Olympiclog

[Velvet]

Stardate 021710

This has been a long time coming. I don’t recall how many years ago it was that Vancouver was awarded the honour of hosting the 21st Olympic winter games, but the moment the announcement was made I picked up the phone and called my good friend who was living in Whistler and was the first to call dibs on his heady crash space. It was almost a year and-a-half ago that I submitted my order into the ticket lottery and I booked my flight thirteen months ago. The smaller details, like accommodation now that my friend was no longer living in BC, concert tickets, picking out a ski resort, these things trickled down and everything was pretty much settled when I woke up yesterday feeling the undeniable first wave of a nasty cold built up in my sinuses.

No worries, the best-laid plans and all that. I spent the day packing and pounding every kind of medicine I had into me until I could barely think and kept up the madness until the minute the taxi arrived. My wits were so slow that it wasn’t until well after the bags were checked that it occurred to me that I should have put the Olympic package that had all our tickets and passes and, well everything that was irreplaceable, in my carry-on instead of my checked bag. They lose my bag and the whole trip is shot to hell. Whoops. Ordinarily I know better; I spent an adequate amount of energy worrying about it and the bag was there when we arrived.

We were on a direct flight to Vancouver and it was packed. As the wheels left the ground someone shouted, “Next stop the Olympics!†to a smattering of in-cabin applause. There was certainly a bit of a buzz on the plane; I brought some snoots and the stewardesses seemed to be making brisk alcohol sales. As the captain gave us periodic updates of the Canada/Norway hockey game over the PA to raucous applause you could really start to feel it. It was like the trumpet part in Rocky when he’s starting to train – everyone in the room can feel big things coming. We were heading to the centre of what the whole country has been talking about for years and what the whole world will be focused on for the next two weeks, and it feels good.

At the airport we were met by Heather’s uncle, and we were whisked away to the house where he lives with Heather’s 97 year old grandmother in Tsawwassen, about a half hour outside of Vancouver. A few delicious beers later I was in bed trying to sleep off my ever-increasing cold symptoms.

We woke up to find Heather’s family pampering us like we were in a fancy hotel, and with free reign of the car we headed into the city to run some errands and check out the vibe.

One thing for sure, it’s impossible not to know the Olympic are happening here. Every single billboard or bus shelter or any type of advertising space you can imagine sports Olympic ads exclusively. Every pole in the city is adorned with at least one Olympic flag and blue-outfitted volunteers (people are calling them smurfs) are everywhere. The traffic, even right down in the thick of it, is surprisingly fluid, and parking doesn’t seem too hard to come by. There is no parking at any Olympic venue, and the fact that everyone has to use public transportation has really freed up the streets for revelling.

We had some lunch and ran errands in the positively gorgeous weather and were back in Tsawwassen with plenty of time to get shown around town and have a nice long stroll along the beach. Back at the family house we enjoyed a nice dinner and watched the Olympics on TV like almost everyone else in the world. But like a lucky few, during the commercials we can see the Olympics everywhere just by looking out the window.

[Velvet]

Stardate 021810

Walking to the bus stop this morning I puffed down some primo BC bud and in no time we were comfortably seated on the Greyhound-style express to the skytrain. A half-hour later we made a paperless transfer to the train and soon we were downtown making our way to the hockey game.

Well, that was easy. If you are carrying a ticket to an Olympic event, all public transit that day (and into the evening) is free, and you don’t even have to show the ticket. There are no turnstiles or anything in the skytrain stops, just a line painted on the floor that indicates proof-of-payment only beyond this line. It’s a fantastic system and coupled with having smurfs with megaphones directing crowds in the right directions, it’s remarkably efficient.

As soon as we hit the street we found ourselves in a sculpture park. Many streets are closed to pedestrian traffic only and there are art installations everywhere. We meandered towards the arena and I nipped down an alley for a puff. There are throngs of people from a hundred different countries walking around everywhere and it’s still relatively simple to find a private little hideaway almost anywhere.

We were eager to get into the game nice and early and a bit worried about potential long lines to get in due to security so we wasted little time getting to the game, arriving easily an hour early. We saw a giant Quatchie and Miga on the way in, and kids were lining up to get their pictures taken with the giant mascots. We’re Quatchie fans but we didn’t have a camera so we waved and moved on. The security wasn’t too bad, very similar to domestic airport security where everyone is on their first day on the job. There are separate lines for those with and without bags. We were of the latter, and in almost no time we were inside.

Our first Olympic event was men’s hockey, Norway versus the USA. The place was buzzing with excitement, almost everyone was sporting jerseys or flags or facepaint representing one of the two countries, with the USA being the obvious in-house favourite. We had excellent seats to the right of the visiting goalie and the room exploded when the players hit the ice for their warmup. Though the Norwegian team only has one NHLer, the American team is a who’s who of professional hockey. Langebrunner, Drury, Kane, almost every jersey is a player I’ve had in my hockey pool at least once. The whole room was shaking with excitement, wigs were donned, flags and banners were waving.

Just to our left were those commentators you always see at the big games, the four of them talking their heads off. There were smurfs in the aisles encouraging the crowd to stay rowdy. We found ourselves seated right next to Tim Hunter, ex-Maple Leaf and Flame, photo ops were taken by many (not us) and it just added to the uniqueness of the experience. This was no ordinary hockey game, and we could all feel it as the puck dropped at high noon.

Heather and I were rooting for the underdogs and in the second period we were given an oppourtunity to cheer as Norway started what could have been a serious comeback. Halfway through the third period it was still only 3-1, but by the end the American team won by a margin. All but one of the goals was right in front of us, and as we filed out in an orderly fashion at the end of the game everybody seemed pretty happy with their team’s performance.

Before you knew it we were on the street ready to roam so we made our way towards Gastown. We stopped by the Cannabis Culture shop where I ran into Marc Emery, proprietor and extradition waiter. He was filming something, likely a segment of their webcast, and I took the oppourtunity to tell him I thought he was a national hero, and if and when the Canadian laws change in our favour he will be one of the people we will have to thank for it. Say what you want about the guy, he’s the one pushing the limits in this country. I sat in the park across the street and smoked a joint before we made our way to tourist central, Gastown. The clock was whistling as we arrived.

In the Starbucks waiting for coffee everyone, and I mean everyone, is wearing their country’s colours. There are Dutch, Swiss, American, Japanese, the coffee shop is a cultural cross-section of the world. Everyone is here.

We rambled in and out of shops and had dinner at the original Old Spaghetti Factory. After dinner we found a bar to watch the end of the Canada/Switzerland hockey game. When the game came down to a surprising and nail-biting shootout the whole bar cheered and gasped as one with every shot. You could feel it stretching beyond the doors and into the streets of the whole city, hell the whole country as our hearts stopped and started together with every save, and the collective glee when The Kid scored in his second attempt over the seemingly unstoppable Swiss goalie, well, the reverberation was thunderous.

We hit the streets to feel the energy outside and made our way back to Victory Park across from the Cannabis shop. Horns honk, flags waved, people screamed, it was glorious.

By now it was getting past 7pm so we walked to the Queen Elizabeth Theatre where we had tickets to Hal Willner’s Neil Young Project, the first of a two-night tribute to one of Canada’s greatest songwriters, and part of the official and extensive Cultural Olympics. We grabbed a drink and got seated in the balcony just before the lights went down and were treated to a unique and wonderful show that bounced between the dramatically under-rehearsed to the gaspingly poignant. There were a million microphones set up on the beautiful MTV Unplugged-esque stage. The biggest treats of the first set included Emily Haines’ version of Man Needs A Maid, the surprise inclusion of Elvis Costello and everything he was part of, Lou Reed singing the exceptionally well-chosen Helpless, and the texture of having up to twenty-one musicians onstage at once just going for it, it was a real special treat. There were the inevitable clunkers, most notably the woman who sang like Miss Piggy on After The Gold Rush, but other than being a lot on the mellow side, what was certainly going to be the end of the show ended up being just the end of the first set of what turned out to be a three and-a-half hour show. All the artists came back in the second set, which was much higher in energy and doubled what was already an unforgettable show. I assume the second night would be even better, but one thing is for sure, they wouldn’t play the same both nights. The whole show bordered on improv as every player was on the edge of their seat making sure they caught the changes.

We initially had tickets to the medal ceremony/Hedley concert tonight. There’s no question in my mind we made the right decision selling those tickets.

Back on the skytrain, we made the second-last connection to Tsawwassen and made it home by 1:30am. Long, great day.

[SolarGarlic]

Epic.

CHUG.

[Basher]

MT 4 L8R

[Velvet]

Stardate 021910

4am came early.

Deep in REM mode I got tickets and brains together for our journey to Whistler. With only two hours of sleep in the bank we drove to the skytrain and parked at the casino ($2 for 24 hours). We caught the first train out and transferred to get on the seabus. Finally, our plan falls apart. We had 6am Official Olympic bus network shuttle passes, and we were to leave from the Longsdale Quay. Here we were, twenty-five minutes to make the fourteen minute crossing to Longsdale, and it turns out the seabus doesn’t start for the day until 6am.

We scrambled back down the tunnel to investigate other train/bus combinations of getting there in time and resigned ourselves to being late. We hoped they would just put us on the next available bus – whenever that would be.

The seabus is basically a large passenger-only ferry, and it's a neat addition to BC Transit, we got across quickly and were easily ushered towards the buses. Our tickets were scanned and we were directed to a 6am bus that was obviously waiting for the seabus to make its first arrival. We breathed a sigh of relief and settled in for a two-hour ride to Whistler.

I was in and out of sleep the whole time. It was hard to sleep because the scenery was so awesome. As my still cold-infected ears popped their way up the Sea-to-Sky highway my reddened sleepy eyes feasted on mountains backed by clear blue skies.

The bus dropped us at the Whistler Olympic Park where we were directed along a path through the woods towards the giant ski jumps. There were speakers in the trees playing native music while we reveled in the beautiful nature hike that brought thousands of us to the enormous slides on the mountainside. In short order we got coffees and warmed up in the first near-winter like weather we had felt since arriving.

I was wearing only a t-shirt under my jacket due to sleepy planning and consistently near-Florida type weather in Vancouver so I stepped into the merch booth and laid down $35 for a long-sleeve shirt, joining the multitudes that donned official Olympic merch. I tell you, they have sold a lot of merch. Everywhere you look people are wearing their Canada gear, and with our ubiquitous red mittens, Heather’s oh-so-cute toque she picked up in Gastown yesterday, and now my long-sleeve, we’re now on board.

Cozy and coffeed we found a spot on the rail to watch the end of the ski jumping trials. Before long the sun came over the mountain and warmed up the crowd, and as the big screen primed us newbs in a few of the ski jumping basics, we redied ourselves for the men’s qualifying round.

Of course I’ve never been to a live ski-jumping competition before, and I was surprised to find that they adjust the starting point to restrict how far the jumpers will fly, about 140 metres is about as far as they want them to go. And fly they do, it’s really quite amazing to watch. The sixty-one athletes were vying for the top fifty spots, and surprisingly only one of the (was it) four Canadians advanced. I’ve never known anyone who has ski-jumped so it’s odd that I’m surprised that we’re not a super-power in it, but I am.

The competition took about an hour, and afterwards we were directed to the bus to Whistler Village.

Y’know, there has been a lot of talk about the glitches and problems in the Vancouver Olympics, but I haven’t heard any of that from anyone actually attending the events. Everything has been going remarkably smooth, and every move is made so easy and obvious that there has been no chance of getting lost anywhere. Lineups are short to nil and the weather is making everything that much better – it’s the Spring Olympics.

The Olympic bus network would have required us to go back to Vancouver pretty much immediately after the ski jumping so we opted to buy a private bus ticket back at 5pm, giving us the entire afternoon to kill in Heather’s old stomping grounds.

We walked by the huge Olympic rings in the Village and a makeshift memorial to the fallen Georgian luger and found ourselves in front of Heather’s old favourite brew pub. It was busy but we got a table immediately and scarfed delicious beers and awaited a highly anticipated lunch. Of course the Olympics was on every television and tables from every country rooted on their athletes. Fed and on my third beer, watching the downhill skiing that was taking place just around the corner I basked in the joy of Being There. The tv showed the crowds cheering in the Whistler streets and as I saw the very same crowds right outside the window I settled into a feeling of utter sleep-deprived, marijuana and beer inspired bliss, and I locked into that feeling for the next hour and-a-half as we sat there.

Back on the streets we drunkenly jumped up and down for the cameras at the CTV pavilion and wandered the busy streets with thousands of happy people. We grabbed some warm drinks and heard some live music and found our return shuttle in time for our ride back to Vancouver. I spent the next few hours in that cozy spot between sleep and wake with the sun setting beyond the mountains the whole way back. We ended up back at the casino parking spot and Heather drove us home.

Pizza and Olympic highlights on the tv and I went down for an eleven-hour sleep. Surprisingly, my cold seems to be receding. It must be my Olympic-sized resiliency.

So far, the Olympic experience has surpassed all my expectations. It’s really, really amazing to be here.

[backbacon]

Thanks Velvet!

[Davey Boy 2.0]

rock and facking roll, mon ami

[bouche]

a'right! More epic logs. I stickied it for convenience.

btw Velvet, here is the history behind the venue.

[meggo]

love it todd, thanks!!

[Velvet]

Oh gawd, please don't sticky it.

[bouche]

Oh gawd, please don't sticky it.

ok.

[p.p.]

Sounds like you had fun at the Neil show. A bunch of friends got free tickets to it and went the second night. They all thaught it sucked and left at the intermission. They said Lou Reed in particular was terrible.

Hope you're having a great trip. T'was good to see you. Have fun in the mountains!! Should be getting some snow on Tuesday or Wednesday.

[Velvet]

Stardate 022010

Given the oppourtunity to catch up on my sleep I took eleven hours and woke up feeling like my cold was starting to wane. We have the house to ourselves for a few days so we are comfortable just loafing about. The weather is so nice we spent some time chillin’ in the lush backyard wearing just our pajamas. It’s hard to believe it’s mid-February. Later in the afternoon we ventured out into Tsawwassen and Ladner. Believe it or not, the streets of Tsawwassen are lined with palm trees, which totally adds to the Florida-esque vibe I keep getting here. We ended up having an early dinner at a sushi restaurant in Richmond and once again hopped the skytrain towards downtown.

This time we were headed towards the Vancouver Olympic Centre. We hadn’t looked into exactly how to get there on the train and I didn’t even have to ask. A lady said I looked a bit bewildered and asked if I needed any direction. I did and she delivered. Three stops later we found ourselves a short walk through a residential neighborhood to the seemingly temporary structure. We were lucky enough to have recently scored tickets to the big curling match between Canada and Great Britain.

There was a significant yet bearable lineup to get through security and into the building, possibly the biggest lineup I’ve seen so far at the Olympics. We came in during the first end and took our excellent seats seven rows up from the end zones.

I had curled once, but it was so early in the morning and I was so drunk I hardly remember it at all, except that it was one huge rubber band away from being a giant game of Rebound. The place was packed and rowdy. When did cowbells become standard equipment at sporting events? There was an entire section of Canadian flag-draped fans waving their banners in choreographed unison and people in costumes and face paint and well it was just about the craziest curling competition contemplatable.

There were three matches going on simultaneously, China versus Switzerland on sheet B, Sweden and France on sheet C and the great rivalry of Canada versus Great Britain on sheet D. There was a big screen and when they took it away from the Canada match the crowd came up with a dozen different chants announcing their insistence to show the Canada match on the screen. It’s really important to have the overhead view if you want to make the spectacle even mildly interesting and the in-house techs soon got the gist of it and showed the Canada match almost exclusively.

Gretzky is a fan. As soon as they showed him on the screen every single person on his side of the arena, I mean about three thousand people, they all stood up at the same time and looked at him. I wonder if one ever gets used to that sort of thing.

I’ll say this: I do not and have never followed curling in any capacity, but if I was shown a photo of Canada’s Kevin Martin I would instantly recognize him as one of the world’s top curlers. I don’t think you can regularly read the news in Canada and not know this guy. And I love how this international sports star looks like your uncle. His nemesis is Britain’s top man, Murdoch. The Brits had an admirable crowd out to support them but nothing compared to the Red & White army out to cheer on Canada. The crowd was absolutely manic.

As the match went on it was clear that these were the world’s best. Nearly every shot went exactly where it was meant to go, it was a matter of strategy versus strategy. The levels of curling are many, and as a novice I found it virtually impossible to follow the reasoning behind all but the last few shots of each end. The mastery involved in both sides was admirable, and it was clear the players had a high respect for one another, as stone after stone cleared the board only to land spot on in the middle.

In the ninth end with Canada behind by one, Heather and I were baffled by the strategy of keeping the board empty – every shot the Brits made was cleared by Martin and his team, until we thought they would take the easy tying point in the last throw, only they didn’t. They cleared the board and stayed one behind, and then we realized that meant the British team would have to throw first again in the final end!

This is a deep game, and beer is $1 cheaper than at the hockey games.

About halfway through the last end with Canada about to throw, a lone fan stood up and started the first line of Oh Canada. I thought it was a pretty ballsy move because someone (perhaps the same person) had done the same thing ten minutes earlier to no reaction. But when he hit the second line about a dozen or so people joined in, and by the time the third line started it was clear it was gonna catch on. Halfway through the national anthem the whole crowd was behind it; 6,000 strong as the Canadian team suspended their play and reveled in being revered. It was an uncharacteristically patriotic move for a Canadian sports crowd, but the fans wanted to send a message to the team that win or lose we’re behind them, and don’t worry, because we all know you’re going to win. Frankly it was a beautiful thing to behold.

Canada won the end and the crowd gave them an enormous ovation, as the still undefeated team waved and slid off the sheet. And all this while two other matches were going on! About three-quarters of the crowd stuck around to watch the last few minutes of the other two matches before we all filed out and into the night.

Back at the skytrain the surging crowd was herded into an orderly line and given free hot chocolate. Treat in hand we made it onto the crowded train in no time and whisked our way home for the night.

The Olympics are fun.

[Kanada Kev]

About halfway through the last end with Canada about to throw, a lone fan stood up and started the first line of Oh Canada. I thought it was a pretty ballsy move because someone (perhaps the same person) had done the same thing ten minutes earlier to no reaction. But when he hit the second line about a dozen or so people joined in, and by the time the third line started it was clear it was gonna catch on. Halfway through the national anthem the whole crowd was behind it; 6,000 strong as the Canadian team suspended their play and reveled in being revered. It was an uncharacteristically patriotic move for a Canadian sports crowd, but the fans wanted to send a message to the team that win or lose we’re behind them, and don’t worry, because we all know you’re going to win. Frankly it was a beautiful thing to behold.

AWESOME!

[Davey Boy 2.0]

one man's bewildered is another man's baked

[Davey Boy 2.0]

just a bump to make this a bit easier for Velvet to find

On a scale of 1 to 10 how hungover are you?

[Northern Wish]

Just a guess......?

[elemeno]

60oz hang over

[killatokes]

am i the only one waiting for the "final" installment of this thread? my day at the vapour lounge was insane! downtown was off the hook...

:chug: :bonghit: :chug:

[Velvet]

Stardate 022710

Sunday was a free day and we spent it lackadaisically. We watched the Canada/US hockey game with horror. It seemed like every shot on goal resulted in a heart-stopping rebound; Brodeur was playing like an elastic band and I found it hard to believe they wouldn’t pull him. It was so baffling I might as well have been watching curling. The only possible explanation I could come up with was the coach wanted Brodeur to keep his confidence in case Luongo didn’t work out and he needed to go back to rubberman. Whatever, an extra easy game might help them get their shit a little more together.

After the game we packed, and has been our inexplicable habit on this vacation so far, we went to bed early. So early in fact our 8am alarm wasn’t needed.

It was time for our vacation within a vacation. We packed up the loaner car (an ’86 Nissan Sentra) and headed east into the mountains. Heather was at the wheel so I parked myself in relax mode and enjoyed the drive. The car got a bit weird going up some of the hills, but before long we were elevated and enjoying the majestic vistas around every corner. We stopped in Kamloops for some groceries and a liquor store and discovered we had a flat tire. We pulled into a Wal-Mart and 90 minutes and $24 later we were back on the road.

It was really amazing to see how bare the mountains were on our drive, this warm weather has made it over the hills and into ski-country. Revelstoke appeared barren and made us happy we had decided against it as our resort of choice. At long last we drove through Golden and up the hill to Kicking Horse, found our resort and checked in.

We were shocked to find it was 9pm, at this point we were unaware we had crossed a time zone, but regardless we were ecstatic to have arrived. We had booked four nights in a ski in/out resort at the foot of the mountain in a suite with a full kitchen and private hot-tub. The room was beautiful, although due to a housekeeping gaffe it wasn’t completely ready for us – dirty dishes in the sink and the dishwasher but not a big deal. Beers were opened, joints were rolled and we all but ran into the hot-tub. We were on the fourth and top floor and our suite took up a corner of the building. Our main deck overlooked the bottom of the ski hill and the lift (which was about 150m from our door). The deck that had the hot-tub overlooked the mountain range to the east. It was uber-private, and I’ll say little more about that.

In short, the room was fantastic in pretty much every way.

The next day was a spa day. We didn’t leave the suite and spent the day bouncing between the hot-tub and watching the Olympics. We had so much pot there was a distinct danger of having to leave some behind when we eventually leave BC, and we were plenty stocked with food/alcohol/snacks, so we lived like rock stars all day. Again an early night led to another early rise, and on Wednesday morning we grabbed our boards and hit the slopes.

How refreshing it is to stroll for a couple of minutes and find yourself at the foot of the fourth-highest vertical drop in North America. With basically zero lineup we hopped the gondola for the first run.

Now for those not in the know, my girlfriend is a pretty awesome snowboarder. She has been at it most of her life and can tear down any hill you choose to present her with. I, on the other hand, have the handicap of not starting my boarding career until I was way beyond the invincibility state of youth. I’ve been at it a few years but I keep it easy. My goal is to enjoy winter and have some fun out-of-doors time, I am not looking for a challenge and I’m not there for the adrenalin rush. And the gondola went up, and up, and up. Holy fuck, this is a big mountain, and it’s full of snow.

At the top we strapped in and started moving. As we started down it occurred to me that the sunshine and my fresh morning eyes contributed to a bit of snowblindness, and I found it all but impossible to see the contours of the hill. No worries, I thought, I’ll just carry on down until my eyes get used to it. And then OH MY GAWD THIS IS JUST A LITTLE STRIP OF SNOW WITH A SHEER DROP-OFF ON EITHER SIDE! I mean, what the fuck! The suicide strip was a down with a bit of up, which left us trucking along for a while, but more importantly it meant that for subsequent runs the strategy had to be to hit that strip fast so we could get all the way across it.

C’mon now.

Suffice to say my first run took me almost 90 minutes. As an Ontario boarder I’ve certainly never been on a mountain like this before. Just over a hundred runs, and over 80 of them are double-diamond. I’m strictly a green/blue kinda guy, and no lie, some of those green runs were the scariest runs I’ve ever tried. The second run I hit that death strip at quite a clip and I kept repeating to myself, out loud (out very loud), “Just don’t go off the mountain, just don’t go off the mountain!†It wasn’t to the point of sheer terror, but I found it plenty scary.

Four or five runs in and we veered over to the suite for lunch, beer, and a hot-tub. Somehow we still managed to get back out there for the rest of the afternoon, but we were both feeling plenty tired and lazy after the lunch break.

As we started what was to become my last run, I found myself a bit snowblind again, my eyes having lost their sharpness on the long gondola ride. I misread the slope and ended up hitting death-alley way faster than I was expecting, and with such a narrow perch to deal with I was unable to do the back-and-forth slowdown that we snowboarders do. So, despite my mantra being screamed over and over, at one point I found myself dangerously right and upon correcting came perilously close to careening over the left side. I can’t remember when I last felt that kind of fear, I mean I was fucking scared. Of course I didn’t go off the edge, and I eventually caught up with Heather (only because she had stopped to wait for me), and with my nerves at their end and my knees ready to collapse I slowly made my way down the rest of the mountain and back to our glorious hot-tub oasis, where no amount of drugs and alcohol was going to convince me to try that shit again the next day.

When morning came Heather hit the slopes again while I spent my time sitting on the balcony watching for her to come down the hill. We could easily wave to each other as she rode the chair lift, we were that close to the hill.

Our supplies were ample enough to get us through the four days without once having to venture beyond our suite, and come Friday morning we were sad to leave. A final soak in the tub and we pointed the Nissan west and spent the day descending towards Vancouver.

The Canadian hockey team had trounced the Russians with a spectacular showing and all they had to do was get by Slovakia to make it to the gold medal game, where every Canadian wanted them to be, especially us. It was iffy on whether or not we would make it back to Tsawwassen in time for the puck to drop, so we decided to get a cheap motel for the night so we could watch the game. It was entirely appropriate that we watched the game from the Lucky Strike Motel in Hope, BC, and when the Canadians pulled through we were thrilled.

Y’see, we have tickets to the game on Sunday, and with Canada now set to play the USA for the gold medal, well, these are just about the most sought-after tickets on the planet right now.

[Booche]

[Ms.Huxtable]

I finally got around to reading all of these posts. Thanks once again for sharing your experiences with us Velvet. It sounds like an awesome time.

This part was my favorite, as I can totally relate:

I slowly made my way down the rest of the mountain and back to our glorious hot-tub oasis, where no amount of drugs and alcohol was going to convince me to try that sh!t again the next day.

:content:

[Velvet]

Stardate 022810

I woke up excited. Like, Willy Wonka excited. It was the biggest day in Canadian hockey possibly in my lifetime, and I had a golden ticket. Once again, setting the alarm had been merely a formality. Today was big. Today was huge. Canada versus the US for the gold medal in hockey. Literally the crème de la crème of hockey greats, gathered together with pride and lifelong dreams on the line. Big doesn’t touch it.

We got out of the house early and hopped the bus. Our event tickets gave us free local transportation but I almost wanted to pay – I’ve never held a more valuable pair of tickets in my pocket before, and I was loath to pull them out in front of anybody.

We are among the first on the bus, and stop after stop loaded more red and white painted faces until the bus is jammed with fans going downtown. The lady beside me is taking pictures, “The 601 will never look like this again!†she says. Everyone is happy, check that, everyone is giddy, we all anticipate an unforgettable day.

We acquired the tickets honestly, that is, we got them in the ticket lottery a year and-a-half ago, and for the last eighteen months I’ve been dreaming of Canada being in the game. A little research left me very surprised to learn that Canada has won Olympic gold in hockey only once since 1952. Can that be right? I checked and rechecked. To dream the game would be against the USA was too much – I didn’t dare to imagine it, and here it was. From the very beginning almost everyone I’ve mentioned it to told me I was crazy not to sell them. “You could get thousands for those tickets.†Frankly, every time I heard it I thought the person speaking was the crazy one. Of course that didn’t keep me from keeping abreast of the going prices on the VANOC website. Even before it was down to Canada/US the tickets were selling for $2,500+ per ticket. When the rivalry was set the starting prices jumped about another grand a ticket, but no matter, not once was I tempted to sell.

Well, okay, if it ended up being Sweden versus Finland, maybe. But it didn’t end up Sweden versus Finland, it was my country versus the big guys from down south, and I wasn’t missing this.

We got downtown and headed straight for Victory Park for a couple of joints to set the mood and meandered towards the arena. Only 15% of the tickets for this game went on sale to the general public, the rest went to athletes, sponsors, VIPs and that sort, so it was fun walking in surrounded by the lucky minority and the elite majority. Near the stadium there were a group of people battling it out in a street hockey game – it gave me shivers.

Sure it might be hype, and sloganism, but this is our game, honest and truly. Growing up you wouldn’t find anyone less sports-oriented than myself, and yet I, like everyone else, owned a stick and got my knocks on the asphalt. The yell of “car!†followed closely by “game on!†is a Canadian rite and I submit there’s nobody that was born here that doesn’t know that scene, nor is there many that don’t recognize names like Gretzky, Rocket Richard or Bobby Orr. Sure lacrosse is our official national sport, but I’m sure none of us really know why. Peter Puck, Don Cherry, The Habs, The Leafs, He Shoots He Scores, each phrase as familiar to Canadians as Tim Horton’s (oh yeah, another hockey player).

Inside we grabbed some hotdogs and beers and walked all the way up. We were in the last row but who cares? We were directly behind the visitors net and had a fisheye lens view of the room. Beside us was a group of guys from Calgary. A friend had won tickets in a lottery and couldn’t make it. I had to cut the conversation short for another beer run. Can you believe I could get a pair of $8 beers and make it back to my seat in two minutes? I know because of the clock that was counting down to pregame.

Finally they players came out for their warmup. But just the USA team. As Unchained by Van Halen blasted over the PA (in its entirety) the American elite dumped pucks into their empty net, and even sent a few down the ice into Canada’s net. Enjoy it boys.

I called Tom Sawyer by Rush as Canada’s warmup tune and came close. When the Canadian team finally hit the ice for their pre-skate the deafening roar made it hard to tell at first, but it turned out being Spirit Of Radio. I had made a few more two-minute trips to the Molson line by then and was excitedly singing along as a collection of the greatest players of all time skated below us. The joy was already immense, and the puck hadn’t even dropped yet.

By the time the game started I was six beers in, but hell, this is the Olympics, we’re here to give it our all. Everyone was totally amped to be in the room and I was primed to add my voice to the masses of crazies. Being in the back row had one distinct advantage; from the moment the puck dropped we never sat down once, I was amazed that anyone could.

Just like the USA/Norway game we had attended, there were volunteers in many of the aisles whose job it was to keep the crowd loud, cheerleaders basically, and today they had the easiest job in the world. Though they screamed and beat drums they were all but drowned out by a crowd that was so excited it needed no encouragement whatsoever.

When Canada scored first the crowd just fucking exploded, and Heather breathed for the first time of the game.

Every time Luongo touched the puck the crowd chimed in with their Looooo! chant. Every time the American team had a scoring chance 20,000 people held their breath at once. The crowd acted as one enormous amorphous being; Heather and I were two cells in the body of a huge screaming fan-beast. It truly felt like we intertwined with something big and impossible to separate ourselves from.

The first period break sailed past. When the Canadians scored in the second period to make it 2-0 we were all feeling pretty good. Of course when the US came back to score one we all got a little edgy together. In the third period more and more of us were on our feet, and in that last minute we were all locked together on that puck. When the USA tied the game in the last 24 seconds the fear of God descended on us all. I turned to Heather and said, “at least it makes for an exciting game!â€

The fifteen minute break before overtime took forever.

Jesus. Overtime. Canada/USA gold medal game going to overtime. No matter how this turns out it will become legend. Curiously, the announcer referred to the overtime as “Sudden Victory†instead of “Sudden Death.†Hopefully he’s Canadian.

The excitement that enveloped the crowd before the game had only risen. Tens of thousands of eyes absolutely riveted on the game. Our game. I had read one of the coaches say that playing hockey in Canada was different than playing hockey anywhere else, because instead of playing in front of 20,000 hockey fans, in Canada you play in front of 20,000 hockey experts. We were an arena full of Don Cherry’s, hearts soaring every time the puck got cleared and knuckles whitening every time an odd-man rush came our way.

We were behind the USA net when it happened. No TV, no bigscreen, with my own eyes I saw the puck go in the net. With my very own eyes I saw quite possibly the biggest goal in the history of our game. I will never, ever forget it. Everybody stood up at once, all arms went in the air, I screamed at the top of my drunken lungs “WE WIN THE GOLD MEDAL!!†to deaf ears as nothing was distinct, our collective joy made one big sound. I picked up Heather in a bear hug and we kept jumping up and down, hi-fiving everyone within reach. I didn’t even see who had scored it, and when I found out it was Him, well, a better ending could not have been written. Writing this now has me feeling tears of joy welling up.

There’s no way the sound of the crowd could be contained. Everybody in Canada could hear us, and we could hear the rest of Canada. It turns out two-thirds of my countrymen watched it, and 26 million of us celebrated as one in that moment. It felt absolutely and utterly culturally defining.

Inside, the crowd would not stop. Minutes and minutes went by and we all kept screaming like we were locked in that beautiful moment, like the puck was still just going by Miller into the net. We were all frozen in the glorious image of the penultimate Canadian sports moment. Glee, exaltation, bliss, joy, relief, ecstasy, we all reveled in it together.

I was so glad the medals were presented on the spot, as it should be. And when those flags rose the crowd sang the national anthem louder and prouder than I’ve ever heard it sung. Nobody was whispering it, nobody was merely mouthing the words; I don’t know if there was a prouder moment. Again, I’m getting misty thinking about it now, three days later.

Out on the streets the celebration was unprecedented. Back to Victory Park we sat and took it all in, it was a celebration that was happening all over the country and we could feel it. We had dinner on a patio in Gastown and the celebrations just kept building. Later walking through the insanely crowded streets at any one time you could hear pockets of people singing Oh Canada from any and all directions. It was like a hundred Canada Days happening all at once. We watched a lot of the closing ceremony as it was projected on a wall and saw BC Place lit up with fireworks from just down the street. It was a celebration for the ages.

I tell you this: if I had sold my ticket for $5,000 I would be sitting here feeling like a fool. While the standard response whenever I mentioned to someone I had tickets to the game was that I should sell them, I wonder how many people would say that now? And, perhaps more importantly, twenty years from now, how many of those people will say to me, “I can’t believe you didn’t sell those tickets� Zero people. When I’m older and greyer I assure you I will not have the thousands of dollars laying around that I would have got for selling my ticket, but I promise you this, only the fiercest case of Alzheimer’s will wrench the memory of that game from my mind. Every time I picture that puck go into that net I can’t help but to laugh out loud.

That joy will never leave me.

[Ms.Huxtable]

WOW! Even I'm tearing up!

[Tooly]

thanks so much for posting this stuff Todd.

I would have had a HARD time selling those tickets too