The first Olympics I have any memory of were the ones in Montreal in 1976; I remember very little about them, honestly. The 1980 Moscow I remember for the politics of Afghanistan and the Soviet Union. And somehow, every time the roll around, I find myself sucked back in. shellyinseattle likes the Winter Games; I much prefer the summer events, with their track and field.

This time, I've been amazed at the women's Judo championship (Ryoto Toki won her second gold), by the sheer passion of Arroyo carrying Puerto Rico to basketball victory, and by a Russian gymnast who completed a routine after dislocating a finger. I've not been impressed most of the Americans. The male swimmers seem dopey, the women's relay swimmers sulked in defeat, and the basketball team was just lame. Like everyone else, I've enjoyed cheering for the underdogs: the Portugese bicyclist who took second in the road race, the Iraqi soccer team that defeated the Portugese (yes, I know I was just cheering for Portugal a moment ago — I contradict myself, I contain multitudes), the Dutch volleyball players beaten down by the Russians, the Dutch rowing crew that spiked China out of the 4-man finals, the Dutch women's 8-woman crew. Okay, I really like the Dutch.

I even watched beach volleyball, which maybe counts as more of a sport than synchronized diving or ice dancing, but really. Someone stop me.

This is the first time I've ever had cable while the Olympics are on: NBC, CNBC, Bravo, and MSNBC are all covering stuff. I have watched at least 20 hours of this sporting heroin since the opening ceremonies. Yes, I've had my laptop set up and I've written about 3000 words during the duller events and all-too-frequent commercials. But perhaps there is such a thing as too much of a good thing.

When I start dreaming of an olive wreath on my brow, someone will have to cut me off.