JGlenn’s Blog

I was in Beijing for 44 days and I’m proud to say, 3 of those days were alcohol free.

I flew 16,380 round trip nautical miles.

Watched 9 in-flight movies and that number does not reflect watching “Iron Man” twice.

Under intense peer pressure and guidance from my Aussie friends and a few late nights at Olympic parties and bar row in Sanlitun, I averaged about 3 beers a day.

I watched the better part of 272 boxing matches. Count em, that is roughly 4352 minutes or 1088 rounds of boxing. I think I’m feeling kinda punch drunk.

Survived different face-offs with about 30 Mongolians and 3 drunken Irishmen. Not sure which was the tougher group.

Dined on almost everything at 15 – 20 different restaurants. The only bad meal was at the venue.

Thanks to Laura, Charlotte and Sammy – my Uk mates - I was delivered 4 Big Macs… just in the nick of time.

Made new acquaintances and reconnected with many photog friends from all over the world.

Met 2 interesting ladies, Anna Laurell from Sweden and Natasha Ragozina from Russia. As beautiful as they are, these two female boxers you would not want to insult.

Actually started to answer when people called me Astro or Softie.

I ran into 2 Atlantans and heard from 4 other people that Ed Hula was in town. That is one stealthy man – I never saw him.

Had the pleasure of working with the best 25 volunteers of the games. And they are Jackie, Taylor, Laura, Lucia, Kate, Coco, Dreamy, Ami, Rene, Charlotte, Sophie, Shelly, Samantha, Serena, Andy, Caral, Cindy, Echo, Rukey, Rita, Jessica, Lily, Clover, Cherry and that outsider from ONS Lydia.

The scream you just heard was me opening my iphone bill to the tune of $1300.

Amateur boxing legend Teofilo Stevenson visited our venue and he is still quite impressive. That’s him in the middle of me mates, Press Manager Asst. Neil Bowes and Richard Baker, communications manager for AIBA. Neil is the one with the smooth dome.

Before I go on about Teofilo Stevenson, I must mention my dear friend Jennifer “Butterfly” Brett, the intrepid, bloodhound of a reporter for the AJC, who is here covering the Olympic scene.

But first, let me give you the lay of the land. The Workers Indoor Gymnasium (boxing) is one block from the Workers Outdoor Stadium (soccer). They both are located in a very trendy area with many bars and restaurants.

So, I emailed JB and tipped her that Evander Holyfield was in the house. She messaged back; she was in route and to keep him there. Some time later she called and said she had just cleared security and to come meet her. I immediately went to the media gate and no Jennifer. I walked to the north gate and no Jennifer; I then walked to the west gate and still no Jennifer.

Ten minutes later she called back asking where was I. You know me; by now I’m getting a little huffy and annoyed because I can’t find her and I have work to do. The conversation then went something like this.

ME: Where the hell are you JB?
JB: I’m in the stadium waiting for you?
ME: Did you come in the media entrance?
JB: Yes, I’m in the stadium (with attitude).
ME: Where in the damn stadium (with more attitude)?
JB: I’m standing under the big screen monitor that has the guy kicking the ba… oh, s**t, I’m in the wrong stadium.

Poor Butterfly. She eventually flittered to the boxing arena, found Evander, had a good interview and filed on time. She even had the endurance to meet me later for a beer.

And I’m sure she knew I was lying when I said I would never mention the wrong stadium debacle to anybody.

Okay, watching Teofilo Stevenson walk is like watching a svelte, powerful black cat prowling the jungle like he rules it. Mr Stevenson looks like he could still take on some of the young boxers competing now. It was like having royalty in the joint with him there. Hell, even Jim Gray asked me to take a shot of him with the legend.

This morning I left the media village later than I should – it took awhile to find a cab and there was traffic. The cab driver took a different route then let me out at the east gate. Now since we arrived in Beijing it has been made perfectly clear that employees (that would be us) can only enter at the west gate. So there we were on the wrong side of the venue and of course I thought I would give it a shot and talk my way in. No such luck.

Jason is a young bright-eyed volunteer I met earlier during the games and he was working the gate. He was sorry he couldn’t let us in and he tried to explained why. In essence, he did his job. I may have walked off in a huff with my backpack. I then stormed around the venue to the other side. Yes, it was a 10-15 minute walk and it was hot, but it didn’t kill me.

As soon as I got through security – at the proper gate – there was Jason to greet me and explain again why he didn’t let me in. This guy was so concerned with my happiness he ran to the other side to meet me.

Just one more example of how kind, caring and willing to please the Chinese are. I love these people. If they have a job to do, they do it. If they can assist you in anyway, they will.

So far the Beijing Olympics have been a winner because of the games, the technology and the venues. But in my book, the people are the real story.

and it’s not Kobe. He came by last night - not to my crib but to the arena. Kobe and a few of his NBA friends dropped by to watch a few Olympic bouts. They chilled, laughed with each other, did a couple of interviews with NBC and had a good time.

Surprisingly, the level of excitement did not reach that of two nights before when Atlantan Dwight Howard visited. At one point, Dwight left the VIP section and walked around the arena to go to the mixed zone for an interview. It sounded like a thundering herd of buffalo when spectators spotted him and ran down the steps to get a closer glimpse.

He did his interview and I chatted him up about Atlanta before he exited the secure area. I got him to sign a couple of autographs for 2 kids hanging around and that’s when the shit hit the fan. Word was out, so small media crews and photogs were on the scene faster than Grant went through Richmond.

Dwight asked me how to get back to his seat, I led the way and we proceeded to walk the gauntlet. And it was not easy. There was a wall of point and shoots, excited fans, screaming girls and stunned security. I don’t think the security force at the venue had ever experience anything like that. I was so impressed with young brother Howard because he smiled through it all. A real gentleman.

My help with Dwight is probably why I was pressed in to a minor security role for Kobe and his crew. It was a cakewalk compared to the stroll with Dwight.

Sunday evening the deputy photo manager told me there were “Mongolian spectators” sitting in one of our photo sections and he could not get them to leave. He said, they do not speak Chinese and he thought they were pretending to not understand English.

I first asked if he had notified security. I then told him, it’s late in the session, we don’t have photographers using that section, so it’s probably best to let them stay. I didn’t see the point in starting, what could be, a confrontational situation with just one hour to go.

He asked me to walk there with him, so I did. I saw the group as we neared the section and there were about 20-30 tough looking Mongolians, waving their flags, drinking their beers and having a good time. A few of them looked like they were former boxers.

And regardless of whether they are American, Cuban, French, Irish, Thai or any other nationality, I know all boxing fans are nuts. That’s when I though, what am I doing here? I am not security.

My deputy photo manager led the way around the arena about 4-5 steps ahead of me. When we walked in front of the invaded section, I noticed he walked faster and didn’t make eye contact with them. As I walked by, one leaned over the railing and asked, “Where you from, brother?”

Well, so much for not speaking English. I stopped and chatted with them and in less than 30 seconds we were high fiving, posing for pictures and joking about their countryman who would fight in the next bout.

I told them they were sitting in a restricted area but it was okay to stay today to watch their boxer. I also warned them, they could not sit there if they returned again. They agreed and we high fived some more.

I watched from the doorway as their lean but mean boxer beat the crap out of some poor guy. The Mongolian horde cheered, got up after the fight, left politely and nodded as they walked by. After looking at them and seeing their boxer, I knew this group was not to be messed with.

Sure enough, they returned the next day and sure enough, they sat in the same photo section like it was their’s. It looked like they even brought friends. I acted as if I didn’t see a thing.

We have hosted two days of boxing - 2 sessions per day with 12 bouts each. Obviously 48 young athletes won and moved to the next level and 48 had their dreams doused. They were all bright eyed, muscular specimens who stood even taller when they entered the field of play to the cheers of their countrymen. That itself is a moment to witness.

It must be a huge responsibility to represent your country with the eyes of the world on you. I cannot imagine the pressure. But they got in the ring and fought their hearts out.

For the most part, the bouts have been evenly matched with just a few boxers totally outclassed. All of the Russian fighters have been tough as nails, the Cubans are slick boxers with tons of technique and the Africans are brawlers who telegram their punches from left field. But when one of the Africans connect, you can feel it in the stands. A Samoan boxer was knocked out and carried away on a stretcher, still unconscious. Everybody held his or her breath until we heard he was okay. That was scary.

I learned a lot about some of the boxers as they walked by me after their matches. The winners can barely contain their glee, but they are tough, manly boxers and must be macho for the cameras. They are walking on air but keeping up the cool façade. The losers walk tall and try like hell to keep their chins up and take the lost like “a man.” But you can see the tears of disappointment and hurt welling up in their eyes. After all, you dare not be caught crying on camera. For them, that has to be the longest walk, from the ring to their dressing rooms.

Hey, winners and losers are a part of every sport but seeing it so closely and at the Olympics kind of magnifies it for me. For many of these young men, this is their ticket out or up. The last four years of training continues to propel them or today it wasn’t enough.

The official draw was held today to determine who fights whom. The event was attended by delegates from the 77 countries that have entered a boxer, AIBA and technical officials and a host of international journalists. The program was almost two hours of picking names and numbers out of jars and revealing the names of the countries. It’s all on the up and up.

Competition starts Saturday morning with a Swede fighting a Russian in the 75kg weight class. There will be 24 bouts throughout the day ending with competitors from Kazakhstan and Lithuania.

Jackie and Kate, volunteers from photo, took on the role of security to keep the pushy journalists back. That was a tough job.

No surprised but I played the role of the heavy during the event - also holding back journalists - so my Chinese name is now Wan Cheng…, which means The Great Wall. Ain’t it the truth!

What’s the difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut? The punch line is, 3 weeks. As I sit here bald, head shining and feeling like Mr. Clean, I hope the next three weeks pass quickly. By the closing ceremony I should have hair again.

For those of you who know me well, you know I have this thing about my hair. I like my hair cropped close and my haircuts often. Which is why after 3 weeks, I felt the need to have a haircut.

It is also why, from now on, Joe King travels with me (I wish). And who is Joe King you ask? Joe is a father, a gentleman, an artist, a cool dude, my barber extraordinaire and one who understands the value of giving a customer what he wants.

I thought I had hand gestured what I wanted – as clearly as I possibly could - to the Chinese barber at the press center. She nodded and even spoke enough English to say, “A little bit,” meaning, a little off. I thought we were good to go.

It was actually going well and I was starting to relax. She handed me the mirror when she was finished and I noticed the right side was shorter than the left. A few more hand gestures and she proceeded to make the left side shorter than the right. I gestured some more and then the top was shorter than the sides. After almost an hour of hand gestures and more trimming, it became so ridiculous it was funny. I laughed, then she laughed.

Now there are a few phrases I thought would be impossible to ever pass my lips. They would be; don’t worry, they are only Ferragamo and just cut it all off. And to my own disbelief, I told her to just cut it all off and in no time, she got it right.

That’s when I realized she knew at least two phrases in English; A little bit and just cut it all off.

If you plan to watch the Olympic opening ceremony on TV — and I can’t imagine you would not — I think you will be just as impressed as I am. I attended the dressed rehearsal last night and loved it. The presentation is spectacular, dramatic, colorful, precise, thoughtful and big. This cast of dancers, acrobats, singers, drummers, soldiers and sky walkers would give Cecil B. DeMille a complex. I tell you, it is BIG!

In a country with over 1.3 billion people, it seemed the only ones not in the show were the over 50,000 people in the stands. As soon as the population of a small island ran off stage, another ran on.

And if you don’t know, the Chinese know fireworks. They were spectacularly sparkling and loud.

I don’t want to ruin it for you but the show starts with 2008 drummers who put on a very synchronized countdown to the start of the show and it is a joyous sound and sight. It’s a memory that will forever be etched in my mind and it will have to be. No cameras were allowed.

I hope it translates well on television.

My day starts around 5:30 AM, I head to the gym about 6, shower, breakfast (cereal & fruit), and catch a cab to the subway station or the boxing venue around 8:30. Our subway route is the 5 train with a transfer to the 2 train.

We have the option of catching the media bus to the Main Press Center and transferring to a bus to our venue. For us, it is so much easier to cab it or hit the subway. With our accreditation, we can commute on public transportation free. If there are 3 of us leaving at the same time we cab, if not we hit the subway. The subway only takes 15 minutes more, however, you must be willing to know your fellow Beijingian well.

We have 24 volunteers in Photo Services – 21 Chinese college students and 3 from the UK. All of them are very bright and excited about being volunteers. The Chinese students all have varying English skills and practice with me every day. I always tell them they speak English much better than I speak Chinese. Many of them have picked “American names” like Serena, Kate, Ami, Jacky, Andy, Sophie, Lily, Caral, Coco, Sunny, Lucia, Clover, Taylor, Rita, Cherry, Shelley, Jessica and Rene, who is a guy. However, my favorite names are Echo, Dreamy and Rukey.

They all have MP3 players and they blast MTV – all day long - in the director’s office. One of their favorite subjects is Hip-Hop. They love Kanye and Outkast. I asked them about Wynton, Blakey, Brubeck and Ella and again, they went blank on me like I was speaking English or something.

I’ve stopped the UK students (Laura, Charlotte & Samantha) from sitting together to force them to mingle. It’s worked because the Chinese students are now teaching them Chinese slang and practicing their English with them. I overheard them discussing boyfriends yesterday. And I think the UK girls went dancing with Echo until 5 in the morning. But more importantly, they are beginning to know each other and becoming a team.

One of their biggest kicks is having me hold my hand up while one places her hand, palm to palm with mine. For most of them, their entire hand fit in the palm of mine and they think that is hilarious. Hey, big hands… big gloves.