these people and concerns just kept passing by and I couldn’t do much to stop it.
The night before our presentation in Prague, a group of us were at a restaurant when Dick Pound and his wife walked in and joined us. It was awkward as hell. Dick leaned over to tell me he was prepared to go onstage the next day and introduce the group. I felt terrible. I didn’t like being put in this position and I had to tell him no, that the list of those who would be onstage was finalized and had been submitted to the IOC . Dick sloughed the rejection off, but I knew it bothered him. It was a slap in the face, even though it was not intended to be. He was the leading IOC official in Canada, a name recognized around the world, and we hadn’t asked him to be onstage with us. How else was he to interpret it?
The morning of the vote everyone was nervous, which was understandable. We would be first up among the three bid cities, not the ideal position. I wanted to be last, but Pyeongchang drew that straw. We were to be onstage at 10 AM . The prime minister arrived at 9 AM , all smiles, telling everyone he was raring to go even though he must have been exhausted. The 11 of us who were going to be onstage lined up outside the hall in the Hilton Hotel, in front of the hundred or so lucky Canadians who got to watch the presentation live.
Before we went in I went down the line and thanked everyone individually for their contribution. I wanted them to know that, win or lose, what they each had done had meant a great deal to me, the project and their country. For me this was the best day ever. We were at the finish line in one piece, together, inspired and proud. We had made it, hurt no one, cheated no one, promised only what we could deliver—as truly Canadian as we could be. There would be no shame whatever the result. I was never more content—a bag of nerves yes, but morally completely at ease.
Jack Poole had given every one of the Canadians who would be entering the hall behind the presentation team a “lucky loonie” to stuff in their pockets. The lucky loonie had a fabled heritage, of course. One was put under centre ice in Salt Lake City by the Canadian who was in charge of maintaining the ice surface for the Olympics. After the men’s and women’s teams won there, the lucky loonie became the stuff of lore.
And then the doors opened to soaring, powerful music from the movie Spirit. On a big screen in the room were glorious images of Canada and its people. Two minutes of pulsating energy to help us take the room over. It was the perfect mood-setter.
Now it was game time.
Jacques Rogge made some introductory remarks and then stopped and looked at me: “Mr. President, the floor is yours.”
I stood at the podium microphone and for a few seconds seemed to be frozen as I looked out over the crowd, centurions of the most powerful sport parliament in the world in whose hands our fate rested. The cameras were rolling and the world was tuned in. “I am John Furlong, the president of Vancouver 2010, and as I stand before you today I must admit I’m extremely nervous.”
I have no idea why I decided to tell people that I was shaking in my boots. I guess I thought honesty was the best policy. It was funny how many people would later comment positively on that small admission. They felt it showed a vulnerability they could relate to. Who wouldn’t be nervous under the circumstances?
It was my job to introduce our team and I started with Jack. He conveyed how ready we were to get started. We could begin construction the next day, he assured them with confidence. He talked about some of the infrastructure improvements that were already underway, including work on the Sea to Sky Highway.
Premier Campbell was next. He was the guarantor. It was his job to tell the IOC that the Games would not get into financial trouble, because they were backed by the provincial government. He was completely convincing. The prime minister followed and
The night before our presentation in Prague, a group of us were at a restaurant when Dick Pound and his wife walked in and joined us. It was awkward as hell. Dick leaned over to tell me he was prepared to go onstage the next day and introduce the group. I felt terrible. I didn’t like being put in this position and I had to tell him no, that the list of those who would be onstage was finalized and had been submitted to the IOC . Dick sloughed the rejection off, but I knew it bothered him. It was a slap in the face, even though it was not intended to be. He was the leading IOC official in Canada, a name recognized around the world, and we hadn’t asked him to be onstage with us. How else was he to interpret it?
The morning of the vote everyone was nervous, which was understandable. We would be first up among the three bid cities, not the ideal position. I wanted to be last, but Pyeongchang drew that straw. We were to be onstage at 10 AM . The prime minister arrived at 9 AM , all smiles, telling everyone he was raring to go even though he must have been exhausted. The 11 of us who were going to be onstage lined up outside the hall in the Hilton Hotel, in front of the hundred or so lucky Canadians who got to watch the presentation live.
Before we went in I went down the line and thanked everyone individually for their contribution. I wanted them to know that, win or lose, what they each had done had meant a great deal to me, the project and their country. For me this was the best day ever. We were at the finish line in one piece, together, inspired and proud. We had made it, hurt no one, cheated no one, promised only what we could deliver—as truly Canadian as we could be. There would be no shame whatever the result. I was never more content—a bag of nerves yes, but morally completely at ease.
Jack Poole had given every one of the Canadians who would be entering the hall behind the presentation team a “lucky loonie” to stuff in their pockets. The lucky loonie had a fabled heritage, of course. One was put under centre ice in Salt Lake City by the Canadian who was in charge of maintaining the ice surface for the Olympics. After the men’s and women’s teams won there, the lucky loonie became the stuff of lore.
And then the doors opened to soaring, powerful music from the movie Spirit. On a big screen in the room were glorious images of Canada and its people. Two minutes of pulsating energy to help us take the room over. It was the perfect mood-setter.
Now it was game time.
Jacques Rogge made some introductory remarks and then stopped and looked at me: “Mr. President, the floor is yours.”
I stood at the podium microphone and for a few seconds seemed to be frozen as I looked out over the crowd, centurions of the most powerful sport parliament in the world in whose hands our fate rested. The cameras were rolling and the world was tuned in. “I am John Furlong, the president of Vancouver 2010, and as I stand before you today I must admit I’m extremely nervous.”
I have no idea why I decided to tell people that I was shaking in my boots. I guess I thought honesty was the best policy. It was funny how many people would later comment positively on that small admission. They felt it showed a vulnerability they could relate to. Who wouldn’t be nervous under the circumstances?
It was my job to introduce our team and I started with Jack. He conveyed how ready we were to get started. We could begin construction the next day, he assured them with confidence. He talked about some of the infrastructure improvements that were already underway, including work on the Sea to Sky Highway.
Premier Campbell was next. He was the guarantor. It was his job to tell the IOC that the Games would not get into financial trouble, because they were backed by the provincial government. He was completely convincing. The prime minister followed and
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