In other Olympic news, Canada played Norway for the men's curling gold medal. Canada had the final stone in the final end in a tied match. All the skip, Kevin Martin, had to do was place a stone closer to the center than his opponent. In the curling I had seen, this seemed like a sure shot for the Olympian curlers. I feel certain "Mrs. Martin" would have handled the pressure superbly. But Kev, feeling his team's gold in his hands, was just a bit too adrenalized. He threw the stone just a tad too hard, and the stone went about two inches past the Norwegian stone on the back side of the house. He'd choked away the gold medal. A sweep of the Salt Lake curling golds by people with the last name Martin was not to be. Norway just accepted the gold and threw it in the closet on top of all the other golds. Then they quickly closed the door and squeezed it shut before the pile could fall over and spill all over the place.

I didn't get to watch the hockey finals because: (okay, follow this reasoning) It was Sunday. Sunday was the last day of the Olympics. On the last day of the Olympics, you wrap up everything and stop broadcasting. Apparently, this is true even if you are in a time zone that is four days ahead of Salt Lake City, Utah, U.S.A. So, sans closing ceremonies and hockey finals, EuroSport wrapped up its coverage of the games!

Also, in a self righteous huff, I looked on the Olympic website to see if I could find a phonetic spelling of Janica Kostelic. I found it: "Janica Kostelic (pronounced yahn-EET-zah KO-stah-litch)". Well, that settled it... damn it. And you know what else? I had always thought Ceausescu was spelled Ceaucescu. Now, the pronunciation WAS bothering me. Can't people in that part of the world pronounce their own names correctly? Jeesh.

Since this was the last day to eat the leftover guinea fowl and pheasant, Dad and I stuffed ourselves like, well, like we were poultry. We ate all we could. Then, we picked at the carcasses and made sandwiches for the airport, complete with leftover stuffing and gravy. Susan cannot understand how we can pick at bird carcasses like we're vultures and still find the meat appetizing. As far as she (and even Matt) is concerned, the less meat looks like an actual animal, the better. But Dad and I could watch the pheasants running around the yard and think "Yum!"