We love this story not just because it’s hilarious, but because it comes from our home town.

A golfer at the Shady Canyon Golf Course in Irvine, California accidentally started a fire after he took a swing that hit a rock and sparked a fire.

When the golfer’s club made contact with the rock, the spark immediately caused the rough to go up into flames.

And from there the fire grew out of control, burning through vegetation next to the course and over two brushy hillsides.

150 firefighters were called out to battle the blaze, which eventually consumed 12 acres of land.

Smokey The Bear was right: only we can prevent forest fires… by not playing golf.

Who knew golf was actually deadly?  You don’t hear about incidents like this in baseball or football.  If this was more common, we might actually take an interest in golf.

We sort of feel bad for the golfer because we know he’s never going to live this down.  But we sort of don’t feel bad because he probably consoled himself by driving a luxury car along the coast to his mansion.

If you thought sex toys were only used for sex, think again.  They can be useful tools of sporting too.

Over the weekend, a small town in Russia called Losevo held its eighth annual Bubble Baba Challenge where 450 thrill-seekers attempted to ride down rapids on an inflatable woman.

A racer from St. Petersburg won the men’s heat by riding his doll, named “Vanilla Pelotki,” down the rapids in 2 minutes and 47 seconds.

Mind you, this isn’t just perverted men’s thing.  A female from St. Petersburg won her race in 3:29.  She named her sex doll “Yosya.”  What’s with Russians and unsexy names?

Anyone 16 and over can compete in the race… as long as they pass an obligatory alcohol test (even though alcohol is probably what inspired people to sign up for the race in the first place.

If straddling an inflatable girl down a river makes some women uncomfortable, they have the option of replacing the doll with a giant rubber penis.

Sounds like fun for the whole family.

If you’re big sports fans like us, a trip to the World Cup is definitely on your bucket list.

But in the year 2022, you might not need to attend.

As part of Japan’s bid for the 22nd World Cup in 2022, they propose broadcasting games in real-time holograms at approximately 400 stadiums worldwide.

That means you might be able to go to your local stadium and watch a three-dimensional life-size image projected onto the field as it’s happening live.

It’ll be like you’re at a World Cup game without actually being there.  Plus, you’ll get to be in the company of fans from your country.

The realistic holograms are created by placing 200 HD cameras in a 360-degree circle around the stadium and beaming the action back through cameras placed in the same position at stadiums around the world.

Apparently this futuristic technology could be up and running by 2016, and then perfected in time for the 2022 World Cup.

We’ll have to wait for a verdict since FIFA won’t choose the host of the 2022 World Cup until December 2010.  But I’m hoping Japan gets it just to see if they can pull this off.

What do you think about this idea?  Would you rather travel to the World Cup and enjoy the experience in person?  Or save a ton of money and watch holograms play soccer?

Did you think the Netherlands would make it to the World Cup Final?

Well, neither did they.

The Dutch Football Association had so little confidence in their team that they only made hotel reservations up until July 5th.

The problem is… the Final doesn’t take place until July 11th.

Which means the Dutch soccer team is homeless until FIFA can find open hotel rooms in Johannesburg.

That’s going to be a difficult task considering most hotels have been fully booked for months.

Let’s hope they find a place to rest up and regain a little pride before the biggest match of their lives.

It’s one for the ages.

Today’s first-round tennis match at Wimbledon between 19th-ranked John Isner and 148th-ranked Nicolas Mahut is the longest match in the history of tennis… and it isn’t even over yet!

The match had to be suspended due to nightfall and will resume tomorrow.

So far the match has lasted exactly 10 HOURS.  That’s almost as long as a flight from Los Angeles to London!

Think about how exhausted you are after a long haul flight… and you don’t even do anything!  You just sit there and watch movies.  These dudes were out there playing tennis in the summer sun for that entire length of time.

I got tired just watching (which is probably an indication that I need to return to the gym).

Let’s put this epic match into perspective:

Never in Wimbledon’s 133-year history has a match lasted more than 112 games.  They played more than that in their fifth set alone: 118 (the score is tied at 59-59).

The record for the longest match in tennis history was 6 hours and 33 minutes, set by Fabrice Santoro and Arnaud Clement at the 2004 French Open.  Mahut and Isner have played more than that in their fifth set alone: over 7 hours.

Think about that: their fifth set has lasted longer than any match in the history of tennis — a sport that has existed since the 16th century!

Tomorrow the record will continue to grow, but who knows for how long.  Maybe the match will only go on for a few more minutes.  Maybe a few more hours.

That begs the question: could you watch anything for 10 hours?  Could you sit through a 10-hour live event?

People from all over the world have traveled to Wimbledon to watch a match… but what if you were one of the people sitting in the stands during this particular match?

If you thought the players were numb, imagine how the spectators (especially their butts) feel sitting in the same seat hour after hour.  I mean, it’s gotta be cool to see history being made — there’s no way a match like this will ever happen again in our lifetime — but at the same time, isn’t it torture sitting there?

I was sitting on a sofa in an air conditioned room watching the match and even I got tired.  What’s it like for the people sitting in a tiny, uncomfortable seat, back straight, legs pressed together, sun beating down on them, sweat soaking their clothing, growls of hunger rumbling through the stands?

Could you endure it?  Would you want to?

The 2012 Summer Olympic mascots were unveiled today… and I immediately wanted to revise our list of The 10 Worst Olympic Mascots ever.  These cycloptic creatures are instant top five turds.

I’m not sure how crab hands (right) or alien overlord (left) represent London or athletic competition.  These monsters, named Wenlock and Mandeville, have too much junk in the trunk to be capable of competing in any kind of sport to begin with.

Perhaps their freakish appearance and desire to conquer our planet will motivate athletes to run faster and jump higher in order to escape the alien mascot’s laser vision.

I get that not all mascots can be as adorable as the Vancouver Winter Olympic mascots.  But come on, that’s the best they could come up with?  One-eyed, flat-footed freaks in spacesuits?

What’s your take?  Cute or sucky or a sign of an impending alien invasion?

The thrill of victory.  The agony of defeat.  The unwarranted satisfaction from participating in a completely pointless competition.  That’s why strange sports were invented.  Not to prove manliness or self-worth or, by gosh, intelligence.  No, no.  But to prove that those that suck at real athletic competition can be good at something that doesn’t garner fame, legitimacy or even respect.  Here are strange sports festivals and world championships where an Average Joe can win and still remain an Average Joe…

Summer Redneck Games

You might be a redneck if you consider Jeff Foxworthy remotely funny.  You might also be a redneck if you consider toilet seat throwing (think redneck horseshoes), hubcap hurling and mud pit belly flopping legitimate sports.  Every July since 1996, cars full uh rednecks pack into the Summer Redneck Games in East Dublin, Georgia for a chance at winning duh ultimate prize in sports: a crushed beer can mounted on a plaque.

World Toe Wrestling Championship

Losing to the woman is the least of that man's concern. More humiliating is the pink guy's package dangerously close to his head.

Every July, the strongest toes in the world converge upon the Bentley Brook Inn in Derbyshire, England to compete for the title of World Champion Toe Wrestler.  Clearly superior to “real” wrestling in every way, competitors lock big toes in an official “Toedium” in a battle that requires strength, flexibility and plenty of alcohol.

World Bog Snorkeling Championship

What sounds more appealing: snorkeling in the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean… or snorkeling in a mossy, muddy, stinky bog in the middle of nowhere?  Well, if you’re Conor Murphy, the latter.  Murphy is the reigning two-time World Bog Snorkeling Champion, an annual event that takes place every August in Llanywrtyd Wells, Wales.  Competitors must swim two 60-yard lengths in a bog trench using only flipper power alone — no traditional swimming strokes — a far easier task if you have human-dolphin hybrid feet like Michael Phelps.

Man Versus Horse Marathon

Some horses have been clocked at speeds of almost 60mph.  The fastest humans on earth can only hit speeds of about 28mph.  So how is it possible for a man to defeat a horse in a race?  Endurance.  Every July in Llanywrtyd Wells, Wales, humans compete against horses in the 22-mile Man Versus Horse Marathon.  Surprisingly, the race is closer than you might think.  Horses are good for short races but falter under long distances.  Since the marathon was invented in 1987, the slow-and-steady humans have actually beaten the horses on two occasions.  In 2008, the horse won by only 30 seconds.  I don’t know about you, but if I saw an angry 1,500 pound muscled creature bearing down on me, I’d run my ass off.

Cooper’s Hill Cheese-Rolling And Wake

There is no acceptable reason why a man should compete for cheese naked, especially at the risk of rolling on or accidentally tea-bagging another man.

I love cheese.  I will compete for cheese.  I will stand up to those that are intolerant to lactose and ridicule them.  I will cut the cheese.  I will even willingly accept mild food sickness for discounted or expired cheese.  But I will not risk possible death for cheese.  That doesn’t mean others won’t.  Every year in May, people converge upon Cooper’s Hill to chase a 7-pound wheel of Double Gloucester cheese down a steep hill, sustaining broken bones and concussions, in order to win the cheese.  People must not know that they can buy cheese at their local grocer because the event drew over 15,000 people last year, which is three times capacity.

Shin Kicking World Championship

Even superheroes know where villians dressed as pimps are vulnerable.

There is no greater pain than being kicked in the shins — don’t argue with me ladies who have given birth; I may be a man but I can imagine pain better than you can experience it — and that is why the Shin Kicking World Championship is the manliest athletic competition on the face of the planet.  UFC fighters have nothing on the warriors who endure ravaging blows to the shins at the Cotswold Olimpick Games.  Of the thousands that attend the annual event in Cotswolds, England on the first Friday after Spring Bank Holiday, only a couple dozen souls are brave enough (or drunk enough) to sign up for the competition.

World Pooh Sticks Championship

The competition is less fecal the name suggests.  Drawing it’s origins from a Winnie The Pooh book, this innocent games involves no athleticism of any kind, much like poker or NASCAR.  Competitors drop a stick from the upstream side of a bridge, and the winner is the one whose stick reaches the downstream side first.  The World Pooh Sticks Championship takes place annually in May at Day’s Lock England, and often the winner is less than ten years of age.

Rock Paper Scissors Championships

How can wars be resolved without bloodshed?  Rock Paper Scissors.  In fact, all arguments, conflicts and disagreements should be settled with a best-of-three RPS showdown.  Until world leaders and court systems adopt the RPS system to solve problems, competitors who are brave enough to leave their parent’s basements can cover rocks, cut paper and smash scissors to a $10,000 grand prize at the Rock Paper Scissors Championships in Toronto this winter.  In real life, paper is least capable of causing significant damage the way a stabbing from scissors or a bludgeoning from rocks would; however, within the realm of RPS, paper is a formidable foe.

World Conkers Championships

Do you have the cajones to conquer the conkers world?  Then sign up for the World Conker Championship at New Lodge Fields, England in October.  The game is simple: two players with chestnut tree seeds tied to a string take turns striking their opponent’s conker until one breaks; the survivor is the winner.  Pretty much anyone can get lucky by picking a strong conker and win the tournament… unless you’re allergic to nuts.  Instead of fame and fortune, you’ll get a rash.

World Tin Bath Championship

Future World Tin Bath Champion

I prefer sports where homeless people can prevail.  And tin bath racing is one such sport.  Homeless people can use the tin bath they bathe in to race across the waters of Castletown Harbor on the Isle of Man.  The title of World Tin Bath Champion probably won’t earn the homeless person any food, but they can survive on pride, right?

Sumo Suit Athletics World Championships

Have you ever wanted to be fat?  Really fat?  Like sumo fat?  Of course you have.  But you don’t have to stuff your face full of sushi rolls to look like a sumo wrestler.  Instead, you can be an imposter and emulate what it’s like to be a typical person living in America today.  Participants at the Sumo Suit Athletics World Championships in England don sumo suits and compete in standard Olympic competitions like shot put, high jump, and the 100 meter dash, giving a glimpse at what future Olympics will look like when Costco takes over the world and turns us all into fat balls of Jello-like humanoids.

World Stone Skimming Championship

Throwing stones is an American past time.  So is baseball.  But not everyone can become a big league pitcher.  Those with less talent may not be a stone’s throw away from baseball stardom, but they can still put their throwing arm to good use at the World Stone Skimming Championships on Easdale Island, Scotland in September.  The winner is the person who can skip their stone the furthest distance before it sinks.  In some places (a bar, therapy) that’s just as note-worthy as a World Series Championship.

World Sauna Championships

There is nothing ambiguously homosexual about a bunch of nearly naked men sitting shoulder to shoulder in a hot room.  Not when it’s the World Sauna Championships, which takes place every August in Heinola, Finland.  The winner is the person who can remain in a 230 °F sauna the longest and walk out without assistance.  The idea of being slowly cooked alive doesn’t sound appealing to us, but perhaps it is in a place like Finland where people will do anything to escape the freezing cold… including putting themselves in the gayest looking scenario ever.

Assorted World Throwing Championships

Kilt required to participate in haggis hurling. Underwear optional.

Ever since man realized he had arms he’s wanted to throw things.  It’s likely that cavewomen chose their mates based upon which caveman could throw something the farthest.  The desire to throw and subsequently destroy things that don’t need to be thrown has led to numerous throwing championships.  There’s the Mobile Phone Throwing World Championships in Finland.  The World Boot Throwing Championship in Germany.  The Tuna Tossing World Championships in Australia.  Haggis Hurling World Championships in Scotland.  The World Egg Throwing Championships in England.  The World Custard Pie Throwing Championships, also in England.  And the ever important World Black Pudding Throwing Championships at the Commonwealth Games in Manchester, England.

Wife Carrying World Championship

Once a man is married, he becomes familiar with the feeling of dragging a ball and chain.  The sensation of burden is likely similar to the Estonian-style, where a wife is draped upside-down over the husband’s shoulders.  Of course, no one gets married for love; they get married to compete in the Wife Carrying World Championship held in Sonkajärvi, Finland every July.  The husband who carries his wife fastest across an obstacle track wins a prize that makes marriage more manageable: his wife’s weight in beer.

Have you ever participated in a pointless sports festival?  Are you the world champion in a sport that no one has ever or will ever care about?  If so, do your parents still love you?

One of the great things about travel is that it makes you look at your home town with a fresh set of eyes.  It makes you question what visitors would want to see and do in and around your home town.  It makes you feel like you’re traveling even when you’re not.

So, with a fresh perspective and a new appreciation for our surroundings, we’ve started to explore Orange County and Los Angeles more.

Last weekend we penetrated the bubble of smog that encloses L.A., braving drivers who refuse to utilize turn signals that come free with their expensive cars, withstanding clumps of traffic, and dodging pot holes that will never be filled, en route to downtown.

The L.A. skyline is always an underwhelming sight.  It doesn’t have the look or feel of a big city, not like Chicago or New York.  That’s probably why historically I avoid downtown.  I never thought there was anything to do there except increase my odds of being mugged.

And as soon as we got off the 101 freeway, it looked like that’s where my future was headed.  The streets were relatively empty save a few suspicious people at a bus stop who were dressed as if they stepped out of an ’80′s time machine and a couple of homeless people making conversation with street signs.

Each block we moved further from the freeway became cleaner, and in my book cleaner means safer.

We passed the historic Los Angeles Times building and Los Angeles City Hall (where Mayor Villaraigosa is ignoring requests to fix potholes) and finally arrived at Angels Flight, one of the last operating funiculars in the United States.

I’ll take the railway to heaven over Led Zep’s stairway to heaven.

Holy crap, that looks difficult! Do you have to be an athlete to get into heaven?

I prefer the lazy man's way to heaven.

It may not be as famous as the Hollywood sign, but it carries a big distinction: “The World’s Shortest Railway”.  Despite the heavenly name, Angels Flight doesn’t have an immaculate track record.  Since opening in 1901, two people have died on it.  The last death, in 2001, was caused by a runaway car.  Angels Flight stayed closed until new safety measures could be installed and it reopened just last month.

Luckily we found out about all this after we took a ride.

In any event, the risk of death is worth it because a ride on Angels Flight is the cheapest thing you can do in L.A.  The 30-second ride up the 315-foot track costs only 25 cents each way.

No wonder the price is low, there’s not much to do once you get to the top… unless you’re really in the mood to sit around a big fountain tucked between office buildings and join miserable businessmen speeding through lunch purchased at a corporate cafe.

We waited for the fountain to do something — anything — to cure our insatiable thirst for cheap and/or free entertainment.  Never happened.  Fortunately, it wasn’t a total letdown.  We witnessed a bird bathing in the fountain and Jackie found a couple of dollars on the ground near a duck sleeping under a lunch table.

This duck confounded me.  I have so many questions for this duck:  First, I see no other ducks in the vicinity, so how did you get here and why?  Where did your duck brethren go?  Why did you confuse this fountain for a lake or some other body of water in a natural environment that provides life-sustaining sustenance?  What is your preferred food: burrito scraps or the left over salad from girls who stopped eating half way through because they claimed they were “full” even though they’re liars who are starving themselves to lose weight?  Lastly, are you dead?

I didn’t want to wake the duck or realize my worst fears, so we bought our return trip tickets on Angels Flight and ventured directly across the street to Grand Central Market, the oldest and largest open-air market in Los Angeles.

Some people come here to buy fresh and cheap produce, but the market is popular for its array of ethnic food stalls.  I read good things about an El Salvadorian place called Sarita’s that serves something I had never heard of before: pupusas.

Despite the humorously unappetizing name — I don’t like to be reminded of what comes out after I eat before I even eat it — I had to have one.  Pupusas are kind of like quesadillas — bread stuffed with cheese and other optional ingredients — except the corn tortilla has the thickness and consistency of an English muffin.  I ordered mine with cheese and steak.

The pupusas are made to order and there were already a handful of people waiting for their pupusas to come off the griddle, so we had to wait a while.  I asked the man sitting next to me if he had eaten at this place before and he said this was his first visit to L.A.

He and his wife had traveled from a small city in southern Brazil and arrived at 3 in the morning — how they were awake for an early lunch, I have no clue.  Here’s what I love about traveling: everyone is so hospitable and trusting.  We asked him a lot about his home town and what Brazil is like, and he said, “We’re going to open a new house next year.  You can come and stay with us!”

This isn’t the first offer we’ve had to stay with someone we’ve only known for a few minutes.  Like I said, the more you travel, the more you appreciate your home.  And the more you appreciate your home, the more you want other people to appreciate your home too.  I love how people can be so welcoming, eager for visitors to see what life is like in places that even guidebooks don’t know about.  Hopefully we’ll get a chance to visit them in Brazil.

When my pupusa arrived, a lady sitting next to me said the proper way to eat it is to add spicy cabbage and salsa and fold it like a taco.  I soon discovered this was a messy tactic as clumps of tangy cabbage and strings of melting cheese fell from the hot dough.  Next time I’ll go for the fork and knife method.  At only $2 each, I can afford to be experimental.

Not the most photogenic food in the world. But the mole gives it character.

For dessert I got a sweet empanada, a fried ball of dough the size of my fist stuffed with a mushy warm banana filling.  Totally worth it for $1.50.

I’m a sucker for cheap and authentic ethnic food, so I had to try a Mexican food stall too.  The most crowded was Ana Maria’s and after ordering two carne asada tacos, I can see why.

The tacos are HUGE.  They provide you with extra tortillas because they stuff the tacos so thick that you’re bound to remove some of the filling and make a whole new taco.  Suddenly my two taco plate morphed into four.  The meat was tender and flavorful, the tortillas were soft and warm, and the salsas were tangy and spicy.  Can’t beat that for $5.

After stuffing myself silly, we made our way back to the car.  If I had to say anything bad about Grand Central Market, it’s the parking.  If you spend $10, parking is free for the first hour, but then it’s $1.50 for every 15 minutes after that.  I’m not used to that kind of price-gougery in the ‘burbs.

Gumball machine as tall as me... and I'm 6'4". The real question here is: how long have those gumballs been in there?

Jackie found a great deal on baseball tickets on Travelzoo — $70 tickets were reduced to $18 for the final preseason game between the Dodgers and Angels — so we left the market to get to Dodger Stadium early.

Two asides here…

First, a brief geography lesson.  Our home baseball team is called the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.  But Anaheim is NOT in Los Angeles.  Anaheim isn’t even in Los Angeles County.  It’s in Orange County.  Which is completely unrelated.

Second, the truth about baseball.  When we went to the Winter Olympics in Vancouver, we talked about various sports with Canadians, and the one sport that they didn’t “get” (despite having a team in Canada) was baseball.  Here’s all you need to get about baseball: nobody watches the entire game.  Not unless it’s playoffs.

There are like 180 games in a season.  And the highlights you see on ESPN are about the only interesting moments in a game.  Outside of those moments there is a lot of down time.  So why do Americans pack baseball stadiums?  It’s a social gathering.  It’s a time to catch up with your friends and family.  We often miss entire innings or even runs scored and not even notice.  The next time a game is on TV, turn it on and see how many people are actually focused on the game.  Minus the few diehard fans in the first couple of rows, everyone else is yapping away.

For instance, at this particular game, Jackie and I had a lengthy debate about what was more disturbing: wearing an Alvin paper mask that was given away at the game…

A little part of me dies for giving that cursed movie free publicity.

…or, conversely, wearing only the paper eyeballs removed from the sockets.

Clearly, replacing your eyeballs with giant cartoon eyeballs is more terrifying.  I can live in a world where people have chipmunk faces.  I cannot live in a world with disproportional eyes.

The game itself was okay… or at least what we saw of it.  I had never seen a grand slam in real life — actually, I have only witnessed a handful of grand slams on TV ever — so it was pretty cool to see Kendry Morales clear the bases to the chagrin of Dodger fans.  That shot in the fourth inning won the game for the Angels 6-4.  The rest of the game was scoreless.

Angels Flight.  Heavenly food.  Angels baseball.  Pretty close to a religious experience.  The only thing it was missing was an image of Jesus appearing in my pupusa.

The weather has turned to the dark side… also known as normal Pacific Northwest weather.  After a week of sunshine and joy, grey clouds have covered the sky and rain has returned to Vancouver.

We consider ourselves fortunate enough to have been in Vancouver for one of their warmest winters ever.  Actually, we take responsibility for bringing the warmth of Southern California with us to Canada.  You can thank us, Canada, by giving up your hockey gold medal.  Fair trade, right?

It’s too bad because we had a lot to do on our last day at the Winter Olympics, but the weather interfered.

We started the day at Granville Island… which isn’t even an island.  It’s actually a peninsula.  The island/peninsula is full of artsy shops and clothing stores and a popular brewery.

Granville Island used to be entirely industrial. Today there is only one manufacturing plant remaining.

It sounded like there were a few Olympic things to do, but nothing manifested.  We asked a volunteer if it was worth it to wait in a line to get into Atlantic Canada House, and she said, “You guys don’t want to be here.  You don’t want to wait hours just to see a bunch of posters.”

So we walked over to the Switzerland House.  Turns out it wasn’t a pavilion like most of the other international houses… it was only a restaurant.

Again, nothing to see.  We’re changing the name from Granville Island to Deception Peninsula.

We ventured into the one thing we knew actually existed: the Granville Public Market.  I always enjoy wandering local markets to see what people eat, the quality of their produce — it’s exceptionally high in Vancouver — and the independent food and craft vendors.

Any stall that features food advertised as “Better Than Sex” has our attention.  I can’t judge if the flavored almonds at Dvorak were in fact better than sex (because it’s been a while), but they were delicious.  We particularly enjoyed the orange chocolate, and the almonds covered in Grade “Eh” maple syrup.

Near the public market was a toy store that had an adult-size door and a kid-size door.

That was enough to draw me in.  Once inside, I couldn’t believe my eyes…

I finally found the Quatchi beanie I had been searching for for days.  Every store I went into, the store owner told me they sold out minutes after receiving them.  I thought I would never find one.

I grabbed the beanie off the rack, protected it like a winning lottery ticket and purchased it without even checking the price tag.  By this point, it didn’t matter if I even wanted the beanie anymore; it was a matter of principle.  I know I’ll most likely never wear it — we don’t get beanie weather in Orange County — but I felt incomplete without it.

After lunch at Cat’s Social House, we were on our way to the Place de la Francophonie when we came upon 10-foot tall guys challenging little kids to a street hockey match.

If only I could grow a few more feet, I’d apply to be one of Duh Hockey Guys.

Four years from now, Sochi, Russia will host the next Winter Olympics… and they went all out to showcase their city.  The Sochi House was designed to introduce the world to the city and the culture of Russia, and give a sneak peek at what it will be like at the 2014 Winter Games.

And if the next Olympics winds up being anything like the preview, it’ll be a blast.  The plans for a downtown sports and entertainment complex are ambitious.  Not only will the facilities be new and cutting edge, they will all be located in the nucleus of Sochi so visitors don’t have to travel great lengths to get from one venue to another — they can simply walk from the hockey arena to the ice skating arena to the speed skating arena.

Besides architectural models, Sochi House also featured a Russian Hockey Hall of Fame, a small stage for Russian musical acts — we watched a Russian rapper — and a room where visitors could handle the Olympic torches from the 2010 Winter Games and the 2008 Summer Games.

From there we followed the water along False Creek to a concentrated area of assorted pavilions.  Any time we had passed by this area, it was packed.  Today… it was empty.

We walked inside Maison du Quebec to avoid the rain… only to find it was open air.  There was a small covered area with tables in front of a stage, so we took a seat to come up with a plan.

That didn’t last long.  There was a country band performing.  And if there’s anything I like less than country music, it’s country music in a language I don’t understand.  In this case, it was French.  And it was especially harmful to my ears.

So we went over to the Saskatchewan Pavilion.  We heard it was one of the best pavilions… and whoever told us that wasn’t lying.

It was one of the only pavilions that sold alcohol.  Which means it was one of the only fun pavilions (according to many locals).

No kids.  Rowdy crowd.  Big screens showing the Canada vs. Germany hockey game.  And, my favorite, an $8 bison burger.  It was surprisingly delicious.

We tried to check out some of the other pavilions nearby, but there were long lines to get into all of them and we didn’t want to stand in the rain.  Plus, we had to be at a hockey game in about 90 minutes.

So we went right back to the Saskatchewan Pavilion to hang out.  Some of our favorite moments:

A woman came over to Ashley insisting she was on the Canadian curling team.  After refuting this claim about 8 times, the woman finally said, “Congratulations.  You look just like her.”  And walked away.  You often don’t get congratulated for looking like someone semi-famous, but I guess it’s better than not looking like anybody.

Then, a man with an exceptional mullet said we looked American.  We told him we were.  He proudly bragged to his friends.  Then he sat with us to talk about his home town of Jasper, Manitoba.  After a few minutes, he left… only to come back and talk to us another 10 minutes about Jasper.

Visitors to the Saskatchewan Pavilion received a beach ball on their way out.  Disregard the fact that Saskatchewan is actually n the middle of Canada and all prairie.  Well, a few other people must have left and then came back like we did.  They blew up their beach balls and started a game of volleyball that spanned the entire tent.  A security guard didn’t like that people were having fun, so he confiscated the ball.  Everyone booed.

20 minutes before we planned on leaving, a band came on stage.  It was another French-speaking country band.  Apparently I’m not the only one who dislikes French country music.  A guy in a USA jersey walked up to the stage and asked them to play more AC/DC.  The band did not find it amusing.  Everyone else did.  They cheered for him.  This was the only time we ever heard Canadians cheering for Americans.

Once again, Canadian country music is our cue to exit.  But not before Jackie and Ashley insisted on taking a picture with the first Mountie we saw this entire trip.

After passing through security at Canada Hockey Place, two of the Olympic mascots — the good ones, which means Sumi was excluded — were setting up for a photo op.  I have a special frame reserved for this one…

Our last hockey game was a playoff game, and we didn’t know who would be playing in our game until the night before.  On paper, a Slovakia vs. Norway match-up isn’t that interesting.

But it turned out to be an exciting game.

It didn’t look that way early in the game when there was a devastating hit that knocked a Slovakian player unconscious and got the Norwegian culprit kicked out of the game.

The player remained motionless for a scary long time.  After he was carted off the ice on a stretcher, the crew had to scrape up a puddle of blood that formed underneath the Slovakian’s head.  (Fortunately, we later read that the player was okay and only suffered a concussion and head laceration.)

After that, things got interesting.  Slovakia looked poised to win, especially after jumping out to a 2-0 lead.  But with 0.1 seconds left in the second period, Norway tied the game at 3.  They weren’t even supposed to have a chance to win.

Everyone, of course, was pulling for the underdogs.  But Slovakia potted a goal late in the game and won 4-3.

Know how to say "goal" in French? BUT.

Norway giving Slovakia a run for their money wasn’t even the most surprising part of the game… it was the people we were sitting with.

The four people sitting behind us were Ducks fans.

The two people sitting next to them were Ducks fans.

And the two women sitting next to us were also Ducks fans.

But the strangest thing is that none of us knew each other!  What are the odds?

It’s hard enough to find other Ducks fans in Orange County… and we wind up sitting next to 8 of them in Vancouver.

I could understand sitting next to other Ducks fans at an Olympic game where at least one Ducks player was on the ice.  But there were no Ducks players on either team.  It was a completely random game.

Later in the game, we spotted two other Ducks fans in the next section and called them over to take a picture.  No one would believe us without photographic evidence of this serendipitous occasion.

The weather may have turned dark, but this was one of many bright spots on our trip.  What a way to end our trip to the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver.  We can’t wait to visit again!

What’s the longest you’ve ever waited in line?  2 hours for a ride at a theme park?  3  hours for concert tickets?

How about SIX HOURS?

That’s how long we waited in line to touch the Olympic medals at the Royal Canadian Mint.

Six hours.  Of standing.  Moving up a foot or two every 15 minutes.  No benches.  For Six.  Hours.  A quarter of an entire day.  That’s saying a lot considering I sometimes sleep for two quarters of a day.

Luckily, we were standing with some pretty cool Canadian gentlemen who took the day off of work to see the medals as well.  So it made the six hours feel shorter.  Even though my legs kept locking up.  And I was developing a disturbing case of dry mouth from yapping more than Oprah.

The best part about talking with Canadians is that it gives Americans like us time to introspect.  We often feel like we can’t say anything negative about our country without being called unpatriotic or un-American.

Crossing the border to the north was like permission to vent.  We vented so much that Cameron said, “Wow, you guys have more complaints about American than we do!”

I think it just comes down to jealousy.  The city of Vancouver seems to have it all figured out.  As Cameron and Blake pointed out, sometimes they’re amazed that we’re still debating about things in America that they resolved years ago: gay marriage rights, leniency on recreational marijuana use, nationalized health care, etc.

They eat better.  They’re more fit.  They’re more green.  If they can just solve that pesky cold weather issue, I’d consider dual citizenship.

By the time we finally got inside the Mint, we had to wait another hour until our group could enter the room where the Olympic and Paralympic medals were kept.

Fortunately there was more to see and do inside.  We got to hold a real gold bar, see a giant million dollar coin — it’s so heavy it would take four people to steal it — and get a pin from a lady who was a stickler about people saying “please.”  This is Canada; I assumed everyone said “please” anyway.  Must have been the Americans.  (Kidding!  Or are we?)

If you read our post about what makes the Olympic medals so cool, you remember that they had an undulating design.  We were reminded of this no less than 10 times once inside.  It made us painfully aware that someone needs to invent more synonyms for “undulating.”  After a while it just sounds unnecessarily sexual.

Speaking of, I still can’t stop laughing about this.  Before we entered the room with the medals, a security guard gave us directions on how to handle the medals:

“Do not touch the medals with anything other than your gloved hand.” (They gave us a white glove to wear.)

“Do not make a victory sign with your hands next to the medals.”

“Do not put the medal in front of you and make it appear as if you have won a medal.”

“Do not lick, bite or kiss the medals.”

Then Blake asked aloud, “Can we still dry hump the medals?”

Our group of 20 or so people was given about 10 minutes to touch and take pictures with the medals.  Suddenly the six hour wait for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity seemed worth it.

Jackie stayed back because she was feeling ill, but Ashley and I quickly jotted from one medal the next, weighing them in our hands — they felt heavier than a pound — and snapping pictures.  10 minutes wasn’t enough, but we tried our best.

Before we were kicked out, a woman offered to take our picture standing next to a case featuring all three Olympic gold medals.

A few hours later, Ashley and I walked to LiveCity Yaletown to visit the Coca Cola Pavilion… and who do we see?

The same woman!  Her name was Veronika and she was with her husband Ken.  As soon as they recognized us, they literally pulled us into line with them.

The wait to get into the Coke House was about 90 minutes.  Ha!  After standing in a six-hour long line, anything less seems easy.  I’ll never complain about measly 90 minutes again.

We had a blast talking to Ken and Veronika and an even better time inside the Coke tent.  We drank our free bottle of Coke, received a limited edition Coke bottle that glows different colors, and played a Wii-like game where we put on gloves that looked like polar bear paws and guided our respective video game bears across water by paddling quickly — I haven’t had a work out like that since I quit P90X.

The best part was getting our photograph taken with an Olympic torch!  I’m not particularly fond of this picture.  Here’s another once-in-a-lifetime opportunity marred by unflattering appearance.

I’m sure you’re curious what the torch looks like in the hands of an ordinary person, so I’ll post it.  But I’m not happy about it.  I’ve been growing this double-chin like fatty pocket under my face — I call it the Gobble Gobbler — even though I’m of normal weight, and my neck pouch is totally accentuated in this photograph.  Avert your eyes to the torch instead.

There were a few other things to see and do inside LiveCity Yaletown besides listen to local bands on the main stage.  Vancouver House was closed.  The line to get into the Panasonic Pavilion which showcased a 3-D TV was too long.  No one cared about the Acer Pavilion.  And a brief tour through a tiny sustainable house called West House was lackluster.  So we said goodbye to Ken and Veronika — hopefully we’ll see them again soon! — and went back to the room to see how Jackie was doing.

A day of rest served her well and she was ready to check out the big lighting and pyrotechnic extravaganza taking place just outside in Robson Square called Ignite The Dream.  We heard the fireworks and cheers every night at 9:30 and 11 from our room, and we knew this was our last night to see it, so we had to go.

We’re obviously not gonna win an Academy Award for cinematography on this video, but at least you get to see the show from our perspective.

After the show ended, we waited about 20 minutes in line to buy some Olympic memorabilia at the Hudson’s Bay Company store downtown.

Even though I support my country, I consider myself an equal opportunist.  I bought a Russia hat and a Canada shirt, and I was already wearing my USA hockey scarf.  I must have looked like a confused Olympic mascot.

Before we went back to the room, we had to do two things…

First, get a Japadog.  I had been curious about the Japadog since before we left, but the line was always so long — almost a full city block — every time I looked out the window.  This time the line was about half as long, so I had to seize the opportunity.

It still took an hour.  Was it worth it?

Heck yeah!  A Japadog tastes like a combination of sushi and hotdog.  I know that sounds utterly disgusting, but in some mysterious way, the geniuses behind the Japadog defied food logic and made it work.

I wasn’t going to wait another hour to try other types of Japadogs the next day, so I ordered three:

Ume – raw red onion drenched in plum sauce draped over a bratwurst

Oroshi – a bratwurst covered in soy sauce, green onion and grated radish

Okonomi – a pork hotdog covered in a secret sauce, Japanese mayo, fried cabbage and bonito flakes (thin pieces of dried and smoked tuna)

Jackie tried the bratwurst stuffed with edamame (soy beans).

I loved it.  Jackie wasn’t a fan.  Ashley deemed the food cart untrustworthy.

The second thing we had to do was get a box of Smarties.  In America we have M&M’s.  In Canada they have Smarties.  They’re basically the same thing except the Smarties have a thicker and more flavorful candy shell.

I’m convinced that candy shell contains fruit flavoring.  But so far, I can’t convince anyone else in my party of such.  I swear I taste a faint orange taste when I eat the orange colored Smarties.

Even though the official Smarties website doesn’t explicitly say they have a fruit flavored shell, I looked around on the internet and found some people that agree with me.  I think we’re onto something.  Some kind of fruity conspiracy.  It’s not psychosomatic and, no, I didn’t mistakenly eat a box of Skittles instead.

It’s just a fact: purple should always taste like grape, yellow should always taste like lemon, and red should always taste like cherry… or strawberry… or red apple.

Canadian readers, we need you for a taste test.  Obtain a box of Smarties through legal or questionably ethical means, tell me the orange color tastes like orange, and keep me out of the psych ward.