SOMETIMES HISTORY JUST FINDS YOU, LIKE A FLAME LICKS FOR OXYGEN

With the O '10 Olympic games only a few days (10 or so, maybe less or a few more) away from dramatically and patriotically coming to a start, I thought it only sensible and timely to speak of it. The Games that is. And the lit torch itself to be even more specific. I don't know if it's the competition rising from the frigidness of the cold still February nights, or the fact that Dion Phaneuf recently traded the bright red of the Calgary Flames (home of the last Can. Olympics) for the blue and white of the Leafs. I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that I'm actually playing ice hockey again after a ten year hiatus - whatever it is, I am looking forward to the games (esp. hockey, crazy skiing, some figure/speed skating and maybe even some crazier luge or the bobsled). Maybe I'm sick of watching nothingness and the pitiful Leafs on the tube. Is it because my bro Michael lives in the Vancouver area and maybe I'll see him on television? Hey look! A bright yellow patterned Hawaiian printed pair of shorts and even wackier hand made personally designed pair of shoes just shot past my screen. Was he drinking a Slushy? Miko? Who knows. Am I a believer? Maybe. In the flame that is. I have to be. And seeing my brother on television first before I see him next time in person is a belief I hold. Because, not only does Mike live far away, but the last time the Winter Games were held in Canada (Calgary '88) I saw the flame. Up close and personal, Sherk T. Complex parking lot, Leamington, Ont., Canada. Well, close enough to see the fire burning bright and symbolically in the night with my own two eyes and not just on the CBC or from the excitable view of a Cogeco's Dominic Pappa. And I saw it this time around as well. In Windsor, around nine-ish on a Wednesday, cruising down Campbell. I forgot to mention my encounter with this portion of the leg in earlier blog type like blog things, but like I said earlier in this here blog type like blog thing, with the culmination of the big Flame-Leafs trade, my personal hockey playing and 11 days (or so) left til the games - I felt that today was the perfect day to believe. So do tell your story of the Flame. Not the ex-flame going to Toronto but the real Flame coming from Toronto. To and through Windsor, surprisingly down my street (though I have a few theories as to why I will share later) Yes. Not only did I view the running of the torch this year and that one some 22 years ago, but I witnessed history, both times - by accident. Of course, the first time I realize that I personally, as a kid probably really wanted to see the jogging sweat pant party that is the torch run firsthand. A lot of my friends were probably going. (Sorry, but my pre-high school memories are starting to fade - hence, the blog type blog like thing for recording purposes) I was probably 7 going on 8, way into the Olympics (I had Panini-style pictures of Canadian Olympic athletes up on my bedroom wall and probably stickers on my bedposts) - and, most importantly in this situation, had parents who could drive. And who wanted to see the festivities as much or as more as I. That's the thing. As a fifth grader, without a license or much experience in making grown-up decisions or driving, I really couldn't get to that parking lot on Sherk Street at 8 pm in Leamington by myself. It was probably a school night as well. In the middle of winter. So, like most determined and excited kids, I (and the rest of my sibs) relied on our parents to get us there. 12 K, give or take a click, due east on Highway 18. If you pass the park you've gone too far. When looked at in that light, both viewings of earlier said stick of fire came on a whim, a reliance on fate and the hands of time to get me to the desired spot of viewing. And the Aerostar. This time however, in 2010 I merely walked outside, haphazardly and slowly, mostly out of mild but building curiousity into the party-line of madness and fun that is the Vancouver Olympic Games Torch Relay Run. I believe it to be the longest non-stop torch run in the history of the games. Olympics and all. Tony, Mike and I were happily enjoying ourselves, drinking dark beer and chatting of the sorts of things we chat about when drinking dark beer in a lowly lit apartment on a Wednesday evening: the ups and downs of the music business, Jay Z, used guitars and or/recording equipment, Toronto, L.A., the biz, Chatham's own Southpaw, you know. When all of a sudden. "Hey, I think somethings going on out there," said Tony as he walked towards the window, pointing at the flashing lights and sounds of people scurrying and talking out front my west facing apartment on Campbell St., situated about half way in between Wyandotte and University Ave. Opening the door and walking outside onto the front porch, we realized that yes, something was going on out here. How we could have missed the situation developing, the real realization. A bunch of cars and people were scattered up and down the street, filling in driveways and gaps along the sidewalk, clearly anticipating something coming from the south, down Campbell, heading towards us and the river. At first, all we could see were lights and sounds and sirens and what looked like a cavalcade of marked and unmarked police cruisers, fire trucks, some random tractor-trailers, a pile of paddy-wagon's, buses full of waving strangers in white, multiple ambulances, you name it - if there's an emergency for it, the response vehicle was slowly crawling down my street, chaperoning what we believed was the Pope at first or maybe Jean Chretien, the Spitfires or Windsor's favourite alt-rock group, Ashes of Soma. Nope. It was the The Flame. A beacon of hope, representing unity and equality in sport for a world overrun with not enough hope for all. A beacon of hope not cherries. Crime, arson and any injury whatsoever would have to wait to commence until the flame shot through Windsor's finest streets. "The flames coming," I heard someone whisper, thinking that if they spoke too loud the parade might turn around, jump on the bypass and head west towards Amherstburg, and a nicer looking crowd. No offense West Windsor, but... We went with our gut, with what that guy whispered and the fact that the real party was now approaching, satisfying our inquiries. "I think it's the flame dudes," either me, Mike or Tony said, still in disbelief at what we had stumbled upon. In between and staggered amongst the cops, motorcycles, strangers in white jump suits, and enforcers of the flame, were converted flat-bed, pump you up and portable party trucks, complete with cranking dance tunes, and good looking, high energy, mike-bearing torch-bunnies (male & female) - with a serious but fun question: "Are you ready for the flame?!!" A portable pep rally with intent to excite a country. And they were really excited. As luck would have it, the biggest and most aggressive of the flat-bed bunny freaks stopped almost directly in front of our apartment building. By that time, Mike had decided to bbq some winter dogs, Tony had cracked another Guinesss and I had grabbed my camera, but didn't have the common sense to erase the older files on it, hence giving me more space - because I wanted a video or at least a picture of the unfolding madness and jubilee. I might be the only person in the history of Canada's Olympic Torch Run to see the flame twice - accidentally, and I needed evidence. Startled by the commotion and semi-intrusive questions hurled from the party-time dance floor on the street, and still trying to figure out why I had no file space (Damn Guinness, got me again) - I laughed awkwardly, but smiled happily at the spectacle of the parka donning dancing cheerleaders on the semi-stage who seemed now to be glaring at me and my shyness. The procession proceeded on. North, towards Detroit, but it probably turned before it went in the river. I ran back inside, intent on emptying my files onto my computer, making room for The Flame. But I couldn't find the gosh dang device needed to transfer said old files. "Hurry up dude, you're gonna miss the flame," said either Tony or Mike. Or maybe the whisperer from the side of the road. It was probably Tony, because Mike was busy cooking dogs in December. Shit. No pics of the flame. No evidence of either encounter, but I know they happened, because I decided to take a mental snapshot, just like Jim and Pam did on that lame episode of The Office (mind you, I enjoy The Office, though sometimes not the gooey-ness of the Jam. The Pim?). Anyways, yes... behold the Olympic Flame! Tony or Mike or that guy on the street was right. IT was here. Belief was and is possible. And it arrived, though briefly in my life via the legs of a jogging white Windsorite. Thirtiesh, sporing a goatee, ultra white toque, jump suit and a serious perma-smile, this no-name torch bearer sure believed. The flame was bigger than I remember (I was closer in proximity than when I was a kid and, well I was a kid back then in '88) and it's power and prestige could be heard and felt as the flames licked and cut through the brisk night air. Destination: Vancouver. Current Location: Campbell St. In between Wyandotte and University. As the bearded bearer and his flickering flame were passing by my house, a passerby running sort of zig-zaggedly along side the bearer, ran up to him and asked him a question. "Aren't you getting tired?" The man in white, in all his glory, proudly, quickly and confidently replied: "I could do this all night. I could do this all night." With that the flame was gone, out of my life again until the next time I stumble across it's vibrant and inspirational path it's way to the games. PS. I think they chose Campbell because it's a fairly smooth surface, ideal for jogging and portable flat-bed parties. The street on which I live on is conveniently linked to Windsor's major roads: Riverside, Tecumseh and EC Row, in case for some weird reason The Flame needed to get across town in a hurry. Also, no disrespect to Campbell, but it isn't the best street in town and was perhaps used so the fuzz could keep an eye out for thievery and thuggery - since every cop in Windsor, maybe even Essex County was a float in The Flame Parade. Any ideas of your own, my faithful and ever participating readers of this blog type blog like thing.