More Cowbell, Please....

The Olympics are here. The Olympics are here. The O-LYM-PIIIICS.....!

Sorry, for shouting.

I'm about to be a very very very, happy though-fiscally-restricted-grad student. The Olympic Cauldron at the Vancouver 2010 Olympic games will be lit on Friday February 12th, which means I'll be unavailable for anything apart from basic daily living functions (and my job) until the Closing Ceremonies on February 28th. That's over two weeks of my Facebook friends not knowing how to respond to my posts about the Men's Curling Round Robin Session 11 action, or the St. Moritz hotelier who created bobsledding in the late 1800s.

Olympic Games, why do I love you so much?

My family has always been a little nuts for the Games, both Summer and Winter. As kids we even created our version of the Summer games one weekend, at my maternal grandparent's house. Events included the Milk Dud Relay, which involved rolling a sad little Milk Dud across the ground with your nose while hands tied-behind your back, and, Bike Hurdling, which involved multiple injury timeouts. My sisters, cousins and I re-named ourselves so that we could represent as many nationalities as possible, which resulted in many memorable monikers such as, "Yucca Plucca" (I believe she was Romanian), "Ima DeFastust" (Welsh, maybe?), and, "Ken" (sigh...my cousin, no creativity at that age). My Ukrainian great-grandmother, who lived with my grandparents, was still alive then. She watched us with shining eyes, clapping and nodding even though I'm sure we confused her a little bit. My grandparents and parents, uncles and aunts, even the next-door-neighbors, gave us free access to property and props. The only adult-dictated rule I remember is that we try not to get ourselves killed by accidently plunging down the formidably-steep, tree-studded hill on one side of the house.

I have no idea who won what - Yucca Plucca still claims gold-medal victories in all of her events (she's 44, her memory is shot) - but I do know that we competed hard, laughed non-stop, and that the adults celebrated it all with us. Even my Uncle Joe, who could fall asleep at a monster truck pull, stayed awake to officiate.

But that was Summer. And I LOVE summer. So why do the Winter Games do if for me a little more? Is it the mammoth crush I had on Eric Heiden and his thighs? Coach Herb Brooks, Mark Johnson, Mike Eruzione, Jim Craig, and the rest of the 1980 U.S. Men's Hockey Team's "miracle" in Lake Placid? And I maaay have had a thing for Alberto Tomba.

Hmmm, pattern here....but there's probably more to it than teen-crush hormones.

Maybe it's the athletes who commit bodies and souls to competing in sometimes obscure winter sports (like, skeleton), which has a "for the love of the game" aspect that I just love. Maybe it's the fantasy winter wonderland venues, that make both the athletes and the spectators seem like other humanly creatures and part of the earth. Maybe I'm just a sucker for neoprene. Whatever the reason, since the 1976 Innsbruck Games I've been worthless between torch lighting and extinguishing (I cry at both), to almost everyone except anyone glued to the tv with me.

But I couldn't watch the '02 Games in Salt Lake City. Because I was IN Salt Lake City. With tickets to some of the most unforgettable sporting events, in unspeakably beautiful venues. Sometimes I still can't believe I was there, watching Lemieux and his Canadian teammates in a bad loss to a very blond (kid you not) Swedish team in the first round (ultimately, they won Gold), Bode Miller literally rip through Deer Valley in a wicked downward manner on his way to Silver, the U.S. Men's Curling team silently edge past Russian and Japanese athletes, hundreds of distance cross-country skiers talk themselves through every wall to finish what they came to do...and others.

And as truly awesome as the events themselves were, the real soul and humor and Olympic experience came from unexpected sources......like standing literally three feet from the cross-country skiers (and their sweat, and their coaches) as they powered through the killer course at gorgeous Soldier's Hollow, hot chili breakfasts, the Jamaican cross-country skier who came in dead last but got the biggest ovation from the thousands of people willing him across the finish (a good hour behind everyone else), cowbells, bare-chested and face-painted U.S. Curling Team fanatics who made more noise in two minutes than a rink full of curlers did in 3 hours, more cowbell, thousands of engaging volunteers with wide open faces who instantly made visitors feel like natives, more yummy hot chili, making instant friends with strangers from all over the world who happened to be sitting or standing near you, soooo many cowbells, the nasty fan-fight two rows ahead of me at the Canada-Sweden hockey game, a day off spent at Antelope Island hiking remote areas and running along the bay (heavenly), sneaking down a sidestreet aside Rice-Eccles Olympic Stadium to stare at the Flame one night (also heavenly). And, too many more little things to recount that all added up to one, awe-inspiring, experience-of-a-lifetime.

So, I've got my Olympic cowbells, chili, hockey puck, and O attitude. I'm completely ready to watch. And to remember to pay attention to little things, too.

C'mon over. There's enough for everyone.