The exact moment I became my parent(s).

I thought I had done pretty good, you know? Rap, Hip-hop, Lady Gaga . . . all good, just not for me. But last night, the inevitable -- air guitar from the gold medal podium?!? Thank you Shaun White, I am an old fart! Friends and family probably became aware of this long before me, but here I sit.
And . . . medals that don't look like medals, flowers that don't look like flowers, sports that don't look like sports?!? Maybe that's it: an Olympics that doesn't want to look like an Olympics.
See -- just because something is difficult and (reasonably) fun to watch, that doesn't make it a sport. And if it does sneak around back and become a sport, that doesn't make it an Olympic sport -- dig?
At Duffy's Tavern we had a very simple, albeit workable definition of a 'sport' -- can I bet on it?
Yes = sport, no = attraction, event, whatever.
So caveat emptor, if you will: what time someone's wife would call / show up / cruise by and abscond with the car and when, precisely, China Hogan would slide off his barstool -- while all wagerable events, are by no means sports (although Hogan possessed a style and elan that even Shaun would admire!)
So there you have it: An Old Fart Enjoys (somewhat) Vancouver 2010.