So, it seems that that the IOC has decided to investigate the Canadians women's hockey team for their post-gold medal win over the US. After the team won, they celebrated on the ice with champagne, beer and cigars.
So what? The party took place AFTER fans had left the building.
Honestly, there are times when the IOC come across as whiny children. Gilbert Felli, the IOC's executive director of the Olympic Games, said, "It is not what we want to see ... I don't think it's a good promotion of sport values. If they celebrate in the changing room, that's one thing, but not in public." An empty arena is public now? A changing room full of media is somehow more private?
This whole thing stinks of a double standard. When asked what he planned to do to celebrate his gold medal for skeleton, Russell Manitoba's Jon Montgomery answered, "Probably have a pint or two." I have yet to see an interview where he HASN'T been drinking from a pitcher of beer. Can you imagine the men's team doing anything differently if they win gold?
Friday, February 26, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Oh, oh, oh the sweetest thing
I wanted one as soon as I’d heard they existed. They sounded so good, so decedent, so terribly, terribly wrong. And a few weeks ago I fulfilled my five year quest: I finally had a deep-fried Mars bar.
I can’t remember where I heard about them – probably some Brit comedy – but I was immediately curious. Curious the way people are intrigued by car accidents and the first couple of episodes of each season of American Idol: a combination of shock, horror and awe. And while I can’t remember where I heard about them, I do remember my inner-monologue when I heard: “You mean they take something that’s already not-very good for you and deep fry it, making it really, really bad for you? I must have one.”
I told it was a British thing and so when I found myself in Britain I sought the DFM out. My excited inquiries at were met with expressions vague disgust and contempt (which is only slightly different from a regular “pleased-with life” Britsh expression). “That’s not English,” I was told. “That’s Scottish.”
So imagine my thrill when, out for fish and chips with my in-laws, the waitress tried to tempt us with dessert. The DMF was the last thing she mentioned and I audibly gasped when she said it. My wife looked across the table at me and sighed. Despite the fact that I had just consumed a large deep fried piece of fish and deep fried fries, she knew that she was going to watch me eat a deep fried chocolate bar.
And it was one of the best thing I have ever put in my mouth.
I can’t remember where I heard about them – probably some Brit comedy – but I was immediately curious. Curious the way people are intrigued by car accidents and the first couple of episodes of each season of American Idol: a combination of shock, horror and awe. And while I can’t remember where I heard about them, I do remember my inner-monologue when I heard: “You mean they take something that’s already not-very good for you and deep fry it, making it really, really bad for you? I must have one.”
I told it was a British thing and so when I found myself in Britain I sought the DFM out. My excited inquiries at were met with expressions vague disgust and contempt (which is only slightly different from a regular “pleased-with life” Britsh expression). “That’s not English,” I was told. “That’s Scottish.”
So imagine my thrill when, out for fish and chips with my in-laws, the waitress tried to tempt us with dessert. The DMF was the last thing she mentioned and I audibly gasped when she said it. My wife looked across the table at me and sighed. Despite the fact that I had just consumed a large deep fried piece of fish and deep fried fries, she knew that she was going to watch me eat a deep fried chocolate bar.
And it was one of the best thing I have ever put in my mouth.
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