It’s been a Riot in Sochi
SOCHI, Russia — Well, that’s a little scary. My email server just informed me that my account had been accessed and compromised by the “Russian Federation.” I had to change passwords. That’s what happens when you write about Pussy Riot, I guess.
Coffey lost the little slip of paper, the “migration form” they put inside your passport here — just like he lost the Wimbledon credential application and everything else important. Still ha s his Bible, but that won’t get him out of Russia.
He went to the Help Desk at the press center and asked wh a t wou ld happen if he went to the airport without the form. “Three years in concentration camp,” the guy deadpanned. Gulag humor in Russia. Anyway, Coffey is now scrambling around to find a replacement and he’ll probably use that as an excuse for why I have to cover speed-skating team pursuit.
Remember: It’s always about me.
Took a taxi to the Pussy Riot press conference, and the driver asked me for an American cigarette. He proudly showed me his Canadian cigarette. I didn’t even know there are such things, but I smiled and nodded. I gave him a U.S. dollar bill instead and he was thrilled, just kept staring at it.
Pussy Riot was, of course, the best event at these Olympics. “You have sex with chicken!” was the best quote. But I almost got impaled on a large wire structure when the hecklers started pushing and shoving people. Would have been worth it, though, because The News could have run the headline, “Vlad the Impaler.”
At the Olympics, I always feel like Dustin Hoffman in “Kramer vs. Kramer.” He starts out in that film not knowing how to do anything on his own and by the end he can do it all smoothly.
Looks like we’re going to make it. The O-Team has yet to get a DNF on the scorecard.