Closing Ceremony

 

It’s August 24th and we are taking our last few steps of a mad dash. There is a lot to pack into the last day of the Olympics. Luckily, I have nothing to shoot in the morning. By now I can’t even guess how many frames I’ve shot . But I do know that some of the rubbery finish on my new cameras is flaking off. I also notice that some of the anti-reflective coating on my eyeglasses has been rubbed off from pressing my face against the camera and looking through the viewfinder for hours and hours each day. My right thumb is cramped because it manipulates the most important controls on the camera (autofocus, focus lock and shutter speed). And why shouldn’t my equipment and I be a little worn out after three-plus weeks? There is no organized event that is more taxing for a photographer than the Olympics. Nothing compares to it in terms of the number of frames you shoot. Nothing compares to the amount of hustling, elbowing, negotiating, cajoling, rushing and waiting required of you to make a picture and send it back home.
Of course, August 24th requires that I score a ticket to get into the closing ceremony. Smiley lays the ground work to score another ticket from the USOC the day before. The USOC has been great about helping us out to the best of their ability. At noon on the 24th, I’m told there are no tickets available but that some may become available at 3pm for the 8pm ceremony. Unfortunately that’s right in the middle of the men’s basketball gold medal game. My contact at the USOC gives me his cell phone number and tells me to call at halftime to find out if a ticket becomes available. I asked him to handicap the chances I’ll get one. He says 33%. So I go to the basketball game and shoot the first half.
The Spanish are not content with just getting on the podium. And the Redeem Team doesn’t get out of the gate very well. The Spanish have the lead for times in the first half. The U.S. takes the lead but not control. It’s a good game. But then the clock strikes three and I call the USOC from the sideline of the game. If the TV camera panned to my area at the end of the first half, then I would have been the guy sitting on the bench with a phone in one ear, a finger in the other, a camera around my neck and another one on a monopod leaning on my shoulder. I probably looked like the crazy, one-man-band playing 8 different instruments at the park for spare change. I get good news. I have a ticket but I have to pick it up ASAP. I think a bit and text one of the writers and ask him to pick up the ticket. I wait a bit longer but there is no reply. So I collect all my stuff and rush out of the arena to board yet another bus.
With ticket in hand I have a chance to rest. The ceremonies start at 8pm. The photographers from the Hearst newspapers gather at the cafeteria for a “pregame” meal at 6:45pm. Our collective energy level is noticeable low. We formulate a game plan as we pick through our dishes. Some of us are shooting up high (cheap seats) and two of us are shooting low (platform from which I shot all my track and field). I’m shooting in the thin air. We start off to the Bird’s Nest at about 7:35. It’s usually about a 20 minute walk. We’re cutting it close. It’s wall-to-wall humanity. Paths that we had walked for three weeks were now blocked off. Security has increased tenfold. As we swim our way upstream, we somehow end up walking with the Olympic Team from Zimbabwe. We’re in an aisle bracketed by steel gates. We are cattle being funneled into the barn. Less than 100 meters (yeah, I’ve gone all metric since being here) from the stadium entrance, we finally find a volunteer who clears a section of the metal barrier for us to enter though the media entrance.
We disperse to our shooting spots. I have to take the elevator and fight through a dozen indifferent photographers to find my spot. My spot is just a regular stadium seat. It’s a tight spot for three cameras, a backpack and a monopod. Fortunately, the seats on either side are empty.
The show starts and it’s great. ‘Looks good through the lens and is entertaining. I sneak a peek at my pictures of the opening moments and I’m please. However, I notice the huge drums suspended in the air look like massive wheels of cheese. I am hungry and wonder if there are boulder-like apples and front-door-sized crackers to go with the mountain of Gouda. The athletes enter the field and they dance around. I think, “Wow, I wish I were down there. They’re having a great time.” After about 30 minutes of dancing and wandering, the athletes seem bored. Some sit on the ground. Some leave the field to come back later. My envy goes away. The tower as centerpiece for the show was a strange choice. I was fearful someone was going to fall to their death. I’m sure this ceremony set an Olympic record for most people flying through the air.
Things get downright bizarre when the Brits, who will host London 2012, put on their little show. The double decker bus driving around the track is cool. Then it cracked open like a broiled lobster and out jumps singing diva and a graying Japanese man playing a guitar. And they’re playing Whole Lotta’ Love by Led Zeppelin (the sanitized version, anyway). The singer has great pipes but what catches my eye (and ear) is the old Japanese dude wailin’ on the guitar. I think, ‘Dang, that’s a spot-on Jimmy Page.” Then it occurs to me, “That IS Jimmy Page! The gray-haired Japanese guy is rock guitar god, Jimmy Page!” After that, things just kind of got fuzzy. I had been up until 4 a.m. editing pictures. I had shot a half of basketball and had to secure my ceremony ticket. I was tired. Mercifully the ceremony lasts only two hours. The Flame is extinguished and quite frankly, so am I.