Fibt.

Lucky west coaster that I am, I will be treated to a winter Olympics in just a few short years. This will be my second Olympics, having lived through the Montreal games of 1976. Living where the Olympics happen is a weird thing indeed. My street (and house) was on the the route for all the major long distance running and cycling events. This being the first games after the calmness and serenity of the '72 Olympics the streets were patrolled by soldiers. Good plan.

The house I lived in was a rambling old mansion long gone to seed inhabited by university students, writers and me. Every day the newspapers ran an Olympics section with all the events for the day, locations and list of athletes by country. Because the house was set back from the street and was on a hill, the garage was built into the slope and had a flat roof a good 20 feet high, easily clambered upon from the front lawn. A few days before the start of the games we were visited by the major TV networks who wanted to set up their cameras on this prime spot. Actually the view up the boulevard was superb: Tree lined, sweeping gentle turn opening onto a straight away. Soon we had NBC, ABC and local TV elbowing each other on our front lawn.

We would read the daily lists, find the name and number of the competitors we wanted to cheer on, and wait by the cameras. The cycling events were almost impossible to cheer at because of the speed, but the marathon and walking (especially the walking) were very easy to look down the street and find your guy, or girl and get ready to cheer.

Someone in the house found an enormous Finnish flag, I mean big. Must have been 10x20 easy. We got in into our heads that it would be real neat to find Finnish athletes that were competing in something that went past our house, and wave the flag madly and cheer as they went past. Trouble is the Finns had a very small Olympic contingent in 1976, so we were scratching our heads over this till we spotted one in the marathon. Now the marathon is the crowning summer Olympic event. Its huge and is held near the end of the games, a final salute to the heraldry that is the Olympic games.

We had the flag, the cameras were focused, the crowds gathered. The front runners scooted past, then a few middle packs and then nothing. Hmmm, had we lost our guy? Way back, I mean way back there, a distant speck emerged. We had our man. With flag a-waving and cheers and hoots the lonely marathoner wobbled past. Head bent in concentration, face red and sweaty, the runner heard us. For one moment his pace quickened, his stance stiffened and a look that was a cross between happiness and bewilderment covered his face. Soon he was receding down my street.

And by the way, this was supposed to be a piece about bob sleighs, hence the title. Check tomorrow.