After making it home from my terrible trail of tears at the Beijing United Family Hospital. I was relegated to spending a full calender week on the couch without getting up for anything but food delivery and the bathroom. There were: no showers, laughs, jumping jacks, or smiles in my week of the unforgiven. Grizzly Adams had better hygiene than me by Sunday. Upon transitioning from the powerful pain-medication at the hospital to the less-powered pills from the pharmacy I developed a fever that kept me awake all day and all night. Not once did I sleep for more than two hours, and feeling like an insomniac is no way to live. Nevertheless, I kept myself entertained with a wide collection of DVDs, and ESPN Asia's live coverage of the baseball playoffs. Since I had to keep my leg pretty much permanently iced, I had to take the entire week off of school, and at the most I ate two meals a day.
Although this was hell on Earth, in some ways it is a positive experience. If you can go through a knife-fight with a surgeon in the Orient without your close friends and family around, you can handle a lot when it comes to living/working overseas. By looking at the light at the end of the tunnel I made it through this dead week, and now the days have been getting better every day. Last week was great, as I got to see all of my friends at school and I finally felt alive again. That is until I got served again this Monday. Here is my story of more tough times in the life of Matthew S. Atkinson
9/20/08
a. I took a taxi at 5:00 PM for my doctor's appointment with the only orthopedic surgeon in this city who I trust, and who happens to only work at the hospital on Monday. My taxi driver almost crashed several times (nothing new), and drove into a random lot where he mistakenly drove down a storage ramp to a basement floor of a grocery store. My fragile knee bumped against the door and seat in front several times due to the miserable driving of a man who never should set foot in car, unless it is the back of a police cruiser. After a few more random twists and turns the taxi driver tried to drop me off at the wrong hospital in the wrong side of town (I gave him a card with name & address, and showed it to him several times as it looked that we were going the wrong way) to my dismay. After a very heated argument (hypothetically, I may have thrown a few good-old American curse words in his face) we parted ways. I was going to stiff him, but since I am not very mobile I had no choice but to pay a taxi for being dropped off in the ass end of nowhere. By the time the dust cleared it was 6:20.
b. A do-gooder expat heard the commotion and vowed to flag me down a taxi. This guy was quite the saint since getting a taxi in rush hour traffic here in Beijing is sometimes almost impossible. A few minutes later he had a taxi for me and all I had to do was climb over a two-foot wall and I'd be on my way. As the fellow Yankee helped me over the wall a well-dressed Chinese woman ran out to the taxi and raced into the passenger seat. She had been standing next to me as my taxi was being waved down, so she definitely knew what I was a cripple who needed some help. The expat who spoke fluent Chinese explained her the situation as the taxi stalled and waiter for us, that I was late for my doctor's appointment and that this was an urgent matter. Nevertheless, the woman heard us out and told the taxi to go anyways. I am leaving this other taxi driver out of this who is also a son of a bitch, but not nearly as bad as the rest of those in the story.
c. I finally made it to the doctor's appointment thirty minutes late. It took me another twenty minutes to find a taxi, but we made short time and were there by 7:00. My doctor said to just sit back and relax as he was just going to fix my bandages and "take a look". I was looking forward to just getting on with my day, as there seemed to be not much on the agenda. The next thing I know there a collection of knives and other horrible metal devices last seen in the movie "Hostel" are for some reason laying right beside my leg. Soon thereafter blood is gushing from my leg like a fire hydrant. The doc just so happened to "forget" to tell me that he would be ripping out a piece of metal the size and shape of a fish hook that had previously been sealing my wound. As I howled in pain the doctor was unfazed, and his ceaseless ripping and pulling with strange painful devices lasted for another ten minutes of pure hell. After getting another slashing, the doctor then pushed and pulled my leg in ungodly directions until I was on the verge of throwing up.
So who is worse?
A. The taxi driver who drove me to hell, collected money he knew he didn't deserve, and made so many wrong turns that my knee was swollen by the time I made it to the hospital.
B. The unethical Chinese vixen (bitch) who knew exactly how dire my situation was, but still stole my rush-hour taxi without batting an eye-lash.
C. Or the doctor who gave me no inkling that today's appointment would be so incredibly painful that I actually screamed in pain. The embarrassment of coming out the door and having every single person in the hospital stare at me as if I was the exorcist was not the most pleasant feeling in the world.
From the Orient with no love,
Atkinson
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
I HAVE LIVED IN HELL: My 4-day Stay at Beijing Family United Hospital VOLUME 1
I used to have pride, respect, maybe even a little bit of integrity. If you like laughing at other people's mystery this is right up your alley.
So I was coming home in a taxi today and low and behold my old friend Colonel Sanders was holding court with a line of Chinese chicken-chompers all the way out the building. I remember the days when I used to walk into see my life-long friend "The Colonel" and was able to pick and choose between a list of delectable fried creations complete with eleven herbs & spices. These days are long gone my brethren, as I have recently been told that going up and down stairs will be a novelty that I will only reach with luck on the coming Halloween.
On the Friday morning of my surgery I courageously decked myself out in only the finest of clothing in preparation for one-on-one combat with a Chinese knife-fighter: USC shirt, USC jacket, Adidas pants, socks with sandals which is only cool in the Orient and the Midwest. After reaching my battleground I filled out all the papers and soon found myself wearing a purple Moo-Moo with no underwear, socks, or well anything. After getting my tie tied, I was strapped down to the gurney and my veins were opened up with a needle that would be connected to my wrist for the next four days. Well sort of, since it took them three times to actually find the right vein, and being a man who hates needles and blood more than I hate admitting that West Virginia really is a legitimate United State this was not the confidence non-booster that I needed going into my battle royale...
After being wheeled up to the war-room I was soon greeted by my Chinese surgeon and about ten other Chinese men & women all with scary looks gloves and masks. My arms were extended like a crucifix and I was shot up with enough anesthesia to put a herd of wildebeest to sleep for a few weeks. I remember waking up and the staff looking at me with puzzled faces as if to think, "is he still alive". I instantaneously was in a state of shock and was unable to speak; however, I eventually put together the mental fortitude to extend a thumbs up; which in turn inspired one of the nurses to stick an oxygen mask about halfway down my throat.
A few hours later I was in the room where I would spend the next 72 hours, and not only would I never leave the room, but I wouldn't leave my bed during these dark days. I had a TV, DVD player, a lifetime supply of morphine and about ten or so friends who made it out to visit me during the worst weekend of my life. I had no idea that I had a DVD player, so I was subject to the movies chosen by the hospital, and there were some of the worst movies chosen this side of "The Full Monty". To this day I do not know what I would have done had the first full season of "Las Vegas" (I give two very shaky thumbs up to this selection) not been present to keep my entertained.
I was given few instructions if any, mainly to push the morphine button (which was white) if I felt pain) & to push the help button (which was red). Over the next few days I pushed the red button quite a few times, but that white button got pushed more times than a brunette in a school filled with gingers trying to compete for the spot of "Annie" in the big play. It got to the point where I started to get double vision like I had drank a couple bottles of Popov Vodka. My brain constantly played tricks on me as I saw things that I knew were not really there. Nevertheless, the pain in my knee never stopped hurting the entire time. This was due to the fact that I had a piece of metal inserted into my torn ACL ligament, and most doctors can tell you that this surgery is on their top ten list of surgeries that will make you want to cry. And I will be honest, I did...
By the second day I finally got the funny feeling that it was time to go to the bathroom, and I had my Chinese friend Lucy (who stayed with me for almost the entire four days, and whose kindness I will never forget) interpret my quandary to the nurse. Soon thereafter I was given a blue bucket contraption that looked more like what somebody might use to water their flowers with, and as Lucy left I reluctantly tried to get down to business. Problem is, the drugs that had invaded my system had seriously screwed up my urinary tract and after a half hour of going after it, I had not even drained a drop in my most unsavory of bathroom devices. The nurse barged it while I was still trying to handle my business and she was not at all satisfied with my efforts, and soon enough I had another substance injected into my veins which was supposed to help me with this or something or other. This helped me to be able to fill the bucket when need-be, but this act became very tiresome very quickly. I felt like a dolphin at a theme park doing my famous trick every time that I had to use the bathroom. And the Chinese nurses would literally clap when I was able to perform. I now know what these poor dolphins go through, and will never go to "Sea World" again.
In a weekend full of horrible events, I have to say that the sponge baths I would get in the mornings were my least favorite. Since getting off of my bed was an impossibility, I was sponged off by middle-aged Chinese nurses with bad teeth who ferociously scrubbed at my various body parts like they were working at a car wash full of trucks that had just finished a road rally. I wanted to shove them off of me and be left alone, but I had no fight or might at this time like a King Cobra caught in the trance of a snake charmer. These washings would last about five minutes, but I felt like I had been scrubbed to death for hours.
The following two days were somewhat of a blur. I would wake up at random times throughout the day, to find: a horrible plate of food that I would have thrown out the window if I had the power to do so; a group of nurses looking at me with with sad looks making me wonder whether I was ever going to get out of this hospital; and finally a doctor who had the physical prowess of a duck-billed platypus who eventually gave me my marching orders. As the doctor helped pull me off the bed I soon realized that my right leg had lost any muscle mass that it once had, and I felt like I was trapped in quick sand. I was outfitted with a pair of crutches and my first stroll down the hall resulted in a crash with one of the nurses, who was less than impressed with my navigational skills.
After a taxi ride home I was finally out of the castle of doom and my couch became my savior. This concludes the 4-day stay in my own personal house of horrors. Not as much fun as the four-day weekender trips I used to take to San Francisco, when USC played Cal or Stanford back in my undergraduate days of grace.
don't break a leg,
The Crippled Warrior
So I was coming home in a taxi today and low and behold my old friend Colonel Sanders was holding court with a line of Chinese chicken-chompers all the way out the building. I remember the days when I used to walk into see my life-long friend "The Colonel" and was able to pick and choose between a list of delectable fried creations complete with eleven herbs & spices. These days are long gone my brethren, as I have recently been told that going up and down stairs will be a novelty that I will only reach with luck on the coming Halloween.
On the Friday morning of my surgery I courageously decked myself out in only the finest of clothing in preparation for one-on-one combat with a Chinese knife-fighter: USC shirt, USC jacket, Adidas pants, socks with sandals which is only cool in the Orient and the Midwest. After reaching my battleground I filled out all the papers and soon found myself wearing a purple Moo-Moo with no underwear, socks, or well anything. After getting my tie tied, I was strapped down to the gurney and my veins were opened up with a needle that would be connected to my wrist for the next four days. Well sort of, since it took them three times to actually find the right vein, and being a man who hates needles and blood more than I hate admitting that West Virginia really is a legitimate United State this was not the confidence non-booster that I needed going into my battle royale...
After being wheeled up to the war-room I was soon greeted by my Chinese surgeon and about ten other Chinese men & women all with scary looks gloves and masks. My arms were extended like a crucifix and I was shot up with enough anesthesia to put a herd of wildebeest to sleep for a few weeks. I remember waking up and the staff looking at me with puzzled faces as if to think, "is he still alive". I instantaneously was in a state of shock and was unable to speak; however, I eventually put together the mental fortitude to extend a thumbs up; which in turn inspired one of the nurses to stick an oxygen mask about halfway down my throat.
A few hours later I was in the room where I would spend the next 72 hours, and not only would I never leave the room, but I wouldn't leave my bed during these dark days. I had a TV, DVD player, a lifetime supply of morphine and about ten or so friends who made it out to visit me during the worst weekend of my life. I had no idea that I had a DVD player, so I was subject to the movies chosen by the hospital, and there were some of the worst movies chosen this side of "The Full Monty". To this day I do not know what I would have done had the first full season of "Las Vegas" (I give two very shaky thumbs up to this selection) not been present to keep my entertained.
I was given few instructions if any, mainly to push the morphine button (which was white) if I felt pain) & to push the help button (which was red). Over the next few days I pushed the red button quite a few times, but that white button got pushed more times than a brunette in a school filled with gingers trying to compete for the spot of "Annie" in the big play. It got to the point where I started to get double vision like I had drank a couple bottles of Popov Vodka. My brain constantly played tricks on me as I saw things that I knew were not really there. Nevertheless, the pain in my knee never stopped hurting the entire time. This was due to the fact that I had a piece of metal inserted into my torn ACL ligament, and most doctors can tell you that this surgery is on their top ten list of surgeries that will make you want to cry. And I will be honest, I did...
By the second day I finally got the funny feeling that it was time to go to the bathroom, and I had my Chinese friend Lucy (who stayed with me for almost the entire four days, and whose kindness I will never forget) interpret my quandary to the nurse. Soon thereafter I was given a blue bucket contraption that looked more like what somebody might use to water their flowers with, and as Lucy left I reluctantly tried to get down to business. Problem is, the drugs that had invaded my system had seriously screwed up my urinary tract and after a half hour of going after it, I had not even drained a drop in my most unsavory of bathroom devices. The nurse barged it while I was still trying to handle my business and she was not at all satisfied with my efforts, and soon enough I had another substance injected into my veins which was supposed to help me with this or something or other. This helped me to be able to fill the bucket when need-be, but this act became very tiresome very quickly. I felt like a dolphin at a theme park doing my famous trick every time that I had to use the bathroom. And the Chinese nurses would literally clap when I was able to perform. I now know what these poor dolphins go through, and will never go to "Sea World" again.
In a weekend full of horrible events, I have to say that the sponge baths I would get in the mornings were my least favorite. Since getting off of my bed was an impossibility, I was sponged off by middle-aged Chinese nurses with bad teeth who ferociously scrubbed at my various body parts like they were working at a car wash full of trucks that had just finished a road rally. I wanted to shove them off of me and be left alone, but I had no fight or might at this time like a King Cobra caught in the trance of a snake charmer. These washings would last about five minutes, but I felt like I had been scrubbed to death for hours.
The following two days were somewhat of a blur. I would wake up at random times throughout the day, to find: a horrible plate of food that I would have thrown out the window if I had the power to do so; a group of nurses looking at me with with sad looks making me wonder whether I was ever going to get out of this hospital; and finally a doctor who had the physical prowess of a duck-billed platypus who eventually gave me my marching orders. As the doctor helped pull me off the bed I soon realized that my right leg had lost any muscle mass that it once had, and I felt like I was trapped in quick sand. I was outfitted with a pair of crutches and my first stroll down the hall resulted in a crash with one of the nurses, who was less than impressed with my navigational skills.
After a taxi ride home I was finally out of the castle of doom and my couch became my savior. This concludes the 4-day stay in my own personal house of horrors. Not as much fun as the four-day weekender trips I used to take to San Francisco, when USC played Cal or Stanford back in my undergraduate days of grace.
don't break a leg,
The Crippled Warrior
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Getting the Knife in the Orient
Before I came out to China my university forced me to endure an all-day "Made for Morons Marathon" of videos, speeches, and dumbed-down documents specifically geared to get you ready for the worst possible things that could happen to you in a foreign country. Such gems like don't eat a raw chicken; don't buy drugs in a dark alley from a menacing man holding a crow bar; or make sure to have a passport (WOW! I never would have known this guys...gee thanks) were instructed to me with the utmost seriousness.
BUT THEY NEVER TOLD ME WHAT DO IF I TEAR MY ACL IN A SOCCER GAME IN CHINA!!!
You would have thought with all the useless jargon that was thrown my way like a flamethrower on a pile of gasoline, that maybe serious knee injury would have made it on the list. But not so much... Medical insurance...check. But how to handle dealing with a hospital where the native language is not English, or how to stumble into class on-time when a sloth could beat you in a foot race; or how to walk down a dangerous street by yourself when a girl scout could literally put you down for the count with one tiny shin kick.......these things were not explained to me in vivid detail. Throw in a worrying Mom who probably can't sleep; insurance policies that are as ambiguous as Clay Aiken was a week ago; ten different people telling you ten different ways to handle your looming surgery; and a bunch of nervous Chinese women who will not give you five minutes to forget about your potential knife fight with a Chinese surgeon. And this my friends...this is culture shock times ten~!!!
SO now that I have vented let me explain some of the humor for you all to laugh at, as there is a funny story behind all of this. My study-abroad school rocks. Sorry to my current scholarly employer, but if I had it my way I would finish my studies out here. It is the Harvard of China, and the school is a marvelous creation with all kinds of weird things. Moats of green sludge that zig-zag in every which way, big buildings that look like they were designed during the Middle Ages, thousands of Chinese students on bicycles who are constantly almost crashing into each other. This is home.
My classmates are mostly cool and range in nation of origin from Spain, to Norway, to Argentina, to Cameroon. There is a constant supply of sports going on around here, and since I am liking a dog whose mind automatically forgets about everything else when a soccer ball is kicked, I have been on the pitch all of the time. After trying out for an MBA team I awkwardly ended up kicking it around with the actual university team, and after a few practices with the university team, I actually found myself playing for my university team in a real game. This Spaniard (who probably was kicking a futbol as soon as he exited the womb) and I made the A-Team, and in our first game the ludicrous coach who shouts at us in Chinese like we are a bunch of Samurai warriors put us both in the game (on a side-note, I did not start, nor was I the first off of the bench). Our team got scored on twice faster than some of the Chinese hookers at the KTV's, and all of the sudden I found myself leading the charge and playing far better than I ever have in my life. Since the average Chinese athlete weighs about the same as most American ten year-olds I was able to really push the other team around, and won almost every header. At the end of the second half I almost scored on a diving header, and after the half the coach sang my praises. I was high-hived by all of the other players on the team, as I had finally gained their respect and it looked as if I would finally be a college athlete. When I went to undergrad I wrestled with the idea of playing soccer at a smaller school instead of going to USC... So this was kind of like me riding some sort of dream that only the world's biggest dorks would have. Most people want to be CEO, a famous actor, the Prez. I just wanted to play university soccer. We're not even talking about Hoops. But hey, for me this was a big deal and I was pretty fired up.
For some strange reason I found myself jogging out for a third half of action, even though this makes no sense it seemed completely normal at the time. Five minutes later I found myself twisting my knee in every which way, and hearing a "pop" which generally means that you are completely screwed...I know, because I am. So that was my college soccer career. I played one game, scored zero goals, zero assists, I did commit a few fouls, and that's all she wrote. This "pop" was my ACL, and this ligament will keep me from playing active sports for the next six months. I have never had a serious injury in my entire life, and I can at least take solace in knowing that I earned it on the field of battle. Not a bad story to tell, I could have done in practicing tai-chi or worse. I have been playing sports for twenty years so I was do, and I am not mad at anyone or anything. It is certainly a glove in the face, but I'm moving on. This will give me more time to meet people and get my school work done, and I should be able to swim within a few weeks.
Well, I gotta eat now. My surgery is in fifteen hours, and I am supposed to fast for twelve. I will be in the hospital for two days, and if things go well I won't miss a day of class.
the soon to be knifed,
Matt Atkinson
P.S. The USC football loss has not made this any easier. And I was able to find a good hospital where my insurance covers 70% of the surgery.
BUT THEY NEVER TOLD ME WHAT DO IF I TEAR MY ACL IN A SOCCER GAME IN CHINA!!!
You would have thought with all the useless jargon that was thrown my way like a flamethrower on a pile of gasoline, that maybe serious knee injury would have made it on the list. But not so much... Medical insurance...check. But how to handle dealing with a hospital where the native language is not English, or how to stumble into class on-time when a sloth could beat you in a foot race; or how to walk down a dangerous street by yourself when a girl scout could literally put you down for the count with one tiny shin kick.......these things were not explained to me in vivid detail. Throw in a worrying Mom who probably can't sleep; insurance policies that are as ambiguous as Clay Aiken was a week ago; ten different people telling you ten different ways to handle your looming surgery; and a bunch of nervous Chinese women who will not give you five minutes to forget about your potential knife fight with a Chinese surgeon. And this my friends...this is culture shock times ten~!!!
SO now that I have vented let me explain some of the humor for you all to laugh at, as there is a funny story behind all of this. My study-abroad school rocks. Sorry to my current scholarly employer, but if I had it my way I would finish my studies out here. It is the Harvard of China, and the school is a marvelous creation with all kinds of weird things. Moats of green sludge that zig-zag in every which way, big buildings that look like they were designed during the Middle Ages, thousands of Chinese students on bicycles who are constantly almost crashing into each other. This is home.
My classmates are mostly cool and range in nation of origin from Spain, to Norway, to Argentina, to Cameroon. There is a constant supply of sports going on around here, and since I am liking a dog whose mind automatically forgets about everything else when a soccer ball is kicked, I have been on the pitch all of the time. After trying out for an MBA team I awkwardly ended up kicking it around with the actual university team, and after a few practices with the university team, I actually found myself playing for my university team in a real game. This Spaniard (who probably was kicking a futbol as soon as he exited the womb) and I made the A-Team, and in our first game the ludicrous coach who shouts at us in Chinese like we are a bunch of Samurai warriors put us both in the game (on a side-note, I did not start, nor was I the first off of the bench). Our team got scored on twice faster than some of the Chinese hookers at the KTV's, and all of the sudden I found myself leading the charge and playing far better than I ever have in my life. Since the average Chinese athlete weighs about the same as most American ten year-olds I was able to really push the other team around, and won almost every header. At the end of the second half I almost scored on a diving header, and after the half the coach sang my praises. I was high-hived by all of the other players on the team, as I had finally gained their respect and it looked as if I would finally be a college athlete. When I went to undergrad I wrestled with the idea of playing soccer at a smaller school instead of going to USC... So this was kind of like me riding some sort of dream that only the world's biggest dorks would have. Most people want to be CEO, a famous actor, the Prez. I just wanted to play university soccer. We're not even talking about Hoops. But hey, for me this was a big deal and I was pretty fired up.
For some strange reason I found myself jogging out for a third half of action, even though this makes no sense it seemed completely normal at the time. Five minutes later I found myself twisting my knee in every which way, and hearing a "pop" which generally means that you are completely screwed...I know, because I am. So that was my college soccer career. I played one game, scored zero goals, zero assists, I did commit a few fouls, and that's all she wrote. This "pop" was my ACL, and this ligament will keep me from playing active sports for the next six months. I have never had a serious injury in my entire life, and I can at least take solace in knowing that I earned it on the field of battle. Not a bad story to tell, I could have done in practicing tai-chi or worse. I have been playing sports for twenty years so I was do, and I am not mad at anyone or anything. It is certainly a glove in the face, but I'm moving on. This will give me more time to meet people and get my school work done, and I should be able to swim within a few weeks.
Well, I gotta eat now. My surgery is in fifteen hours, and I am supposed to fast for twelve. I will be in the hospital for two days, and if things go well I won't miss a day of class.
the soon to be knifed,
Matt Atkinson
P.S. The USC football loss has not made this any easier. And I was able to find a good hospital where my insurance covers 70% of the surgery.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Good Time at the Olympiad: Volume Dos
After taking this picture, every Chinese person in our section decided to follow suit and block the views of the people who actually were sitting there.
The last three days of the Olympics were better than any Vegas trip that I have ever been on. I basically spent the money needed for a trip to Hong Kong (with lodging but no fancy suits) on tickets to see: The Track & Field Finals on Friday, Boxing Finals on Saturday, and then the Gold Medal USA Hoops Game (I actually got a free ticket to this one) on Sunday.
So I went with my friend Luojia to the Bird's Nest on Friday and it was a night that really shined. The 4x100 relays, the Pole Vault Final, The Women's Long Jump, and a bunch of other stuff. Not to mention we sat eleven rows up right by the jumping pit so our seats were about as good as you can get, complete with maniacal Jamaican fans who were either coaches or family members of the competitors. Jamaica now completely dominates the track events in the Olympics, and speculatively speaking this may have something to do with the fact that they are only tested three times a year for drugs. With no random tests at all, making it incredibly ease to cycle on or off (this is all hypothetical) steroids. Regardless, they are the best in the world and I still have the utmost admiration for the record-breaking feats that I witnessed during the Olympiad.
So after going through a time-consuming and completely annoying security check not once but twice, we lumbered our way into the stadium. On a side note I must address the Chinese security check-points...they are awful. It is like going through an airport security line where EVERYBODY sets off the sensors. There was even one time where I walked through in a tank-top, board shorts & sandals, with nothing in my pockets, and I still set off the demonic red light which I will always loathe. After iginiting the matching button a wand is probed all over your body parts including the family jewels. So as you can imagine since everybody sets off the sensors, the lines take far too long to get through. The reward being a frail Chinese security guard who has just wanded you in your privates, then gives you a stern-faced nod to walk another kilometer to the stadium as you continually wince at the painful prodding you have just endured.
The track though was worth the annoying assault that I had to arduously endure and Jamaica was fantastic. Winning the Women's Long Jump by a few centimeters, their fans danced around like Bob Marley was playing a live concert back from the grave. This party went on for quite some time, that is until the Women's 4x100 track team (who had the Gold, Silver, & Bronze medalists in the event) dropped the baton on the final turn and ended up getting ousted. This dubious screw-up had happened to the US 4x100 Men's and Women's teams in the earlier events, and they did not even qualify. Can somebody call Carl Lewis for me, we need a new coach. Just make sure that he does not do any singing, his National Anthem will go on in infamy until the next Ice Age...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uDc5tQxmJY
Soon after, the 4x100 for the Men took place and the happy, and then angry, and now happy again Jamaicans celebrated like the last scene of "Cool Runnings". Bolt, in my humble opinion, is the best short-distance Track Athlete of all-time. This is not just because he blows everybody out of the water in the races, but because he is so laid back leading up to the race. Everyone else is nervous and in their own bubble as the pride of their nation is on the line, and Bolt might as well be sipping a Mai Tai on a tropical beach. Then he celebrates afterwards with some of the worst dance moves I have seen since bumping into a Korean dance crew at a club who had choreographed their hip hop dance to the Soulja Boy song (word on the street is that Korea is now the world's greatest haven for Soulja Boy's has-been lyrical non-talent). The Pole Vault final was the event of the night though, as a red-haired Australian named "Hooker" kept coming back from the dead on his last jumps to advance to the medal rounds. Since this was late in the night, most of the fans were slightly inebriated, and all of the legendary Aussie fan patrol kept shouting "Come on, HOOKER! You can do it HOOKER!" I may have joined in on a few of these chants. My friends and I always joke about Gingers, and many have even joined "The Official Ginger Awareness Group" on Facebook. It is amazing that not only do they allow ginger-haired Carrot Top look-alikes to compete in the games, but they even give them medals when they win and treat them like the non-Ginger competitors. It's nice to see segregation broken down first-hand as the world matures...HAHAHA. Well, our pole-vaulting Ron Howard disciple really helped give the Gingers some much-needed accolades, and ended up winning the event... This was my Friday evening, and have to say it was my favorite Olympic event of the games.
On Saturday, I scored Boxing Finals tickets and used my extra ticket to take the Chinese volunteer named Barbara with me to watch some first-class pugilism. Even though she was an Olympic volunteer, and a very pretty one at that, she had not gone to a single event. Pretty lame how being a volunteer gets you into zero events, and they make you wear a lame t-shirt that reminds me of the saddened suckers who serve Churro's at Disneyland by Space Mountain (I am ashamed to admit that this was my first ever job and was as lame or lamer than anyone could imagine...I have no love for that mouse). So after settling in at the boxing a group of Americans who looked as if they had been on a ten-hour drinking bender stormed in behind us. After a little while, I ended up chatting with the bumbling booze-hounds and it so happened that they all worked at this pizza joint in Beijing called "The Crow's Nest", which happens to be the only good pizza that I have found in the city. One of the guys was not hammered and was obviously the leader, and we ended up bonding over boxing chat and he told me that he was the manager of the restaurant. His friends were as sharp as beach balls, as Damien The Manager and I managed to convince his followers that the bronze medalist fights had all ended in draws and that is why two boxers kept getting bronze medals. In Olympics Boxing, there is no bronze medal match so the two losing semifinalists get bronzes. You would have thought after the third time that the pizza servers would have figured it out, but these guys had taken one too many hits from the bong and thought it was awesome how many ties there were.
After a few lackluster fights, we finally got a gem. It was in Middleweights as James Degale from the UK took on a Cuban. Degale was just the biggest wuss ever (disclaimer: I know that he could beat the living tar out of me in 30 seconds, this is just in comparison to other fighters), he got an early lead on points so all he did was clutch and grab for the last two rounds. It really proved the point that the Olympic scoring systems is garbage and needs to be trashed ASAP. As a ticket-purchasing customer I felt the obligation to BOOO!!!!!!!!!! as loud as I could, and Damien and his pizza posse followed suit. The next thing you knew all of the Chinese people in our section, who are fascinated with just about everything, joined in as did a bunch of other sections joined in our ruckus. This BRIT boxer acter as if it was the waltz final all the way to the end, and as he got wusser we got louder and then some not-so-nice remarks were thrown out. I knew it had gotten out of hand when my date for the evening Barbara, shouted out "YOU SUCK LIMEY!!!!" At the top of her lungs. We continued the booing even when the Brit was on the medal stand, which is completely wrong and immoral, but by this time the mob mentality had come into full force and the hurricane was let loose. So that was my last Olympic boxing event, and the only thing I can take away from it is crazy fans from Eastern Europe and hating a British Boxer whose gold medal was tarnished in part by my rudeness... Sorry Uncle Sam, but up until that point I had been a good American, but I dropped the ball on this one.
Sunday Funday was craziness. I had gone out the night before and was ready to throw in the towel, my body can only handle so much Olympics. Seriously, it's like being trapped at the Hard Rock Hotel in Vegas for two weeks. So much fun, but after a while you just want to cash in your chips and call it a good time had. But when I was offered a ticket to the Gold Medal Basketball Game I had to put on my war face once again and I soon enough I was being prodded by a rod in my rear by a Chinese boy who was yet to go through puberty. The first game was actually pretty weak, Argentina just came out and just ate Lithuania's lunch. But the Gold Medal Game was amazing. A friend of a friend and I snuck our way down to the good seats by becoming fast friends with some Chinese hoops fans with great tickets (one of the guys had on an old-school Michael Jordan jersey), and got within shouting distance of Kobe, Carmello, and the rest of the dream-teamers. Since there was nothing but hot dogs on a stick and it was too early to booze I decided to satisfy my hunger with all of the junk food that 20 RMB (three dollars US can buy), and had the luxury of watching the game in some great seats. Of course I got kicked out of the seats soon thereafter and was sent back to the upper-deck, but it was a good run while it lasted. Even watching the game from the nose-bleed section was great, as the emotion of the crowd meant more than being closer or far away from the action. Two things I will really remember from that game: Dwight Howard getting dunked on by Rudy Fernandez; Kobe Bryant taking some awful shots at the end of the game. I know the US won, and Kobe lead us to victory, but please watch the last five minutes of the game and then tell me that Kobe was being a team player. The fade-away three with a hand in his face made me want to scream. Nevertheless, the US won, order is restored in the American world dominance of basketball, and the Olympics had come to a close.
As I heard the National Anthem play and saw our heroes on the hardwood I shed a tear. Not because of my joy for the nation, but because the Olympics had officially come to a close. And the factories and cars would open again at their maximum capacity, bringing back the pollution and gridlock of pre-Olympic daily life.
I tip my hat to China for doing an amazing job with the Olympics. I will never forget these days of grace, and can only reminisce of heckling handball referees or Chinese fans yelling Jiao over and over again. The Chinese Olympiad is over and I am saddened but feel that I did it the best that I could.
a saddened former spectator,
Matt
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Good time at the Olympiad: Volume Uno PICS
Fumas and Cheerleaders getting wild for the halftime show. My favorite is the blue Fuma who is getting his freak on. Best Olympic mascots ever!!!
Russia vs. France in the quarterfinals. Double-OT Russian victory.
This is the boy who now has my white USC hat. My favorite hat. I hope he can appreciate in years to come the personal sacrifice that I made on his behalf.
My friend Anja supporting the Red Army. Notice how I "forgot" to put the equally absurd pic of me wearing a Chinese heart sticker on my face. Totally forgot...LOL
The two loudest French fans in the stadium sat right in front of us. I did all of the cheers with them, or at least attempted to.
Groupies of the two French guys who sat in front of us. These thirsty women would follow their cheers within seconds...Go France!
My USC hat. I miss you...
Great action shot of the Dutch Women's Field Hockey Team.
The Dutch love women's field hockey. Not quite sure what the relevance is of their blow-up orange candy canes, but I know that I want one.
Anja. My connection to the world of field hockey. She taught me all of the rules and tactics which I now cannot remmeber.
Look at those fingernails. I just don't get it. Why?!?!?! To use as a cutting utensil? For protection in a knife fight? Do chicks dig it? Looking for answers if anybody has got them.
The only way to watch the Olympics.
USA getting the gold in women's soccer. U-S-A! U-S-A!
Blessing. A USC student and fellow Trojan. Making friends in the strangest of places is the way I do business.
The brewmasters. These guys are the best...
Pimptastic shoes the guy in front of me was wearing.
Good time at the Olympiad: Volume Uno
My brethren:
It's been a while since I have had the time to blog on this most magnificent of sites, and I have many stories to tell. The two-week extravaganza that they are calling "The Olympics" went by so quickly, I am still trying to digest what exactly happened. It was like one minute I was putting on a Go China Bandanna, and the next thing I knew I was eating an overpriced plate of pasta watching the closing ceremony. I feel like a ten year-old boy who was given a Golden Retriever puppy for X-Mas, only to have it run over by a garbage truck two weeks later. A friend of mine wrote about the Olympics and used analogies of Disneyland and Epcot Center, but my experience was more like a two-week run at Vegas as a "big-player". I might as well have been watching the "Blue Man Group" every afternoon, and a UFC Main Event Card every night. Throw in beers for less than a dollar; the ridiculous culture of Chinese sports fans; obnoxious European and American fans in absurd yet hilarious costumes; and a dash of goofy mascots dancing with cheerleaders, and there you have the 2008 Beijing Games my friends. I am going to highlight some of the more memorable moments of my misadventures during the second week of Olympic glory. As much fun as Week #1 was, Week #2 was the best sequel since the "The Bourne Supremacy" flicks. It was like if you took the second and the third rolled both of them together, and added a pinch of Gary Busey.
After taking a one-day break on Monday of all days (where I rested by drinking more water than a thirsty hippo and going to work) I brought back the fury on Tuesday. I went to see the quarterfinals of my new favorite sport Women's Handball with my Swiss friend Anja, and I definitely made a mark on the game. Or at least a scratch. Round One was the mighty Chinese ladies against the Koreans from the South, and I came armed to the teeth with a China bandanna and a sticker on my face. "Jiao!" chances on repeat by the one-tracked minded Chinese blared throughout the stadium, and even though they got walloped by a dozen goals, the maniacal fans kept on chanting until the final seconds. I recently found out that the English translation to the Chinese word jiao is "add gas". There are just too many jokes for this one, so I will let the reader use his or her imagination.
In Round Two the Frenchies went toe-to-toe with the undefeated Russians. I'll tell you one thing I was happy to not be donning a French handball outfit on this day, as the Soviets had two women whom easily could have stunt-doubled for Frankenstein. I don't know how or what they made these women with, but they both looked like they had just murdered a dozen school children. Surprisingly enough, the descendants of Napoleon led almost the entire game, and this was great for Anja and I since we were in the French section and the Frenchies have way better cheers than the Russians. One of the guys in our section must have been a star cheerleader in his former life, because he was a machine. But just like the Maginot Line, the French eventually crumbled, and were taken down by the Gorbachev generation in double-overtime. To make matters worse the American family next to us had just moved out to China, and their kindergarten-aged boy was completely overtaken by my white USC hat (my undergraduate alma mater). After the game I pulled an Indiana Jones, just like when Harrison Ford gave his fedora to Shia Lebeouf, and passed the torch of Trojan prowess to this fellow American by giving him my hat. Most people would feel good about this sort of thing, BUT THIS IS MY ONLY USC HAT! Or was my only USC hat, and they don't have Foot Locker out here in the Orient. If this kid isn't the next Carson Palmer I'm not ever going to be content with my decision.
The next day my friend Anja took me with her to the women's semifinals of field hockey. As I mentioned in a previous blog Anja is a world-class field hockey player; unfortunately, she happens to be Swiss and they are to the Olympics what the duck-billed platypus is to the animal kingdom. No Olympic qualification for this swiss miss, but Anja has all kinds of hook-up's in the field hockey world and we were able to get right up to the front row. Round One in this one was "Ze Germans" against the JIAO-chanting Chinese. The Germans were heavy favorites but China was too strong down the stretch, and won a barn-burner. I found the game to be much more action-packed than I would have expected. My only knowledge of field hockey, was from the wildebeest-sized women at my high school, who it seemed only made the team because nobody else wanted to play the sport. But these women were fit, skilled, and for the most part very attractive.
The second game featured the Dutch who thumped Argentina by four goals. The fans of the Dutch team, wore bright Halloween colors, and drank their faces off. Normally, the food & drink lines of the Olympics will have one random guy getting like twelve beers for his friends. But it seemed that every Dutch guy buying beer was this random guy, and a line of only five people took me about fifteen minutes to get my brewskies. They don't believe in kegs at the Olympics, so they have to open every beer by hand. Another moment I will not forget, was turning around and seeing a Chinese guy sitting behind me with fingernails as long as Freddy Kruger from "Nightmare on Elm Street". I have had this sort of thing happen quite a few times, and these are not the meterosexual Chinese males, but just random ordinary Chinese guys who think is is cool to grow their nails four inches long. I quickly snapped a picture of this with my camera. I have found that getting pictures of these sort of things is easy: you just give your victim a wide smile and a thumbs up and they will be more than willing to pose for my photography collection of weird and unusual things in China
On the way home in the crammed bus I stumbled into a pretty Chinese Olympic volunteer named Barbara, and when I woke up the next day I noticed that her name and phone number were written on a piece of paper in my pocket. Good start to Thursday. This next day would be a great one as I had two tickets to the Women's Gold Medal Soccer game, and it was USA vs. Brazil. Since I had an extra ticket I decided to take one of the girls form my work, who I felt otherwise would not be able to attend any events. It is a shame that going to the Olympics for most native Beijinger's is completely out of the question. Getting tickets as a Chinese person is terribly difficult, and then overcoming the temptation to sell these tickets for ten times the price is even tougher. The actual face value on the tickets that one would pay if they got them in the lottery, is generally like ten or fifteen dollars.
So anyways my friend Miou (it is pronounced like Meow) went to the Gold Medal soccer game with me, and man was it a blast. There were two drunk Americans sitting one row over to the left who were hysterical. These guys were draped in an American flag, and when one of the guys noticed that I had finished my beer he demanded that I take one of his. I was reluctant to do so, until I saw that this immoral drinking duo had about fifteen beers underneath their seats. I jokingly asked if he had enough beers, and he said..."enough... we've got a freekin' brewery over here." It was also refreshing to deal with Americans who were not completely annoying. Why is it that my country has the worst Olympics fans next to maybe Canada?. The Midwest reflective Oakley-wearing I LOVE THE USA nimrods who make us all look bad with their ignorant paradigm of world domination without understanding are so damn stern. The Americans at the soccer game may have been drunk, but at least they were classy drunks. So anyways, I soon made fast friends with the two Americans, and shortly thereafter the girl who was sitting in front of me (her name is Blessing, which makes me so sad to have an ordinary name, because her name kicks my name's ass) noticed my USC jacket and told me she was currently in school at USC. She got me caught up with all of the current events and stuff, and my seat felt more like a spot on a friend's couch than a seat at a Chinese stadium.
As far as the game goes, the American women played so well. I thought the Brazilians were a little better since they have this superstar named "Marta" who is ten times better than everybody else. But the goalie for the states was a brick wall, and in overtime USA pulled it out. Great game! Oh, and the man sitting next to Blessing was wearing purple croc's with stars on them, and when he was applauding I got a picture of them. May have been my highlight of the game.
I miss the Olympics,
matt
It's been a while since I have had the time to blog on this most magnificent of sites, and I have many stories to tell. The two-week extravaganza that they are calling "The Olympics" went by so quickly, I am still trying to digest what exactly happened. It was like one minute I was putting on a Go China Bandanna, and the next thing I knew I was eating an overpriced plate of pasta watching the closing ceremony. I feel like a ten year-old boy who was given a Golden Retriever puppy for X-Mas, only to have it run over by a garbage truck two weeks later. A friend of mine wrote about the Olympics and used analogies of Disneyland and Epcot Center, but my experience was more like a two-week run at Vegas as a "big-player". I might as well have been watching the "Blue Man Group" every afternoon, and a UFC Main Event Card every night. Throw in beers for less than a dollar; the ridiculous culture of Chinese sports fans; obnoxious European and American fans in absurd yet hilarious costumes; and a dash of goofy mascots dancing with cheerleaders, and there you have the 2008 Beijing Games my friends. I am going to highlight some of the more memorable moments of my misadventures during the second week of Olympic glory. As much fun as Week #1 was, Week #2 was the best sequel since the "The Bourne Supremacy" flicks. It was like if you took the second and the third rolled both of them together, and added a pinch of Gary Busey.
After taking a one-day break on Monday of all days (where I rested by drinking more water than a thirsty hippo and going to work) I brought back the fury on Tuesday. I went to see the quarterfinals of my new favorite sport Women's Handball with my Swiss friend Anja, and I definitely made a mark on the game. Or at least a scratch. Round One was the mighty Chinese ladies against the Koreans from the South, and I came armed to the teeth with a China bandanna and a sticker on my face. "Jiao!" chances on repeat by the one-tracked minded Chinese blared throughout the stadium, and even though they got walloped by a dozen goals, the maniacal fans kept on chanting until the final seconds. I recently found out that the English translation to the Chinese word jiao is "add gas". There are just too many jokes for this one, so I will let the reader use his or her imagination.
In Round Two the Frenchies went toe-to-toe with the undefeated Russians. I'll tell you one thing I was happy to not be donning a French handball outfit on this day, as the Soviets had two women whom easily could have stunt-doubled for Frankenstein. I don't know how or what they made these women with, but they both looked like they had just murdered a dozen school children. Surprisingly enough, the descendants of Napoleon led almost the entire game, and this was great for Anja and I since we were in the French section and the Frenchies have way better cheers than the Russians. One of the guys in our section must have been a star cheerleader in his former life, because he was a machine. But just like the Maginot Line, the French eventually crumbled, and were taken down by the Gorbachev generation in double-overtime. To make matters worse the American family next to us had just moved out to China, and their kindergarten-aged boy was completely overtaken by my white USC hat (my undergraduate alma mater). After the game I pulled an Indiana Jones, just like when Harrison Ford gave his fedora to Shia Lebeouf, and passed the torch of Trojan prowess to this fellow American by giving him my hat. Most people would feel good about this sort of thing, BUT THIS IS MY ONLY USC HAT! Or was my only USC hat, and they don't have Foot Locker out here in the Orient. If this kid isn't the next Carson Palmer I'm not ever going to be content with my decision.
The next day my friend Anja took me with her to the women's semifinals of field hockey. As I mentioned in a previous blog Anja is a world-class field hockey player; unfortunately, she happens to be Swiss and they are to the Olympics what the duck-billed platypus is to the animal kingdom. No Olympic qualification for this swiss miss, but Anja has all kinds of hook-up's in the field hockey world and we were able to get right up to the front row. Round One in this one was "Ze Germans" against the JIAO-chanting Chinese. The Germans were heavy favorites but China was too strong down the stretch, and won a barn-burner. I found the game to be much more action-packed than I would have expected. My only knowledge of field hockey, was from the wildebeest-sized women at my high school, who it seemed only made the team because nobody else wanted to play the sport. But these women were fit, skilled, and for the most part very attractive.
The second game featured the Dutch who thumped Argentina by four goals. The fans of the Dutch team, wore bright Halloween colors, and drank their faces off. Normally, the food & drink lines of the Olympics will have one random guy getting like twelve beers for his friends. But it seemed that every Dutch guy buying beer was this random guy, and a line of only five people took me about fifteen minutes to get my brewskies. They don't believe in kegs at the Olympics, so they have to open every beer by hand. Another moment I will not forget, was turning around and seeing a Chinese guy sitting behind me with fingernails as long as Freddy Kruger from "Nightmare on Elm Street". I have had this sort of thing happen quite a few times, and these are not the meterosexual Chinese males, but just random ordinary Chinese guys who think is is cool to grow their nails four inches long. I quickly snapped a picture of this with my camera. I have found that getting pictures of these sort of things is easy: you just give your victim a wide smile and a thumbs up and they will be more than willing to pose for my photography collection of weird and unusual things in China
On the way home in the crammed bus I stumbled into a pretty Chinese Olympic volunteer named Barbara, and when I woke up the next day I noticed that her name and phone number were written on a piece of paper in my pocket. Good start to Thursday. This next day would be a great one as I had two tickets to the Women's Gold Medal Soccer game, and it was USA vs. Brazil. Since I had an extra ticket I decided to take one of the girls form my work, who I felt otherwise would not be able to attend any events. It is a shame that going to the Olympics for most native Beijinger's is completely out of the question. Getting tickets as a Chinese person is terribly difficult, and then overcoming the temptation to sell these tickets for ten times the price is even tougher. The actual face value on the tickets that one would pay if they got them in the lottery, is generally like ten or fifteen dollars.
So anyways my friend Miou (it is pronounced like Meow) went to the Gold Medal soccer game with me, and man was it a blast. There were two drunk Americans sitting one row over to the left who were hysterical. These guys were draped in an American flag, and when one of the guys noticed that I had finished my beer he demanded that I take one of his. I was reluctant to do so, until I saw that this immoral drinking duo had about fifteen beers underneath their seats. I jokingly asked if he had enough beers, and he said..."enough... we've got a freekin' brewery over here." It was also refreshing to deal with Americans who were not completely annoying. Why is it that my country has the worst Olympics fans next to maybe Canada?. The Midwest reflective Oakley-wearing I LOVE THE USA nimrods who make us all look bad with their ignorant paradigm of world domination without understanding are so damn stern. The Americans at the soccer game may have been drunk, but at least they were classy drunks. So anyways, I soon made fast friends with the two Americans, and shortly thereafter the girl who was sitting in front of me (her name is Blessing, which makes me so sad to have an ordinary name, because her name kicks my name's ass) noticed my USC jacket and told me she was currently in school at USC. She got me caught up with all of the current events and stuff, and my seat felt more like a spot on a friend's couch than a seat at a Chinese stadium.
As far as the game goes, the American women played so well. I thought the Brazilians were a little better since they have this superstar named "Marta" who is ten times better than everybody else. But the goalie for the states was a brick wall, and in overtime USA pulled it out. Great game! Oh, and the man sitting next to Blessing was wearing purple croc's with stars on them, and when he was applauding I got a picture of them. May have been my highlight of the game.
I miss the Olympics,
matt
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Not So Harsh Times: Volume One PICTURES
I am America's Number One Women's Handball Fan!
My sister Melinda and her boyfriend Travis at the "Bird's Nest"
Genetically-superior women who could steal my milk money in grade-school.
Spain Fans are fantastico!
My Napoleon-loving friend Luojia who joined us for Track at the "Bird's Nest"
This is Nadia, the fifth member of our Bird's Nest Track team on Saturday. She is a native of Beijing, and had a dream days before that she said was similar to the day that we had. Nadia shed tears of joy when they played a "Happy Birthday" song for a Chinese athlete who turned nineteen. I have to say even I found it a little sentimental.
This is Nadia and I on our pilgrimage forward to the Bird's Nest. We got dropped off over a mile away from the stadium and the march was reminiscent of the "Oregon Trail" computer game.
Once again, another genetically-superior female athlete doing things that I could not do with a ladder.
Let's get ready to rumble..........These guys are the size of jockeys but they are as mean as evil leprechauns.
A few of the fabulous Olympic mascots. They are so incredibly fantastic!
I am in trance mode as I watch more Handball. You gotta love the goofball with the thundersticks and crazy bandanna a few rows down. He was as smashed as a sailor who just hit port.
Words are not necessary to describe the Olympics. Only this picture!
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