The Burrow

We've been watching, on and off, for the last two weeks.  TBG catches glimpses during the afternoon, and is able to guide our prime time viewing accordingly.  There are only so many hours I can devote to watching people go downhill, on skis, snowboards, or bobsleds the size of refrigerators.  That was the description the commentator gave as we watched the competitors hulking over their equipment in the waiting shed. It gave me a moment's pause. ***** In the beginning, all I could talk about was Bob Costas's eye infection. When he returned, he apologized for becoming part of the story he was there to report. It was a touching bit of humility from the guy we've all come to associate with the NBC's Olympic Coverage. It was also remarkable - an on-air personality apologizing for hogging the spotlight. There are many reasons to love Bob Costas; this is just one of them. ***** There were some great names. The announcers had a fine time with Yulia and Julia.  I lik...

And let's stop right here for our first digression.  Mnemosyne (whose name translates as Memory) was the mother of the Muses.  Though the Big Cuter decries it, the touchy-feely, personal histories which accompany the events themselves are part and parcel of the Olympic Games.  I can understand his desire to see the best and only the best,  but the Games are so much more than that.  They are a quadrennial gathering of like-minded enthusiasts, whose posses include orange clad fans in ridiculous headgear    (thanks to olympics2006.ajas.net for the photo).  as well as proudly beaming parental units, who are finally able to reap the rewards of years of schlepping little Shani or Lindsey or Hannah to 5am practises.