Paul has been one of the most devoted handball broadcasters of these Olympic Games.  We have 38 commentary positions, which means that at any given time, there could be as many as 38 broadcasters (BBC, ARD/ZDF, FT2/FT3, etc.) in our stands covering the game.  In truth, though, most countries only bother covering the games they’re in leaving the commentary area lacking many occupants much of the time.  But such is NOT the case for the BBC. Paul Bray is a former player and coach for Team GB and dearly loves the sport of Handball.  According to one article I read, he has covered more that 1000 matches.  This is, no doubt, one of the contributing factors in his losing his voice in record time on Saturday.

I spend much of my time in the arena with the commentators.  As an occasional commentator myself, I have a better grasp of their needs than most and know how to respond when a “situation” arises.  Such was the case when I saw Paul with his head down during a break.

The commentary area is at the top of the stands where heat tends to build up. It can get quite warm and I do my best to keep everyone hydrated.  I thought Paul might have overdone it so I brought him some water and checked to see if he needed anything else.

“Nothing cold, please,” he wheezed.  “I’m hoping to find some warm liquid at the next break.”

“Coffee, perhaps,” I asked — having seen about five empty cups there the other day.

“No, I don’t want the dairy.”

Apparently the idea of black coffee is not a British one, and dairy products do clog your throat. Not something you want when you’re already losing your voice.

“Tea?” I asked.

A pleading look in his eyes told me I had struck a chord.

Two minutes to air.

There’s a concession stand just at the bottom of the commentator area, but you usually have to wade through the clamoring hoards to get to it.  By some strange stroke of divine intervention, the hall was empty when I got to it and I went right to the counter.

Now for all their faults in rerouting traffic, the Olympics folks got it right when it comes to fast food at the venues.  At one of the local McDonalds in Olympic Park, there are about 12 lines and about 47 people working each line.  You’re in and out in a matter of seconds.  Likewise in our venue.

The word “Tea” is a one syllable word that, in my opinion, barely qualifies as a word.  That’s how short it is. Nonetheless (a word MUCH longer than “Tea”), before the “a” of the word had escaped my lips, one of the helpers had a nice hot cup of tea waiting for me on the counter.  I paid the clerk and made my way back up the stairs as quickly as I could.

I got back to Paul just as he was attempting to go back on the air. With a wave of the hand to gesture “put it here” and a point to his jar of honey and a big thumbs up, he smiled and I went on my way. His voice was really rough when I left and I was reminded of a USA Canoe/Kayak Sprint National Championship at which I lost my voice with no one to relieve me. I mentally brushed up on my British accent. (Yeah right, they’re going to call on an American who has just learned the sport of handball to replace veteran commentator Paul Bray. Oh, well, it’s my dream. I suppose anything could happen.)

I checked in with Paul after that particular match and found him feeling and sounding much better.  I don’t know what it is about tea, but I know it keeps my voice going far longer than coffee.

Seems that trying to win gold in terms of covering the most events in your sport of choice requires pacing, as is the case with any distance sport. Remember, Paul, “Slow and steady wins the race.”

More on the real racing in an upcoming post, plus I’ll have some behind the scenes “techy” photos.

From London,

Rich

First, a little background: In addition to having all the audio signals route through our control room, the CCR also handles the video feeds to the commentators and to much of the rest of the venue. This is mainly a distribution task, but we do actually contribute one small bit of processing before we send the signal out.  We run it through a very basic character generator that places the letters “OBS” in the upper corner of the screen. It isn’t particularly helpful to those in the venue to see the letters in the corner, but it does help keep less scrupulous individuals from stealing a feed and broadcasting it or otherwise redistributing it.

Now, in truth, these little character generator boxes are nothing special to write home about. The box performs a very basic function and usually does it adequately, but in order to perform, it has to be in sync with the video signal being supplied to it, and it has to pass that sync on to the televisions trying to watch the signal down the line. On the day in question, one of our little boxes (we have three different channels we feed) apparently blinked and lost sync. The result was a beautiful black screen with the letters “OBS” brilliantly displayed in the corner.

We watched the signal for a few moments assuming that the OB truck (the place where the director calls the shots and where the video switching and surround sound mixing take place) had gone to black for some reason. Then we checked the backup channel and realized it still had picture, which meant that the main — the one the commentators were watching — was down. At about this time, the broadcasters started calling us on the Tech com to see what was wrong with their monitors.

As a side note, at my past two Olympics (Beijing and Vancouver) it was critical for commentators to be able to see these monitors at all times because it was impossible to see the entire whitewater course or the entire bobsled course from one location. The commentators were, therefore, doing their entire broadcasts based on the 19-inch screens in front of them. Here at the Handball Arena, though, the commentators are sitting in the arena watching the game itself, so the monitor is more for watching slow motion replays, etc.

Anyway, we had a black screen and no idea what was causing the problem so we had to start checking every link in the signal chain. It’s said that the problem will always be found in the last place you check. This is obvious because why check more places once you find what you’re looking for. In this case, though, the problem was in the character generator which was the very last link in the signal chain prior to the TVs themselves. A quick reset was all it took and the signal was back online. No harm done. No lives lost. No animals harmed in the testing of the circuit. And no interruption to life as you know it OR to our coverage of the 2012 Olympic Games.

Just a little glimpse behind the scenes of the biggest broadcast on the planet and the work of the brave men and women who keep it on the air …

Best from London,

Rich

Okay, that was an exaggeration. I had a decent seat in the pub that was showing the Opening Ceremonies on a big-screen TV.

Many people think that because I work for OBS, I can go to any event I wish. Truth be told, I watch most of the games on a monitor – either a TV in my hotel or in a restaurant, or on the monitor in my control room. This time, I have had the pleasure of being stationed in the stands to work directly with the commentators should problems arise. Having done commentary myself, I understand the needs of these fine people better than many in my position. For that reason, I’m actually able to watch the handball matches from the stands some of the time.

But back to the Opening Ceremonies.

Since I didn’t have tickets, or £2000 to buy tickets, I decided to head as far away from the crowds in Stratford as possible and get together with a friend of mine who worked on my broadcast team in Beijing. He lives a bit west of me so I hopped on the DLR (train) and headed to Limehouse Station.

Almost as soon as I got on the train, I noticed a trail of colored smoke in the air coming my direction. Well, if you did watch the television coverage, you know that that smoke was coming from a formation of jets doing a fly-over of the stadium. They probably passed the stadium about 1/8th of a second after passing me. That was my first glimpse of the Opening Ceremonies.

The train ride to meet my friend, Brian, was not terribly long. He met me at the station and from there we went on foot to the Tower Bridge. We arrived not long before football/soccer player David Beckham drove by in his sporty boat transporting the Olympic flame.

The pubs and restaurants were packed all around London as we looked for a place (1) to eat and (2) to watch the rest of the ceremonies. We finally found one that wasn’t terribly crowded, made our way in and ordered dinner. We were five feet from the screen.

As I’ve heard from friends about “what happened next,” it seems we missed the Queen’s arrival via parachute with an assist from 007, Daniel Craig. What I didn’t miss, though, was the musical debut of Rowan Atkinson playing the theme from Chariots of Fire accompanied by an orchestra. That, plus the dream sequence of his winning the race on the beach, was priceless.

After dinner, part of the parade of athletes, and a nice visit with Brian, I made my way back to the train and to the hotel. It was close to midnight by this point, but I suspected that the festivities were still continuing at the stadium because all the lights were on and the crowd heading toward me was merely humongous – not gargantuan. I turned on the TV in my room and settled in to watch until I fell asleep.

A short time later, no doubt for my convenience, someone decided it was time for yet another round of false fire alarms in the hotel. Over the course of about 25 minutes, the fire alarm would start to sound, then abruptly stop. I called the front desk just to make sure fire alarms in London aren’t extremely short bursts of siren followed by three or four minutes of silence. I was assured that the alarms were not real and they were looking into the cause. After the fifth alarm sounded, there was a period of about 10 minutes of silence. I start to doze off, but was jolted back awake by a barrage of explosions outside my window. I glanced at the television screen. Sure enough, the closing fireworks had begun. Here’s what they look like out my window.

So, all in all, I greatly enjoyed the Opening Ceremonies, even though I have a rather non-traditional way of watching.

That’s all for now from Olympic Park,

Rich

1. They have fireworks after all the rehearsals.
2. The rehearsals don’t end until about midnight.
3. I live right next to the Olympic Stadium.

Tonight (Friday) we’ll have the real thing. Seems like a good time to get out of town.

This will not be my first venture out, of course. I finally found some time to get away from Mall City and the crowds and go and enjoy London this past Tuesday. I took a train into Central London (I’m in East London at Stratford) and walked around the Theatre District, eventually finding my way to the Thames River. The river is a bit larger than I imagined and has large passenger boats traveling up and down it.

As with most all of London’s traffic, pedestrian traffic has been heavy leading up to the Olympics and it took a little while to find a place to cross the street thanks to the police barricades no doubt placed there for my “protection.” I finally found an opening and crossed the street. I got this picture of one of the boats as it pulled up to the docks. It was probably the only passenger boat NOT full of people enjoying the evening on the water. I was close to the London Eye by this point and decided to cross over the river on one of the several bridges near the London Eye.

One might expect to find people crossing a bridge, and I found quite a few.  Some were dressed in business attire (and yes, suits are still plentiful in the UK, unlike the in US where “business casual” is more often the style du jour), some in evening wear, some with pets, some in masks, and one … with a steel drum.

Now, truth be told, I love steel drum music and will always tend to gravitate toward someone playing steel drums.  However, this time I got a surprise.  As I got closer, I thought I recognized the song that was just ending.  My mind kept replaying a big band number, though, so I figured I was wrong.  However, the next song triggered the same type of musical memory so I considered that I may have discovered a rare breed of musician.

“Fly Me to the Moon,” I called out.

He stopped playing.

“Mon,” he said in his thick Jamaican accent, “you da first one who recognize my music today.”

“Well, you’re the first steel drum player I’ve heard who plays standards and the classics,” I replied.

We chatted for a while before I continued my journey.  He said he had been playing the steel drum for several years now and that the more he plays it the more he falls in love with the instrument. He was not the best steel drum player I have heard, but I think he enjoyed playing it more than most and the repertoire of jazz and big band was cool. Nice guy, too.

I finished crossing the bridge and made my way to the famous London Eye. It sort of looks like a giant Ferris Wheel, but unlike the Ferris Wheel that spins round and round with its multiple buckets big enough to hold one or two people each, the London Eye rotates very slowly and has many large glass cars which hold a couple of dozen people each.

Back to the subject of bridges, I saw an interesting sign on one the other day when returning to the hotel after work. As you no doubt have heard, there is a lot of traffic rerouting going on in London as we approach the games. It doesn’t matter that “this is the way you’ve done it forever.” If it’s been more than five minutes since you followed a certain path, that path likely doesn’t exist any more.  If you ask someone how to get to where you need to go, they may or may not help, but they will most likely look at you as if you should have known already.

This sign is the one I saw after work.  It’s on a pedestrian bridge at a point where there is no exit.  As I understand it, they want us to jump off the bridge into the water and make our way underneath the bridge.  There was no security person around to force my hand so I held my course and continued forward.  Yeah, I’m living dangerously.

I’ll be sharing a few more pictures from my trip to the Thames and a look inside the Handball Arena at some of the cool techie things in an upcoming post.  In the meantime, turn on the TV or head for the internet and watch the opening ceremonies.  I’ll be doing the same somewhere even though I can hear it out my window.

Enjoy,

Rich

The first thing I’ve noticed is that London security likes everything to be neat and orderly. Case in point, the foot bridge from Stratford Station to the Stratford Westfield Mall. It’s wide enough for Hannibal to cross it in a formation three elephants wide, yet security seems to like to squeeze us into very narrow pedestrian lanes on either side of the bridge, leaving a giant expanse in the middle still wide enough for two elephants. Of course, the only people in that wide expanse are security people who no doubt spend their time laughing at the cattle trying to make their way to the slaughterhouse.

Okay, it’s not quite that bad, but I like the image.

If I make it through the chute and maneuver my way to my hotel, I still have to face yet another round of convenient security just to get to my room. When I first arrived, I could walk right in, get on the elevator and head to my room. Then, a few days ago, I could get through the door, but when I got on the elevator, I could only get to the main lobby on the third floor unless I waved my room key in front of a sensor in the elevator. I tried my card. It didn’t work. I tried again. It tried not to work again. I went to the third floor.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Roszel, your key won’t work.”

Well, that’s very convenient.

“This new key should do the trick.”

I thanked the clerk and went up to my room.

I’m staying on an upper floor in the hotel and have used the stairs in the past just to say I could. The other night I was riding up in the elevator with a friend who is staying one floor below mine. Another friend and I accidentally got off on his floor as we were in mid-conversation. The elevator had already left when we realized our mistake. No problem, I thought, we’ll just take the stairs.

Never take the stairs when convenient security is in place.

We entered the stairwell and went up one flight. The door was locked. Of course, there was a card scanner next to the door so I waved my card as proof that I belonged on that floor. The card scanner ignored me. It was a cold sort of ignore as if it were saying, “You stood me up on our last date and I’m not even going to acknowledge your existence.“

Fortunately, I haven’t actually experienced that kind of cold stare from a real person, but I imagine this card scanner has the look down pat. Anyway, the only way out was down many flights of stairs to an exit on the ground floor, then back up in the elevator to the correct floor.

So then, one night later, I returned to the hotel to find that I could no longer get in the front door. I looked through the glass to a guard sitting at a desk. He pointed to a card reader and indicated I should wave my key there. I tried. It didn’t work. I looked back at him. He stared at me with cold disdain as if to indicated that I lacked the brainpower of a shepherd’s pie if I couldn’t figure out their technology which, I should point out, included two card readers and no instructions.

At about this time in our story, a knight in shining armor would ride up and save the day. Given that that would be a bit weird since I’m not a damsel, I was delighted that two good Samaritans happened by with their own room keys. They waved their keys in front of the same reader I did, but theirs worked. I took advantage of the situation and went in with them. I should mention that most of the security guards, including the ones pictured here, are quite decent folks, but the security guard on duty this particular night saw the whole thing and didn’t object to my entering with the other guests, which says to me that his job was not to keep me out, but rather to add to my frustration and do absolutely nothing to aid one of the hotel’s guests.

Again, very convenient.

Speaking of convenient, this fine hotel has been offering hot breakfasts as part of my stay ever since I arrived. I even checked before leaving Atlanta to see what was provided as part of the room rate. Yes, indeed, I was to receive a hot breakfast. Then it all changed without warning.

I went down to breakfast and was told that, from now on, I would only receive a cold breakfast for free, but that hot breakfast would cost an extra £10 per day. That’s about $16. Having eaten their hot breakfasts, I can tell you it’s good, but not worth $16 a day and to me, the idea of giving us a full breakfast and then suddenly limiting it is worse than limiting it from the start. I think some of the hotel management must have been drug pushers in a former life. Those of us who have become “users” will probably start trading breakfast items on the black market.

That’s all for now. My internet access continues to be sketchy at best so I’m likely to upload several posts at once. Sorry for the inconvenience any delays may cause. Just remember, it’s for your protection.

Cheers from London,

Rich

In London, I’m an audio engineer working as an installer and operator in the CCR (Commentary Control Room) at the Copper Box, also known as the Handball Arena or HBA. The picture to the right is of a sign in front of the Copper Box. To me, this makes you think this is a running track. It isn’t. It’s more like a basketball court with soccer (football to my European friends) goals on either end. Perhaps this sign was made by a member of the texting community who was trying to say, “Are you in?” Not sure. This is why I’ve never been too keen on texting myself. I can never understand most texts and am such a poor texting typist that it’s laughable.

As a matter of fact, I got together with some friends in Soho last night and today tried to send one of them a text. Granted, I’m using a new cheap phone that I bought for my month over here and it only has a dialpad on it. There’s nothing “smart” about it. Anyway, it took me five texts to say, in essence, “It was great to see you guys last night. Do you have Joe’s phone number?” I kept hitting the send button by mistake midway through the sentence. Fortunately the guy I was sending the text to has the gift of interpretation and figured out somewhere between the third and fourth texts what I was trying to say. Meanwhile, back to the narrative.

The HBA is located in Olympic Park just a few steps away from the Velodrome, the Aquatic Center, the Basketball Arena and Olympic Stadium. As you’ve no doubt heard, they are re-routing traffic on a moment-by-moment basis here, and to say, “You can’t get there from here,” is often the absolute truth. We can almost see the venue from our hotel, but it takes a while to walk there because we have to circumnavigate the globe to do so. Furthermore, we’re told that buses are not allowed into Olympic Park so I only save a few steps if I do bother to get on one. Ironically, a double-decker bus passes our control room almost every day. I asked security what it was for and they said it was “practicing” the route it will take once the games begin. I asked if it could practice with real passengers since it would be going right past my hotel, but they said no.

Speaking of my hotel, I live at the mall.

No, really. I live at the mall.

If you think I’m lying, here is the view from the window at the end of my hall. It’s the new Westfield Mall in Stratford. The old Westfield Mall in Stratford is about two blocks away. From what I hear, this was not a posh neighborhood before the Olympics so how they’re going to be able to support this place when we leave, I have no idea. If they changed the British pound sign to a dollar sign, the prices would be high. When you consider the exchange rate of 1.6 dollars to 1 pound, they’re exorbitant.

The hotel is a Holiday Inn. It’s pretty typical of most Holiday Inns, with a few exceptions. What you don’t see in this picture, you also don’t see anywhere in the room: a refrigerator. It’s been years since I’ve stayed at a hotel that didn’t have a small refrigerator in the room. Not only that, you also don’t see an ice bucket. That’s because there are no ice machines in the hotel. I went out and bought a cooler so I could keep some groceries in the room, but every night I have to take a ziploc bag to the bar downstairs and get the bartender to fill it with ice for me so I can keep food cold. I do have a fridge at work, so I’ve been shuffling things there when I can.

Here is the lovely bathroom in my hotel room. What you don’t see in this picture is a washcloth. You won’t find one in the bathroom either. They don’t have them. I’m not sure if Holiday Inn expects guests to bring their own, or if they aren’t the rage in England that they are in other parts of the civilized world. Nonetheless, they are not currently part of my Olympic experience. I got two full-sized towels and two hand-towels but no wash cloths. I’ve been using the hand towels for now, but will be going shopping for wash cloths shortly. If only I could find a mall…

Another quick bathroom-related note: In England, a bathroom is not called a bathroom; neither is it called a restroom. I learned this under pressure the other day when desperately searching for one. No, the appropriate word is “toilet.” I kept asking to be directed to the nearest bathroom and got looks from people who must have thought I had lost my mind to want to take a bath at McDonald’s. It seems that taking a rest at McDonald’s is not acceptable either. So for now, whatever I want to do that involves a bathroom shall be done in the toilet. Somehow I’m not looking forward to brushing my teeth any more.

There’s much more to write but no more time at present. Keep checking back, though, because the thrilling world of Safety Precautions is still ahead in our next exciting episode.

Cheers!

Rich

I didn’t discover this until a few days ago. I would be online for a few minutes, then I couldn’t connect to anything. Then an hour later, I would be on again. When I mentioned this at work, someone suggested the bathroom. It’s not great, but at least it’s consistent. So now my computer is propped up on the counter next to my sink and my desk chair is squeezed in between the toilet and the tub and here I sit, trying to post to my blog. As you might imagine, sometimes I just didn’t feel like the hassle after a long day at the venue.

Speaking of the venue, managers had internet access on their manager computers, but for the rest of us, we could buy internet access for something like $30/day. My manager let me use his computer on occasion, but I didn’t feel right about doing blog updates on it.

Nonetheless, I’m back in my room, and updating the blog. So here’s the latest. We struck our part of the venue last night after the final day of competition. This means my work here is done. Striking the venue, in case you’re interested, is when we unwire everything, inventory and pack all the gear to be shipped back to OBS, and try to be good campers — leaving the place better than we found it. I’m afraid we may have failed on that last point, but we did our best. Frankly, it would be interesting to come back here next winter and see what the place looks like in real life. Every Olympic experience is somewhat surreal and we all leave here knowing that this isn’t real life.

And speaking of real life, I think I mentioned in an earlier post that we have some students here who are majoring in film and television production. They saw this as an excellent opportunity to get a taste of what it’s really like to work in television. Unfortunately, this ISN’T what it’s really like to work in television. On the plus side, though, so much of what it takes to get the good jobs is knowing the right people, and these students did get to work with the right people. If they did a good job here and stay in touch with their co-workers from the venue, they will go far.

On a different note, I did get a chance to go into Vancouver a couple of days ago to visit the IBC (International Broadcast Center), see the Olympic Flame and, best of all, spend some time with a few friends from my Olympic Venue in Beijing. For me, it’s all about the people. After I get home and have a little time to go through all my photos, I’ll post some more and give you more of the stories.

I will mention here that spontaneity, which used to be central to my way of life, has been in hiding for the past few years. I don’t know why that happened, but it did. Well, it reappeared quite, uh, spontaneously during my Vancouver trip. And when it appeared, good sense went on vacation. I was trying to be frugal and practical so when I found out that what was going to be a free day of skiing was no longer going to be free, I turned down the chance to ski because I didn’t want to spend the money (If gum costs $4/pack, how much does skiing cost? I didn’t want to know). Instead, I met up with my friend, Brian Gray, in Vancouver. We were minding our own business, just having a cup of coffee as we looked out over the harbor to watch the sea planes take off and land. Next thing I knew, I was skimming above the water with about 12 other passengers on a beautiful 45 minute tour of Vancouver and the surrounding mountain range in one of the sea planes I was just watching, and my wallet was $140 lighter. I’m glad we were watching sea planes and not standing next to the Maserati dealership. Spontaneity can get expensive.

That’s all for now. I still have to pack, find a printer in the hotel so I can print my boarding pass, eat one last expensive meal (a sandwich I picked up at the grocery store), and get some rest. Tomorrow is supposed to be the busiest travel day in the history of the Vancouver airport. Fun, eh?

More to follow,

– Rich

I start with a photo I like to call “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”  Canadians, it seems, have no concept of cold.  In fact, I’m not sure a word for cold exists in the Canadian vernacular.   Moreover, Canadians seem to use mind control on people of other nationalities to get them to freeze to death voluntarily.  I suspect this is how their gold medal count got so high.  These chests come in all shapes in colors, but the blue background on the chests is completely natural due to the lack of oxygen and/or blood circulating beneath the skin.  These guys are a cheerful lot, and they kept the beer stands in business throughout the games.  Go Canada Go!

Next, we have my “Nell Fenwick” collection of photos.  For those who don’t know Nell, she’s involved in a rather complicated love triangle with Dudley Dooright of the Canadian Mounties and his horse.  Dudley loves Nell.  Nell loves Dudley’s horse.  The horse is uncommitted.

I ran into some Canadian Mounties in Whistler Village.  Yes, they were hard at work posing for pictures so I got in on the action.  Very nice folks, the mounties.  Part constable.  Part park ranger.  Part Canadian icon.

This fellow to my right seems a likely candidate to play the part of Dudley, though his IQ is much too high.  Method acting is out of the question. The mountie who took the picture was only about 5 feet tall, so you really get a good look at his chin.  This will probably help him land the part of Dudley since Dudley’s chin is the most pronounced feature on his body.  (See picture of Dudley above right for comparison.)

Now, back to techie stuff. Camera crews were all over the place during the Olympics. Every network and, for that matter, every local station around the world seemed to be out trying to get their own angle on the games and the people involved. Here’s one such crew interviewing some notables who were out for the afternoon in Whistler Village.

Meanwhile, back down the beaten path a little ways, a crew from BBC Sports was interviewing some of the athletes about their earlier performances. They are sitting on a picnic beside a river that runs through the village. These tables are almost always occupied. The setting is peaceful. There’s a covered bridge next to them that is illuminated by constantly changing colored lights every night. During the weekends, groups would roast marshmallows here and tell camp stories.

Speaking of stories to tell, my best one from the Olympics is probably my story of trading Olympic pins with Prince Albert of Monaco. Prince Albert is a former Olympic bobsledder. He competed in every Olympics from 1988 to 2002. I understand that he is now a member of the International Olympic committee. What brought him to these Olympics, though, was an invitation by French Television to be guest commentator for the bobsled events.

French TV began the day with an interview with the Prince at the finish platform where athletes exit the bobsled course. Since the Commentary Control Room maintains the coordination circuits for the finish platform (which is referred to as the Pre/Post position since this area is often used for interviews before the races start and after they have ended), I had to be on hand to monitor communications with the French TV studio back in Vancouver. For those who have worked in television studios, I was sort of like a floor director, though my main job was to ensure that the interviewer could hear his cues from the producer. That’s me in the background on the right side of the picture.

After the pre-game interview was over, my boss, David Gebe, introduced me to the Prince. As we chatted briefly, I offered him an Olympic Broadcasting Services (OBS) pin. Most broadcasters bring their own branded pins to the games to trade. OBS is no different. The prince graciously accepted it, then called one of his secret service men over and asked him to get one of his pins.
The prince then presented me with the official pin of Monaco. You can rest assured that I kept that pin safe for the remainder of the games. I was not about to trade it by mistake!

In addition to the excitement on the course, our Olympic hosts in Whistler tried to build some excitement in the streets by way of live concerts and street performances. Here’s where I got my first dose of Canadian rap. It was actually pretty good — and this from a guy who doesn’t care much for rap music. These guys didn’t use a DJ to provide the rhythm track. They had a drummer and a percussionist. Yep, it was all live — the way God intended it :-).

This guy is a juggler who performed at various venues throughout the town. There was also an acoustic vocal group, a marching band and, during some of the medals ceremonies, performances by some well known groups such as Bare Naked Ladies and Devo. (Remember “Whip It!” from the early 80s?). Our production crew certainly did.

One of the hallmarks of Devo was their creative, uh, wardrobe. This included hazmat suits and inverted flowerpots for hats. The suits didn’t make it out of storage for the concert, but the flowerpots certainly did, and this time they came in Olympic Blue. Our team made sure to pick up a few to supplement our uniforms. Not that the uniforms needed that kind of help…

I mentioned in a few of my earlier posts that the people are what make the Olympic experience special for me. In my Have a Coke and a Smile post, I highlighted my group of heros who made life at the Whistler Sliding Center that much better. I took them out to dinner
at a Greek restaurant in town as a way of saying thanks for their efforts. These ladies don’t get the meal allowances the production crew gets so working here is almost costing them money. The picture was taken after the table had been cleared and we had cleaned all the food off of our faces. A good time was had by all.

Not all of the people I saw in my travels made sense to me. For example, there were a variety of security people in various places, but many seemed, well, OUT of place. Case in point, this lifeguard posted in downtown Vancouver. I’m not sure why she was here. I’m not sure who she was supposed to be watching. I’m not sure why she was in a lifeguard chair. The nearest pool was probably many city blocks away. But here she sat, reading her latest magazine, having her picture taken by more than one confused tourist. Incidentally, this was in Vancouver — NOT in Whistler. We had more sense in Whistler.

Another of the people who make the Olympics special is my friend, Brian Gray. Brian hails from the UK but seems to have lived all over. When I worked with him in Beijing, his official residence was Bangladesh.
Brian and I enjoyed a cup of coffee on the patio between the IBC (International Broadcast Center) and the Olympic Flame. Incidentally, if you happen to be paying close attention, all of the signage in the IBC appears backward in this photo. That’s because all of the signage is translucent and I’m taking the picture from the inside of the building. You’re also seeing the backs of the signs outdoors.

As for the flame, I was stunned when, in mid sip of my coffee, I realized what a privilege I enjoyed by being employed by OBS. I know that sounds like a stupid statement, but it really is hard to fathom all the blessings we have when we’re waist-deep in them. Brian and I could walk right up to the flame to take our picture. We had access to almost everything Olympic. We had access to many things that weren’t Olympic that most of the public would love to be able to do. Why? Because we were fortunate enough to do what we do for a living and to get these cool jobs. As we looked at the flame, there were perhaps a thousand people 100 feet from us who were struggling to get a glimpse of it or to take its picture. Yet here we sat, enjoying it and a nice cup of coffee on our day off.

Incidentally, while we were enjoying said coffee, we were also watching a number of sea planes taking off and landing. As fate would have it, Brian and I both got the idea at the same time that going for a spin in one of these planes would be the thing to do so, $140 each later, we found ourselves about 500 feet above the water zipping along the Vancouver coast. It was an experience best shared with a friend and, as we both commented later, neither of us would have done it had a friend not be handy to convince us to do it.

After a pleasant day in Vancouver, we had one more day of snow in Whistler as we headed into the last of the bobsled competitions, the 4-man events. Aside from the US winning GOLD in that and SILVER in Hockey against the Canadians, our last days were unremarkable.
On the evening of February 27th, we were thrown a “wrap” party with a terrific spread of food and drinks. It was a great way to celebrate a series of successful broadcasts and the collaboration of an unlikely group of freelancers from around the globe.

Well, it’s been said that it ain’t over ’til the fat lady sings. We were in short supply of singing ladies of any stature at the Whistler Sliding Center; nonetheless, we did find one viking not at all short on inhibition, as may be noted by the two drinks held proudly in this photo. He was more than willing to pose for pictures AND be our singing show-closer. So as the fading chorus sinks slowly into the sunset, I bid Canada a fond adieu and took off for home, cheaper prices, and a surprising lack of hockey, eh.

Next stop, London 2012.

– Rich

There are, however, a few people who are a breath of fresh air in my day. One of them is the cleaning guy who I don’t see until the end of the day. This guy reminds me a little bit of Latka from the old TV show, “Taxi,” but only because of his accent. I regret that I can’t remember his name, but he’s extremely nice, always works hard and never complains. His day continues long after mine ends and he’s still happy. He’s an inspiration.

There are also the guys I had lunch with today. Based on my first paragraph in this post, you may imagine that this part of my world is not heavily populated by Christians. I just learned that these two ARE Christians. One is a guy who comes to my control room every day to make sure the fiber circuits are all working as they should. He and I had lunch and talked about life. The second guy joined us after overhearing part of our conversation. I don’t remember where he’s working on the crew, but he, too, is a believer and has worked in Christian Radio. He’s familiar with my past. Lunch was refreshing.

The next group of people who bring some fresh air to the mix are the group of ladies who work with our Logistics department. They make sure the members of the crew have what they need in terms of food, transportation, information, etc. to get their jobs done. Usually two or three of these folks drop into the Commentary Control Room once or twice each day to update our schedules, distribute smiles, bring snacks and, in my case, keep me supplied with Diet Coke. (Hence the title of this post.) They were my first glimmer of sunshine when I came to work here and they continue to make my days a little nicer.

I only have a picture of these two because they showed up with snacks and a camera. I don’t always have my camera with me. I’m inviting all of my unsung heroes out for a nice meal this weekend just to say thanks, and perhaps I can get a picture of the rest of them then.

I don’t tend to feel homesick in the traditional sense, but now that I’m past the halfway point in the 2010 Olympics, I’m learning more and more about what makes home and family so special. My friends, the heroes, don’t replace that, but they do bring me one step closer to it and remind me of all the nice blessings I’m having to do without for this short season.

If you’re part of the friends and family that make up my home team, rest assured I’ll be VERY glad to see you when next we meet. In the meantime, I’m raising a Diet Coke to toast the ones who get me through.

– Rich

I have no idea what rent is here, but a room at my hotel (any other year) is about $350/night. During the Olympics, my room costs over $800/night.   Apparently, this is what the lap of luxury looks like:

Now, I’ll admit that this is a nice room. Don’t get me wrong. No complaints here. But I’ve stayed in plenty of hotels with rooms this nice and the price is usually closer to $80.00 than $800.00. Probably just a typo, don’tcha know.  Unfortunately, this town lives on typos.  Dinner this evening consisted of a MasterCard commercial (with apologies to Visa - the official card of the Olympics):

Tuna-Melt Sandwich:  $13.95.

Diet Coke:  $2.75.

Canadian Taxes:  $73.14

Knowing that your Per Diem won’t cover this:  Priceless.

And I hear that the town of Whistler is bankrupt and facing foreclosure.  Not sure what that’s going to mean to the Olympics.  Perhaps I’ll be coming home sooner than expected :-).  Meanwhile, back to the tour.

Whistler is a family friendly town.  I love seeing the kids in the snow.  Even at the venue, there are little kids finding ways to have fun sliding down mini slopes they’ve made.  My friends, Dave, Glenn and I had dinner at The Spaghetti Factory the other night and sitting at the table next to us was a snow family like the one at left.  The youngest member looked to be about 10 years old and he had a cast on his leg. 
I asked how it had happened and he said it was a skiing accident.  Nonetheless, he was laughing and playing and full of energy — not the least bit down about having to be on crutches during the family vacation.  Turns out he is also a Pin Collector — a young man after my own heart.

A lot of companies, teams, and organizations tied to the Olympics have pins. They either give them away as a promotional item, or they sell them as a collectors item. Well, as was the case with everything from Beanie Babies to Pet Rocks, a sub-culture has developed of which I am a proud member. A lot of pin collectors working at the games wear their pins on their accreditation lanyards. This makes the pins visible to other collectors. It also creates two problems. First, you rattle when you walk. Second, after a while you weight several pounds more than you used to and you stoop a little.  Nonetheless, when one collector finds another, we always compare collections and try to find pins we can trade.  It’s part of the game.

I should point out here that I did not buy all these pins. There are lots of shops in town that sell them, including the Whistler Trading Post, home of my favorite moose. However, some of the merchants have pins that they give out for free courtesy of Visa and Coca-Cola. I’ve made it a point to locate these stores and become friends with the cashiers. They’ve been known to be extra generous with their flair and that feeds my hobby for free. My friend, Ed, overheard one of my conversations with another collector while I was trading pins and he said I would have a great future as a crack dealer. Maybe I’ve been doing this a little too long.

One reason many of us on the crew trade pins is that life here can get a little mundane after awhile. No offense to the sports of bobsled, luge and skeleton, but after you’ve seen the practice runs and twenty or thirty races, they all start looking the same. At least in figure skating, you get to see some individuality in the performances. Here, the only thing that mixes things up a little is a wreck and we had one too many of those before we even got started.

To help pass our time, some in our midst have taken up sculpting. Note Exhibit A. This was made by a member of our security team right in front of my building. The red circle in the picture indicates where I work.

Speaking of our security team, many of them have to stand for hours.  One guy, whose post is at an underpass, carved out a sofa in the snow so he’d have a place to sit.  (Thank goodness for ski bibs.  I didn’t have my camera with me or I would have gotten a picture.  He was really getting into his snow furniture, though.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a dining room suite and a flat screen TV made by morning.

A final observation for this post regards the spiritual climate in Whistler.  Everyone is very nice here and, yes, the spirits flow freely.  I was almost dragged into a drunken snowboarder wrestling match a dinner the other night.  However, there are no apparent signs of churches or other places of worship in the Village.  I haven’t checked the phone book.  In fact, there isn’t one in my $800/night room.  But I did look in the hotel directory.  In my travels in the past, hotels often list local places to worship.  Not so in Whistler.  In the southern United States, you’ll see signs in towns saying “The First United Methodist Church Welcomes You.”  Not so in Whistler.
The only sign I’ve seen of anything involving the spiritual or supernatural was at a storefront in the village offering psychic readings, etc.  On a positive note, though, I was walking past a tent at the broadcast compound several days ago and heard someone playing the guitar and several people singing.  It took me a minute to recognize it because they weren’t singing in English, but it was a praise song from my church.  I wish I hadn’t been working at the time.  I would have joined them in the tent.  Nonetheless, I sang along to myself and to God as I walked up the course to install more cables.

– Rich