The Big Finish

Tropical Storm ‘Fay’ and the Olympics

Tropical storm Fay is like an irksome house guest who won’t leave. This is day #5 ~ the whole week ~ of Fay related bad weather here in Florida. As I look out the window, ominous dark clouds swirl from west to east bringing in heavy rain from the Gulf of Mexico. The center of Fay passed right over us on Tuesday ~ almost ancient history ~ in terms of Florida’s usually fast-moving summer weather. If it’s Friday ~ it’s Fay.

The Olympics seem to have been going on forever, too. Bloggers around the world have had a field day (there's a bronze medal pun) writing about the games. They’ve add their 2 cents / 2 euros / 2 pesos / 2 dinars / 2 pence / 2 shekel / 2 rupee and, of course, 2 Chinese yuan. But this weekend marks the end of the XXIX Olympiad.

My own experience with the Olympics goes back to 1962. Those of you who are quick ~ very quick ~ will realize ’62 was not an Olympic year (1960 = Rome and 1964 = Tokyo). What then was I doing in 1962? My creaky memory recalls the archdiocese of Boston’s convocation of prayer and games ~ an ecclesiastical field day ~ that summer. The event was held at a church in suburban Dedham ~ not far from my home.

President Kennedy had put the Catholics on the map so why not celebrate (so went the thinking) with a mini-Olympics for the altar boys. The key to success was to sign up for a morning event. I think I competed in the broad jump and the shot-put. It's all vague after so many years. Nevertheless, I remember not being keen to run in the afternoon races: short sprints, long distances and those crazy 3-legged events. The heat was wicked and lunch would have done in the most able and holy (or unholy) twelve year old boy.

Hot dogs with relish. Hamburgers, too. Grilled chicken, of course. Corn on the cob, baked beans, heaps of potato salad and cole slaw. Then there was dessert: water melon and Boston cream pie. Washed it all down with coca cola and rootbeer.

Perhaps there was a medal for most gluttonous? I don't remember.