NBC Action Communities

I don't know Chinese, but I've heard "Welcome to Beijing" so many times that I could probably sing the whole thing even though I don't know what the heck I'm saying. The best part is that it is sang by a giant group of Chinese celebrities, and if you watch the music video, you'll see Jackie Chan busting out his part atop the great wall in a beautiful white garb. I sat in McDonalds for about 40 minutes with a couple friends one night and heard this song on loop for the entire time I was there. The Chinese spirit of obsession is unparalleled. The only obsession that comes close is the non-Chinese obsession with shopping in their markets. That's the way I spent the majority of my day today. There was a number of great back-and-forths between the venders and myself, but only one story earns a post on this blog.

I was speaking to a BBC commentator (we became friends when I traded him the polo of the company I'm contracted with for a BBC Radio fleece), and he told me he had picked up some Mont Blanc pens that regularly sell for close to $1000 US for about $20 US. The authenticity of Chinese merchandise is debated rarely but hotly, the pro-authentic crowd are usually made up by the same people who count scientology as a real religion. Who cares, this talk was enough to send me to the YaShow! market in search of some goods. Upon arriving, I bought a very nice Raulph Lauren Jacket at about a fifith of what it runs in the States, but the best part of the day was when a lady selling designer jeans snagged me.

She was obviously an asian girl, about 25 years old, and the best way I can describe her in western fashion is that she was a pistol. Of course, I didn't know this when I sauntered into her store and picked up a pair of Diesel jeans.

Pistol: "Ah, you like Diesel jeans?"
DR: "I guess they're alright?"
Pistol: "You a 38. I sell jeans for a long time. I can tell. Good color. You try them on!"

At these Chinese markets, a store is just merchandise stacked from floor to ceiling on three sides of a 6'x6' cubicle, so if they tell you try something on at a pants store, it's weird. They draw a sheet that's four feet high across the back of the cubicle with me behind it and I just drop trough and put them on, negotiating all the while (all the negotiations are done in Yuan which is roughly 6.5 to the dollar).

Pistol: "These are very good jeans! I normally charge much more, but you drive hard bargain with my sister (for the RL jacket), so I give you good price. You're my first sale. I want to open with you. Good friend price! 200!"
DR: "That I cannot do. I can get a good pair of jeans in the US at Marshals for $20 US, so I need a pair here for no more than 80 Yuan."
Pistol: "80!? You insult me! I give you good friend price! You pay more than that!"
DR: "You have to make it worth my while to pack it and take it home. My offer is final...These are too small anyway." And they were. They looked like denim spandex. I decided I wasn't going to buy them, but then she took down the curtain to see if they were indeed too small.
Pistol: "No. Those fit good. You have a good bum [she pats my butt]. Those are a good fit! You want to look good!"
DR: "I'm sorry, but I think I'm going to pass on the jeans altogether. I'm jus tnot feeling them. I need to put my shorts back on."
Pistol: "No! I have your size! You pick color and I find your size! 100Yuan!"

What could I do? She was shrewd. The market was packed, and the only way I was going to get out of their was to walk out, stealing her jeans and getting picked up by security, or I could strip down to my undies in front of a crowd that had gathered around with the commotion of our bartering. I was a captive client. The crowd nknew it and everyone around had a big smile. She had gotten me. I laughed out loud! This was great. And she had dropped the price. She sent a girl to the back to look for the new size, but she didn't think they had it so she tried to convince me on the grape-smugglers I was still wearing.

DR: "You win. If you have the bigger size, I'll pay 100."
Pistol: "38 fits. You eat too much food and get a big butt! You drink too much beer and get fat!" Just then, the girl showed up with the bigger size of the jeans I liked.
Pistol: "HA! We have your size! Put jeans on. They bigger so they cost 200."
DR: [laughing] "I get them for 80 now since you've insulted me." Pistol blushed and smiled. She knew she had betrayed her own salesmanship, but she wouldn't totally give up.
Pistol: "Best price. 125."
DR: "You said 100 earlier. I'll do that."
Pistol: "You also buy me and my sister ice cream for 20 Yuan."

I bought the ice cream. She was hilarious, and that trapping me in her store for just trying on a pair of jeans was Chinese brilliance. I ended up getting a great pair of jeans for the equivalent of less than $20 US. And I had gotten such a good laugh out of her that I was happy to get her and her sister some ice cream. I felt like I'd been dealing with an intelligent 8 year old the whole time, so it almost kind of made since. Everyone who has shopped here has some great stories. If shopping was like this back in the USA, I doubt you'd see half as many men begging not to go.

Since the first day that I heard I'd be working in the aquatics center in Beijing, I realized I'd have two opportunities. One would be to stand on the sidelines of history as Michael Phelps swam for eight gold medals. The other would be to possibly meet Bob Costas, my favorite sports commentator. As I was working at the venue, I realized the culmination of both these visions would occur on the last day of swimming competition.

I had requested a certain position in the venue as I knew that NBC would do any of their live interviews from that spot. I heard that Costas would show up to interview Phelps there after Phelps won his eighth gold. The eighth medal race was awesome! I had chills for nearly all of it as the crowd went crazy, and at the end of it, I broke my working rules and for the first time let out an unbridled cheer for the American hero, fist pumps included. Shortly after, Costas showed up on the set and started prepping for the interview. The guy was talking to about five different people and still had time to entertain the general crowd some ponderings: "He ran a 9.69 and added showmanship, but are you telling me that the crowd wouldn't have been more entertained by a 9.62?" People had obviously heard that Phelps was on his way because a crowd was starting to build.

Quick set-up: The NBC platform is set with other platforms atop the balcony on the short end of the swimming pool. Seperating that balcony of platforms from the common hallway is a glass wall with guarded doorways through which only appropriate media is allowed. Phelps family had gathered on one side of the platform while photographers had gathered on the other side. I was placed between the glass wall and the platform to prevent the photographers from bothering the family. Simply put, I'm serving as a human dividing wall purposed to eliminate chaos. Michael Phelps is only about five minutes away, and the crowd is now roughly one hundred people trying to view a 10'x10', chest-high platform.

Costas has been talking to people in his ear, and to technicians in front of his face, but he suddenly says something very general. Costas announces to all within earshot, "I need water." I'm standing on the ground directly next to the platform, only about six feet away from Costas. I hear the cry and I know what I have to do. Sitting on the edge of the platform on the photographer's side wasan unopened water bottle that still had the frost of refrigeration glistening on the exterior. I assumed that it belonged to a photographer but I didn't know. I hadn't seend anyone touch it for 15 minutes. Upon hearing the call I didn't even think. I grabbed the bottle and tapped the leg of one of the technicians who immediately had the bottle in Bob's needy hands. He drank. He was refreshed. He gave us a nod to acknowledge the debt that his now-hydrated mouth owed. My "cut-off" man looked down at me with a wrinkled, "we're awesome" head nod. On the other side of the platform, Costas' people are still yelling that he needs water. Costas tells them, "It's been taken care of." Not that I blame them for not noticing. They couldn't possibly have expected the sub-three-second service time of the premier waterboy at the aquatics center. Not even Michael Phelps is hitting those times. Shockingly, my friends here at the venue have not been as impressed with this story as I'd expected them to be. Whatever. Phelps comes around the corner and the cheers erupt. The crowd is numbered in the several hundreds by this point.

The interview is unbelievable and I have the best seat in the house. I could have reached out and grabbed either man by the shoe. If you watched live interview, I was directly behind (albeit five feet lower) the main camera you'd have watched the interview through. Phelps is positive and emotional about completing the biggest of his life's dreams, and Costas is totally on point. While most humans communicate with words, Bob Costas has opted for verbal diamonds. The man was so much better than I expected him to be. I see why he gets paid the big bucks. The guy is the Michael Phelps of his profession. The crowd was elated.

Anyway, the interview ends and Phelps gets up to leave. He stops to sign the three tickets of the NBC crew on the platform, and I realize i have an opening. Over the week, I'd developed something of a relationship with some of the NBC crew that was setting up the platform all week. I realized that they were my way in to something that would be too valuable to sell. I handed my Olympic ticket to my "cut-off" man. Things are happening fast. "Can you have him sign this for me?" I ask. Phelps saw me hand up the ticket, but he's in auto-pilot. He begins to reach out. He doesn't take the ticket. He looks out past me and I already know before he says anything.

"I'm sorry. I agreed to sign the these tickets (of the guys on the platform), but if I sign yours I'm going to have to sign all of those," Phelps says as he looks out to the crowd. I don't need to look. Slightly dejected but wanting to be respectful I reply, "It's okay. I understand completely. No worries." He finalizes the pain with, "Thanks. I'm sorry." Well, I was sorry too. Admittedly, I broke a rule by asking an athlete for an autograph, but how could I not? I gave it a shot, and the ironic part about the whole thing is that Michael Phelps' turning me down was the moment where I decided I'm a total fan. I watched every press conference and saw every race, and while I knew he was the best competitor I'd ever seen first hand, I just wasn't sure tha this guy was that cool. I'm standing down off the platform as a nobody, and he could have ignored me as just another autograph hound, but he actually took the time to address me and let me down easy even as his family is waiting for him ten feet away. As far as I was concerned, it was classy. He left me feeling good about who Michael Phelps the man was in that very brief moment. It was kind of cool.

On the next OLYMPIC INSIDER BLOG: Dustin hears about the Speedo-sponsored party for the swimmers but isn't on the list! Will his combination of looks, wit and title as internet writer for NBC Action News be enough to get him and his friends through the door? Tune in and find out.

"Heroes are remembered, but legends never die." - Babe Ruth, Sandlot

I just finished the Michael Phelps press conference that was wrought with controversy over whether Michael Phelps touched the wall first. According to an advanced timing system and a high speed camera that is supposedly shooting thousands of frames per second, Phelps' quick half-stroke at the wall won the race. What I'm about to suggest has already been called crazy by a few people, but the bee in my bonnet is buzzing, and I won't be silenced. An Australian man and I watched the super-slow replay in the Water Cube. As we watched, we couldn't tell who touched the wall first. The margin of victory was completely indiscernable! The seemingly average Aussie then stated the idea that would prove oh-so satisfying to the average man. This controversy isn't a bad thing for Michael Phelps. It is the greatest opportunity that anya thlete in the world has ever had. Phelps should make a public offer to face Milo Cavic in a match race in which Phelps will place his gold medal on the line in an old-fashioned riverboat wager. It would dissolve all controversy and launch Phelps into the stratosphere of sports lore. Here are the four reasons why Phelps can't lose in making this offer:

Nothing To Lose, Everything To Gain - Phelps is the superior swimmer to Cavic. There can be no doubt about that. He's used to swimming a lot of races, and head to head, who do you think will handle the pressure better? But if by some chance Phelps does lose, it won't matter in the offical record books. The match race isn't an official, in-the-books Olympic race. It's not a FINA-sanctioned, professional competition. It's just a challenge between two men who are wagering prized, personal posessions (of course, since everyone wants to see it, there's a lot of money to be made by the swimmers, broadcasters, and the Olympic Committee). And think of Phelps' trophy room if he did lose, the way that silver medal would stand out amidst those seven golds. When his grandchildren asked him about why that silver was so different, he could tell them about the moment he transcended winning or losing and became the embodiement of the Olympic spirit.

The Olympic Spirit - A lot of noise has been made about Chile's Fernando Gonzalez standing by the umpire on a questionable call instead of clearing the air. Phelps won fair and square by any olympic ruling, but that's not the issue. Olympic spirit is about sportsmanship above all. That men are united through competition for a single dream. The fact that there are even the slightest feelings within the hearts of the fans (and quite possibly both athletes) that the result was too close to be considered conclusive cries out for a gesture from the most influential man in swimming. Phelps is at a moment where he is the foremost figure in the entire world for a few more days. He wants to help swimming evolve in the world, he needs to extend his fame to a rival through a gesture of kindness. A gesture that no one on this planet but Phelps can offer. This is a chance that he will never have again. It's a chance that no one will ever have again. The conditions are perfect.

The Stars Are Aligned - When again will another person successfully compete for eight medals in one Olympics? When again will someone win one of those medals by .01 seconds in a marquee event like the 100 meter butterfly? When again will that narrow victory be at the end of winning all eight of those medals? It's destiny. Everyone always says that the Olympics are about more than winning. They're about fair play and respect for your fellowman based not on race or religion but on the equality of all human beings around the world. Phelps could embody this sense of global unity by offering to clear all the controversy and hard feelings despite the fact that he is in no way entitled to do so. And 50 years from now, he will be known as more than the man that won eight gold medals. That's merely a sports fact. He will be a story, a cornerstone of athletic lore. His record can be broken, but making this offer to Cavic can never be forgotten.

Legends Never Die - The legends of athletics are not frozen into our consciousness by facts. Muhammad Ali is remembered for his dynamic personality, not because of how long he held the belt. Seabiscuit is remembered as the little horse that could, not as the leading moneywinner of his time. What Ali and Seabiscuit have in common is that they had a notable rival and that they thrived at the height of their sports popularity. Phelps holds it all in his hands. He can challenge Cavic (more gracefully than Ali did Frazier), and while Phelps is the heavily favored War Admiral of this race, the gesture is what will make him as beloved as Seabiscuit. More importantly, like Seabiscuit, he will be beloved as an American legend 80 years from now.

I hope that someone who has Phelps' ear will suggest this to him, and I hope that he won't be too proud or indignant to offer Cavic another chance just because Cavic swam out of his mind to come that close to Phelps in the first place. America will love Phelps no matter what. He is the greatest of all time and that will not change no matter what happens. But this would be THE story of Michael Phelps. It will make him more than a piece of sports trivia. It will lift swimming to a previously unseen height, just as his quest for eight lifted it to the height it is now. Some have already called it crazy, and I'll admit that it seems like a giant step for Phelps to take. In fact, it's a legendary step.

Michael Phelps is a media gravitron (think of an omnidirectional tractor beam). In the last week, his ability and charisma have propelled him beyond mortal status. He needs a name more epic than “the Baltimore bullet”. While I do think that Phelps should audition for any upcoming Aquaman films, the only name that will encompass the supernatural essence of his performances isn’t so cheesy. Poseidon! The god of the sea is in Beijing! I’m going to go into overdrive to promote this nickname as I’m pretty sure it will be the first time that full-blooded, Greek-god status has been applied to an athlete. Celebs have been showing up in full force to feed of the Phelps frenzy. Ironically, since I see Poseidon every single day as I work in the NAC, I’m actually a lot giddier to see the people that come to see him. Here’s the breakdown of people that came into my personal space while catching a glimpse of Michael Megastar (you could also say that I actually came into their space, whatever):

W: That's right, the big cheese himself made an appearance. I was able to identify ten layers of Secret Service in the 20 feet that seperated me from POTUS, so even though I could only count 12 bodies, I made a safe estimate that the real number was closer to 37 agents denying me from meeting the Commander in Chief. I grabbed a clipboard and acted like needed to walk by on urgent business. I was stopped. I tried to wave. He acted like he didn't see me, but I think he was just trying to play it cool.

Cindy Crawford: Some people try to say she used to be hot. I was within 10 steps, and I'm telling you she still looks good. Besides, she's the original cover girl which makes her all-time. Her hotness is similar to Phelps' reference to the gold medal in responce to Children's BBC, "Your Birthday is once a year. Christmas is once a year. A gold medal stays with you forever.

John Howard: I brushed shoulders with the former Prime Minister of Australia. I was foolishly telling a member of his band how nobody crossed the bridge once competition had started while my manager was shaking Mr. Howard's hand and letting the whole crew cross the rope. Another blown opportunity to press the flesh with greatness.

NBA Ballers: The men who are the greatest athletes in the world are going crazy over another man's accomplishment. These guys don't get excited about getting a new Lamborghini, but Kobe and LeBron are jumping around like five-year-olds that just got a PS3 for Christmas when Poseidon graces the waters. Just an hour ago I made an attempt to talk to my favorite baller Dwight Howard. I was denied by security and had to watch while a hoard of Hungarian honeys (divers I believe) threw themselves at Dwight. Mr. Howard handled the situation with a poise that was as epic as the breadth of his shoulders. He bowed out politely and left the venue with Chris Bosh.

Chris Collinsworth: Success! I deliver start lists and result sheets to Chris and the NBC crew at the medal rounds this morning. He was taller and looker more senatorial than I expected but my previous frustrations prepared me to be undaunted. I looked him in the eye made a totally proffessional self-introduction and told him "If there is anything else you'll be needing up here, let me know and I'll do all I can to accommodate you." I was thanked. It was awesome!

Carry on Poseidon! As your immortal feats continue to draw celebrities to my inner circle, I will continue to stalk them like a crazy person until I get the opportunity to talk to them. At that moment, I will act like I'm totally unimpressed by their worldly importance.

On a humorous note, it has been confirmed that their is indeed a BOB (Beijing Olympic Committee) car driver named Wang Wei (pronounced Whong Way). I don't care who you are. That's funny!

I've worked two 14-hour days in a row at the National Aquatic Center (NAC). Until the swimming is done, that's the schedule. Staring at a swimming pool for two straight days is the equivalent of staring at the sun for ten seconds. Even when I close my eyes, it's burned into my brain. Not that I mind. As cool as it is to watch Michael Phelps, Jason Lezak gets an easy nod for my favorite swimmer. The NAC nearly crumbled atop the earthquake of excitement that swelled from every stroke of Lezak's arms during the men's 4x100 freestyle relay. A commentary booth of about ten Frenchmen was directly beside me, and if you've never felt ten Frenchmen go from total elation to to utter contempt in less than a second then you have not lived! Lezak harnessed eight years of dissapointment and 18,000 screaming fans to topple the French and break the world record by nearly four seconds. Four seconds! Four seconds in real time is more than ten years in aquatic time. That's how long it should take to advance a world record that much.

But here's the best part: I was so jacked up about the win that I actually skipped lunch on a fourteen hour day to go to the press conference. Phelps was the only one of the team that didn't go (it's understood that since he will have a press conference after every one of his single events that he can forego the relays). For the last question, Lezak and his team is asked this: "Has Michael Phelps even said 'thank you' to you guys?" Lezak has been training for this moment his whole life, through disappointent for the last eight years, and in his moment of triumph, how is he going to handle the focus being on the guy who's not at the press conference? Like the solid, veteran anchor of a team should. He deftly segwayed the focus back to the team. There's no need for thanks because they're all one cohesive unit. Ladies, don't hate me for advocating this one point: stop showing the uber-slow-motion replay of Phelps' 80s-jeans-ripped body whooping and give Lezak some love. Phelps is going to go down in American memory as the best swimmer of all-time. His legacy is secure. Let's focus one day on giving it up for the horse of a man that provided the best moment of the games thus far. Jason Lezak!

"You're not in Kansas anymore."

Any Kansas Citian has heard it, even if they're from the Missouri . And if you've heard it once, you've heard it a million times. While the witch-threat turned go-to travel joke usually draws out my best fake chuckle, I have relished it far more than any of the other things mimicked from my hometown in my first few days in China.

Quick backstory. My Christian name is Dustin, although I've especially enjoyed the Chinese venders many names for me (ie. "Sexy American" "Good-Looking Tall Man"). Those two names alone should serve as proof than anything you've heard about Oriental kindness falls short of their true geniality. I'm in China working in a volunteer position and not only do I get to enjoy the Olympics, but I'll be writing here daily to talk about my experiences. (I'm forced to do most of my writing from a public cafe since wireless internet costs 450 Euros for the month. Because of this, videos and pictures could be more difficult to post). In the future, my posts will stem more directly from specific events, but I feel like establishing the ambience in this post is somewhat important. If I'm wrong, cut me some slack, it's my first blog.

"You're not in Kansas anymore!" An Australian, a Brit, an Irish woman, and a few Canadians have all taken it on their shoulders at their respective times to let me know I was no longer where I once was. Only, when they say it with their friendly smiles and excited accents, it always gets a huge laugh. Half the time, they sprinkle it with a little profanity to really ratchet up the humor.

The reason it works here in China is because it isn't small talk, it's common ground. An understanding of a shared phrase or experience. From the chair I'm sitting in right now, I can hear five different languages being spoken. I can see people from the Middle East, Africa, Italy, Canada, Australia, China, and several others that I can't identify. It's cultural gumbo, and every talk with a stranger is really a conversational hunt for similarity. Sure, I find that similarity with a lot of people in a lot of different ways, but finding cultural relation through the home-based movie phrase that usually turns my stomach has proven so ironically staisfying.

And in only four days, that ironic satisfaction has proven to be the heart of the Olympic spirit. Hundreds of different cultures find a common cause, and in battling each other in fierce competition, countries find unity. The people are just people, and while I've seen a lot of the stereotypes fulfilled in one way or another (Aussies DO like to drink and get loud), I've seen a lot of them debunked (the world DOES NOT hate Americans). Opening ceremonies are tonight. If there is one place in the world that is THE place to be tonight, it's here. I'm not in Kansas anymore, and I'm jacked!