly an import that is spreading, sort of like the zebra mussel only charming.
Weather: Chilly but pretty. A nice March day in Kansas City. Rain early, then mostly sunny. Breezy all day. Low 59, high 70.
Email from home: The eye IS worth it, and what is the "copper box"? Did I miss something? Answer: the copper box is the handball venue here at Olympic Park.
Walked into the office at 9 a.m. and learned that the IOC had (wisely) decided to require tickets for tomorrows mens (or I should say gentlemans tennis finals after homeboy Andy Murray and awesome Roger Federer qualified. So I quickly wrote this advisory and we emailed it to all USA media
ADVISORY FOR MEDIA HOLDING E AND EP CREDENTIALS ACCREDITED THROUGH THE USOC: The IOC and LOCOG have determined that a special ticket, in addition to the E or EP credential, will be required to cover Sundays mens tennis final between Roger Federer and Andy Murray. A limited number of tickets will be made available to USA media. Before 1 p.m. Saturday, United States reporters and photographers desiring to cover the event should sign up at the USOC office in the Main Press Center or send an email to [email protected]. Tickets will be distributed Sunday morning at the USOC office.
The e-mail and telephone responses began arriving roughly 17 seconds after the e-mail hit cyberspace. We got 52 requests for the 18 available tickets and earned our keep today. Most of the rejected persons understood. One woman from California did not. Sigh.
On tough-ticket days, I become the most hated person at the Olympics. Im used to it.
We were also ticketing todays mens basketball game, so I took the red double-decker shuttle bus to the arena, with a few tickets in my pocket, to help USA reporters who may not have seen yesterdays memo describing the policies. Some folks read what we put out; others .
I watched a fair amount of the USA game against Lithuania. Our guys actually lost a quarter to the disciplined Lithuanian boys. But we had too much firepower. The stadium is beautiful, even though the music is too loud. I am not the desired demographic. Still, the whole deal was fun.
I walked back to the MPC, enjoying the sunny, breezy afternoon and the Olympic Park which was full of happy people. The Park Live was swarming with people, and there was a 15-minute wait at the fish-and-chips line. I nearly had ice cream.
Dinner: Cheese and crackers. Yogurt.
Nicki went off by herself to the Globe Theater tonight, with a standing-room-only ticket to see Henry V. She called from there, thrilled. The girl is a Shakespeare-aholic. She has even taught me some stuff. Lets see, I taught her how to keep score at baseball games when we were high school sweethearts in the summer of 1968, and she taught me Shakespeare. Seems like a fair tradepoetry for poetryalthough she may have gotten slightly the better end of the deal.
The new Globe is a replica of the original. Nicki stood in the yardthe space in front of the stage where the poor people stood in Shakespeares day. The poor each paid 5 £ last night.
Worked until 8 p.m., and then rode the red double-decker Olympic Park media shuttle to the track meet. I had missed the morning session because of ticketing. The stadium was just simply a magical wonderland. It was Allen Fieldhouse-loud, with Broadway-theater lighting and music. For good measure, the torch was at one end. Flashbulbs cracked by the thousands, like fireflies. Every seat was filled.
A pleasant, cute volunteer found a seat for me high in the media tribune (press box). I did not want to burn a good place that could be occupied by real media.
After the heptathlon concluded with the 800 members, all of the women took a victory lap, as is tradition in the multi events. Its a wonderful ceremonial stroll. The girls held hands and bowed to the crowd. They looked fresh as daisies. This victory walk was led by the Olympic champion from Great Britain, sending the happy crowd into an even greater frenzy. Fans clapped to indistinguishable and bouncy music. And then they played Beatles Twist and Shout.
Then I got to see the thrilling 10,000 meters, with a finish that was not to be believed. A dozen guys were in contention until the last straightaway. I saw something I never imagined: British reporters in the press tribune stood on their chairs and cheered.
Although I did not stand on my chair, it was a great moment for us, too, as our man Galen Rupp won Americas first medal in the 10,000 since Billy Mills. Back in 1964, do you think anybody thought it would be 48 years until the USA won another medal in that race????
Great Britain won three gold medals in 45 minutes. Nobody who was there will ever forget it.
I wont, either, because I waited 20 minutes after the competition ended, to see the heptathlon medal ceremony. Actually, I wanted to HEAR the ceremony. And I was not disappointed when 60,000 people sang God Save the Queen in union. Oh, my. It created a goose-bump epidemic. Journalists were crying along with me. Wow!!!!
In case you want to sing along, heres the first verse:
God save our gracious Queen
Long live our noble Queen
God save the Queen.
Send her victorious
Happy and glorious
Long to reign over us
God save the Queen
I walked on cloud nine through the Olympic park, under a bright moon, back to the MPC. Families enjoyed the cool breeze, taking photos and making memories. A sleeping five-year-old was slung over her dads shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Six people were at a picnic table drinking beer, wrapped in British flags that served double duty: pride and warmth.
Back at the office, the staff was still cranking out the news.
What a privilege to be here! Every day is an adventure. Inspire a generation. And mind the gap.
(Please excuse the typos. Hurrying. Theres much Olympics to explore.)
Breakfast: Mixed fruit, ham, great link sausage, scrambled eggs, canaloni beans (pork n to us rednecks), wheat toast with currant jelly, orange juice, yogurt. Alas, no awesome crisp bacon. Its supposed to be crisp, Adele said, with just a hint of an Italians frustration, which she is.
Nicki woke up still excited about the British Museum. Its the best in the world, and its right across the street, and I havent been there yet.
Commute: Caught the 8 a.m. red double-decker bus from Russell Square to the MPC. Streets were Saturday quiet. But already folks were jogging along the Thames and riding bikes across the Tower Bridge. We passed another double-decker bus that was playing loud music. France TV, it said. And a commentator-looking blonde was gyrating in a womens three-piece suit in front of the lights.
Volunteer du jour: Michael, with a six-day growth of beard and a spectacular smile. Im here to chat with you, he said when we asked what hes doing at Olympic Park. Hes perfect. He took 10 days away from his job at a bank to volunteer (he got three days back), wouldnt trade the experience for anything, stands eight hours smiling and talking to people and is spectacularly friendly.
Email from home: Next time someone insults Oklahoma, tell 'em you feel sorry for them if where they are from there was no one as beloved as Will Rogers, as loved as Mickey Mantle, no one who wrote as many good songs as Woody Guthrie, no place that inspired a play as popular as Oklahoma!, and no athlete as great as Jim Thorpe.
Lunch: Yogurt, peanut butter, crackers, cookies.
Email from North Carolina yesterday: FYIthe weather report given on the Today Show by Al Roker predicted 111 for Hobart. And they made a point of saying Hobarts name.
Todays confirmation that George Bernard Shaw was right when he wrote that we and the British are two peoples separated by a common language. A gormless person here is someone who has absolutely no clue.
Speaking of Shaw, last night coming out of The ExCel Centre, all I wanted was a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air.
The wonderful food layout at the Montague rhymes with Warren Buffet. I told Alene that we say buh-FAY. A Frenchman sitting at the next table said, BOO-fay.
Heres my thought on this separation of words: the language is English, not American. Its theirs, for crying out loud!
I was discussing language with a group of reporters Wednesday. Most of them still care, thank goodness. One said, I started doing something after we were in Sydney 12 years ago. I say, no worries instead of no problem. I have found myself doing the same thing. Its clearly an import that is spreading, sort of like the zebra mussel only charming.
Weather: Chilly but pretty. A nice March day in Kansas City. Rain early, then mostly sunny. Breezy all day. Low 59, high 70.
Email from home: The eye IS worth it, and what is the "copper box"? Did I miss something? Answer: the copper box is the handball venue here at Olympic Park.
Walked into the office at 9 a.m. and learned that the IOC had (wisely) decided to require tickets for tomorrows mens (or I should say gentlemans tennis finals after homeboy Andy Murray and awesome Roger Federer qualified. So I quickly wrote this advisory and we emailed it to all USA media
ADVISORY FOR MEDIA HOLDING E AND EP CREDENTIALS ACCREDITED THROUGH THE USOC: The IOC and LOCOG have determined that a special ticket, in addition to the E or EP credential, will be required to cover Sundays mens tennis final between Roger Federer and Andy Murray. A limited number of tickets will be made available to USA media. Before 1 p.m. Saturday, United States reporters and photographers desiring to cover the event should sign up at the USOC office in the Main Press Center or send an email to [email protected]. Tickets will be distributed Sunday morning at the USOC office.
The e-mail and telephone responses began arriving roughly 17 seconds after the e-mail hit cyberspace. We got 52 requests for the 18 available tickets and earned our keep today. Most of the rejected persons understood. One woman from California did not. Sigh.
On tough-ticket days, I become the most hated person at the Olympics. Im used to it.
We were also ticketing todays mens basketball game, so I took the red double-decker shuttle bus to the arena, with a few tickets in my pocket, to help USA reporters who may not have seen yesterdays memo describing the policies. Some folks read what we put out; others .
I watched a fair amount of the USA game against Lithuania. Our guys actually lost a quarter to the disciplined Lithuanian boys. But we had too much firepower. The stadium is beautiful, even though the music is too loud. I am not the desired demographic. Still, the whole deal was fun.
I walked back to the MPC, enjoying the sunny, breezy afternoon and the Olympic Park which was full of happy people. The Park Live was swarming with people, and there was a 15-minute wait at the fish-and-chips line. I nearly had ice cream.
Dinner: Cheese and crackers. Yogurt.
Nicki went off by herself to the Globe Theater tonight, with a standing-room-only ticket to see Henry V. She called from there, thrilled. The girl is a Shakespeare-aholic. She has even taught me some stuff. Lets see, I taught her how to keep score at baseball games when we were high school sweethearts in the summer of 1968, and she taught me Shakespeare. Seems like a fair tradepoetry for poetryalthough she may have gotten slightly the better end of the deal.
The new Globe is a replica of the original. Nicki stood in the yardthe space in front of the stage where the poor people stood in Shakespeares day. The poor each paid 5 £ last night.
Worked until 8 p.m., and then rode the red double-decker Olympic Park media shuttle to the track meet. I had missed the morning session because of ticketing. The stadium was just simply a magical wonderland. It was Allen Fieldhouse-loud, with Broadway-theater lighting and music. For good measure, the torch was at one end. Flashbulbs cracked by the thousands, like fireflies. Every seat was filled.
A pleasant, cute volunteer found a seat for me high in the media tribune (press box). I did not want to burn a good place that could be occupied by real media.
After the heptathlon concluded with the 800 members, all of the women took a victory lap, as is tradition in the multi events. Its a wonderful ceremonial stroll. The girls held hands and bowed to the crowd. They looked fresh as daisies. This victory walk was led by the Olympic champion from Great Britain, sending the happy crowd into an even greater frenzy. Fans clapped to indistinguishable and bouncy music. And then they played Beatles Twist and Shout.
Then I got to see the thrilling 10,000 meters, with a finish that was not to be believed. A dozen guys were in contention until the last straightaway. I saw something I never imagined: British reporters in the press tribune stood on their chairs and cheered.
Although I did not stand on my chair, it was a great moment for us, too, as our man Galen Rupp won Americas first medal in the 10,000 since Billy Mills. Back in 1964, do you think anybody thought it would be 48 years until the USA won another medal in that race????
Great Britain won three gold medals in 45 minutes. Nobody who was there will ever forget it.
I wont, either, because I waited 20 minutes after the competition ended, to see the heptathlon medal ceremony. Actually, I wanted to HEAR the ceremony. And I was not disappointed when 60,000 people sang God Save the Queen in union. Oh, my. It created a goose-bump epidemic. Journalists were crying along with me. Wow!!!!
In case you want to sing along, heres the first verse:
God save our gracious Queen
Long live our noble Queen
God save the Queen.
Send her victorious
Happy and glorious
Long to reign over us
God save the Queen
I walked on cloud nine through the Olympic park, under a bright moon, back to the MPC. Families enjoyed the cool breeze, taking photos and making memories. A sleeping five-year-old was slung over her dads shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Six people were at a picnic table drinking beer, wrapped in British flags that served double duty: pride and warmth.
Back at the office, the staff was still cranking out the news.
What a privilege to be here! Every day is an adventure. Inspire a generation. And mind the gap.
