The death of the Georgian luge competitor was a shocking introduction to the Winter Olympics, yet the main news of these Games is the warm temperature at the Vancouver resort hosting the competition. The men’s downhill skiing has already been postponed because of slushy conditions, and that is after snow has been trucked in.
Unsurprisingly, the spectre of climate change has ben invoked. I wonder if they said that in 1928 when the second ever winter games at St Moritz were faced with a thaw that forced the cancellation of the 10,000 m speed skating. My history book also says the 50 km cross-country skiing was held in 20 degree Celsius temperatures, and victory was based on who chose the best ski wax to cope with the slushy conditions.
Weather aside, the winter Olympics occupy an unusual place in our collective imagination. To most Australians, these Vancouver Olympics are a romantic escape from our hot, humid summer: two weeks of crisp, alpine scenery filled with breathtaking feats of skill.
They make for beautiful television — the whirr of skiers hurtling down the slopes, snowboarders doing somersaults in the air, skaters dancing ballet on the ice, the sheer madness of the luge as it defies gravity while tubing down the mountain.
And yet, in some important way, these disciplines feel more like recreation than competitive sport. That is not to demean them. On the contrary, the purity implied in that word 'recreation' endows skiing and its winter cousins with something special: a link with the original spirit and intention of sport.
That vibe starts with the organisation of the event itself. The host city doesn’t build a huge, showpiece stadium, nor does it present an opening spectacle on the same scale as the summer counterpart. In the absence of grandeur and ambition — no Water Cube or Birds Nest — there is an intimacy which focuses our attention on the sport rather than the spectacle.
These athletes train hard but they don't get messed up with drugs like runners or weightlifters, they become famous but not household names. The champions are sponsored but they don't receive the same money that Michael Phelps and Usain Bolt command. They are not commercialised to anything like the same degree that summer Olympians are.
The whole expression of their skill seems closer to youthful thrillseeking than serious competition, their daredevil antics not so far removed from my