Patriot Hearts

Patriot Hearts by John Furlong Page B

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Authors: John Furlong
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dream, like your dream, is a dream forever.”
    We had to reserve some time for questions from IOC members. We had a pretty good idea whom they would be coming from. All of them allowed us to accentuate positive aspects of our bid and address lingering concerns like the road to Whistler. No damage done.
    WHEN I FINALLY sat down in my seat I felt an enormous weight lift. My speech was the culmination of years of hard work by so many people. I honestly believed we had given the campaign everything we had. Coaches ask hockey players to leave everything they have on the ice. I believed that our team had left everything it could in Prague. I couldn’t have asked for more.
    As our group began walking out of the conference hall, an elderly man with glasses approached me with an outstretched hand. “That was a wonderful speech, Mr. President.” It was the famous U.S. statesman Henry Kissinger, an honorary IOC member. “I wish you well.” Our team congregated outside the hall. Everyone was happy. Some people were planning to watch the other presentations. I had no interest. Why put myself through that just to worry even more. I needed to get away and clear my head so I went for a long walk along the river. Later in the afternoon, some of our team started assembling in my hotel room. All the presentations had been made by that point, and we were about to learn the results of the first vote by closed-circuit television. And soon enough Jacques Rogge was on the screen. My hotel room fell silent.
    “After the first round of voting the City of Salzburg has been eliminated,” said Dr. Rogge.
    And for a city that had the same Olympic dreams we had, that had poured thousands of hours into its bid and spent tens of millions of euros, it was over just like that. See ya, goodbye. I couldn’t fathom what that moment must have felt like for the members of the Salzburg team. Devastating for sure.
    We knew that we were poised to gain most, if not all, of the votes that Austria received in the first round. But then, when you were dealing with the IOC you could never be absolutely sure about anything. Yes to your face could really mean no; it was like grabbing a handful of Jell-O.
    The final announcement was going to be made at 5:30 local time. When we got to the hall, most of the Korean delegation was already there, looking supremely confident. A rumour started circulating that there was a report on the Internet that Pyeongchang had already won, and someone from the media asked me about it. “I don’t believe it for a second,” I said. “And no one will know until Jacques Rogge opens that envelope.”
    The last minutes before the announcement were excruciating. My stomach was a mess. I was confident but the wait had a way of messing with a person’s head. At this point, all of the IOC members were onstage. A small girl in braids and traditional, brightly coloured Czech dress walked to the stage holding a pillow upon which lay the envelope that would seal our fate. Dr. Rogge walked toward the stage. The tension in the room was unbearable. The president opened the envelope and seemed to take a few seconds to digest the results. More tension. The entire IOC was standing behind him—rows of them.
    “The International Olympic Committee has the honour of announcing that the 21st Winter Olympic Games are awarded to. . . the City of Vancouver,” he said.
    There was a momentary delay in my response. The way Dr. Rogge had pronounced Vancouver sounded like “Pyeoncouver,” but that confusion lasted only a second before I realized we had won. The place went crazy. I was standing beside one of the two Mounties in red serge who had escorted our delegation in for our morning presentation. Constable Chantal Jung turned to me and put me in a bear hug that nearly broke my ribs. “We did it,” she screamed. The next several minutes were just chaos. I was hugging and shaking the hands of everybody on our team.
    “Today we moved a mountain,” I said

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