Foreign Olympic coverage leaves no turn unstoned

GOT your Game face on?

It’s required attire at the moment. As hosts of the 2010 Olympic Winter Games, we Vancouver-Whistler-ites may not all be athletes. But as a whole, we are performers, visible and vulnerable to the opinions of strangers.

We got a taste of that role in the lead-up to the event, what with the Comedy Network’s Stephen Colbert referring to Canadians as “syrup-sucking… iceholes.” Colbert’s character, which supports the U.S. Speed Skating team, was incensed because the Richmond Oval was supposedly hoarding ice time for Team Canada.

At least Colbert is always funny. Not so The Guardian’s dynamically dour Douglas Haddow and Lawrence Donegan, whose anti-Olympic bent is clearly based on the fact that London gets the Games next. They’ve had nothing positive to say about Vancouver 2010 thus far, with Haddow writing two weeks before they opened that the city was “gripped by dread” as Feb. 12th approached.

Last week, Donegan’s report was headlined “Vancouver Games continue downhill slide from disaster to calamity.” He predicted that ours would wind up being the “worst Games ever.” To Donegan, apparently, the murders of 11 Israeli athletes and coaches at the 1972 Summer Games in Munich are nothing compared to the carnage of rain-related troubles at Cypress. A sensitive fellow, he reacted dramatically to the news that ticket holders for Cypress’ snowboarding events would be refunded their money due to safety concerns. His grandiose assessment? “The loss of face was immeasurable.”

Donegan was equally offended that the Royal Canadian Mint had released a commemorative coin in honour of Alexandre Bilodeau’s gold medal. “What chance an enterprising Canadian carpenter is working on a commemorative wooden spoon for the organizers of the 2010 Winter Games?” he asked. Ah, the perpetual snobbery of the British. No wonder they are so beloved worldwide.

But we don’t need to rely on the born’n’bred Brits for sneers. Also in The Guardian, Canadian anglophile Heather Mallick compared the Opening Ceremonies, which I thought were superb, to “watching your dad get drunk at a party.”  Naturally, she had no tips for what would have made such a shindig worthy of her praise, only acid critiques – vintage Mallick.

Meanwhile, Canada’s effort to be highly competitive at the biggest competitive event in the world is seen as crass and impolite by U.K. media. I guess we’re welcome to fork out for the Games, just not to win at them.

After the luger from Georgia died in a crash in Whistler, the country’s The Daily Mail blamed his terrible accident on “Canada’s lust for glory” -- and Team Canada’s monopolization of the track for its practices.

“Canada wanted to Own the Podium at the Vancouver Winter Olympic Games,” wrote the tabloid’s shameless Martin Samuel. “This morning they can put their Maple Leaf stamp on something more instantly tangible: the nondescript little box carrying the lifeless body of Nodar Kumaritashvili back to his home in Bakuriani, Georgia.”

One news report suggested that Kumaritashvili had zipped down that same luge track at least 26 times before his last run, so he was hardly unfamiliar with it. The track design was probably flawed, and luge is obviously a high-risk sport. Samuel chose to paint Canada as a villain, deliberately laying waste to foreign athletes.

Our Own the Podium program is being relentlessly poo-pooed by our traditional ally. Our sin there, according to The Guardian, is “a culture of worthless aggrandizement and pride.”

Aren’t you glad we invited these people to our party? They remind me of the decrepit great-aunt you hope will stay parked in a corner at any family event, the one nobody voluntarily speaks to because of the poisonous toads that leap from her twisted mouth every time she creaks it open.

It’s a whole lot more fun to hear from the Americans. “Canadians try so hard,” wrote U.S. sports network ESPN’s Rick Reilly, who actually seeks to entertain readers, rather than enrage them. “This comes from living next to America and having an inferiority complex worse than Tito Jackson's.”

In his “Oh, Canada: A guide to thriving in Vancouver, one smile at a time,” the popular sports columnist played fast and loose with Canadian and West Coast clichés – from our desperate need to win at hockey to the “organics” recycling container he found in his hotel room, which he claimed was one of 14 cluttering up the place. The sign on the organics bin says it’s for meat, poultry, fish, plants and flowers, he noted. “That’s weird,” wrote Reilly. “I always leave my poultry in a gift bag for the maid.”

Reilly has noticed some strange things about Canucks. Apparently we always abbreviate our buddies’ names -- so Americans should, too, if they want to fit in. “If your friend’s name is already short, add ‘er’ to it,” he advised. “This is how you get a sentence like, ‘Let’s go play some shinny, eh? You be Gretz and I’ll be Nasher.’”

Reilly offered pointers on how to survive as an American in Vancouver-Whistler this month (all punctuation errors his). “When referring to Elvis, be sure its Stojko not Presley. If you’re talking about acting, don’t forget the god of all Canadian thespians – Lorne Greene from Bonanza. If your birthday is August 9, always look at the ground, shake your head and add, ‘The day Wayne was traded.’”

Later in the week, though, Reilly was, metaphorically speaking, pelted with doughnuts by irked Canadians. “Yeah, it’s tough living in a city that’s consistently voted as one of the best places to live…. Bitter much?” wrote one offended local, Kev Holloway.

Reilly’s apology, amusingly, was a non-apology. In it, he described Vancouver as “somewhat rainy, as evidenced by a mallard winning the women’s moguls.”

He proceeded to describe the Opening Ceremonies as “duller than a Mennonite knitting workshop…. Although I did like torchbearer Wayne Gretzky being taken to the lighting of the Official Olympic Giant Reefers in the back of a pickup truck. It was just him back there, holding on to a steel bar, riding through town. That is what’s known as a Canadian limo.”

I like that. Reilly’s are full-on, clean shots on goal -- stick to puck to net -- not vicious clouts to the back of the head by a band of partisan sad sacks drunk on tea and misery. There’s a reason my relatives left bloody Britain – last week I finally figured out what it was.