Yesterday, Feb. 16, at noon straight up, the 19th Olympic Winter Games hit halftime. Bring in the Zamboni.
Hard to believe that something that was never going to get here is on the back nine.
Also hard to believe they went through 400,000 hot dogs in the first five days.
Or that only 77 volunteers have quit so far out of more than 25,000.
Or that it's been almost perfect winter weather in a place that doesn't always have almost perfect winter weather.
Or that the worst terrorist scare has been either (a) a bus full of rockers on their way from California to a gig in Park City who made the mistake of asking about security in a Nephi convenience store, or (b) that guy in the airplane who attacked the air marshals because he thought they were terrorists.
Or that the U.S. Olympic Team has already set an all-time medal high.
Or that they're selling beignets and bratwurst on Main Street.
Or that Mario Lemieux and Jaromir Jagr are playing hockey in Provo.
Or that the 40-minute drive from Salt Lake to Park City is taking . . . 40 minutes.
Or that every arena is routinely filled to capacity.
Or that if you squint, downtown looks like Bourbon Street.
All of which of course brings up the question: OK, who kidnapped Salt Lake?
The only real scandal has been in figure skating, which is good because a figure skating scandal is a prerequisite to qualify as a Winter Olympics in the first place. (And, somewhere, Dave Johnson and Tom Welch must be very thankful for French skating judge Marie Reine Le Gougne).
The Olympics do tend to take over a place. It's as if the mood that was in Sydney 18 months ago has made its way undisturbed to Salt Lake, but with slightly less beer. It's as if the atmosphere that permeated Lillehammer, when the sun was out for 17 straight wintry days, has been transported here intact.
I've never been to a bad Olympics, this one included. What's not to like? Sports almost 24 hours a day. New food. Another excuse not to go to work.
Plus, a chance to interact with international visitors.
My brother Dee and I were at the hockey match Friday night in Provo between the Czech Republic and Germany when such an opportunity arose. We were in the midst of a large section of Czechs, there to cheer on their defending gold medalists. One of the fans bumped into us — the seats might cost $125 but that doesn't mean they're roomy — and in the spirit of world peace and friendship said something in Czech that was obviously, "Sorry."
My brother, in an equal attempt at world peace and friendship, said, "That's OK, who are you for?"
This, to a man wearing a Czech Republic hockey jersey with a face painted red and blue like the Czech flag.
The man obviously did not not understand English. He acted as if he'd just been asked how to get to Santaquin.
My brother tried again.
"Who . . .are . . . you . . . for?" he asked, this time touching each word with what can best be described as an attempt at a heavily affected East European accent.
Hockey fan still didn't comprehend.
An Olympic moment.
I don't know about you, but I'm also enjoying having all the scalpers in town. It's like having a ticket office on every corner.
And they don't make you buy a ticket to curling if you want one for hockey like SLOC did.
Plus, their prices are often very reasonable. Especially after the event has started.
And have you ever seen harder-working people? If Congress worked like ticket scalpers, they'd pass a million bills, and they'd all wear nice Rolexes.
I personally have found the scalpers working the Olympics to be as imperturbable as they are indefatigable.
Like the man with the American flag necklaces who works the entrance to Olympic Square. All day and night he keeps up the chatter.
"Need any?"
"Got any?"
"Beads?"
I say give that man a gold medal for scalping. I say give everyone a gold medal for good behavior so far. It's halftime and only the figure skaters aren't getting along. And order more hot dogs.
Lee Benson's column runs daily during the Olympics. Please send e-mail to benson@desnews.com and faxes to 801-237-2527.
