…opening ceremony live on CBC (one more reason Canada’s a cooler place). The thing’s a big, gaudy, lovely performance-art spectacle (think Cirque du Soleil) with gods, lovers, classical art, philosophy, history, and huge nude male sculptures.

The celebration of Greek history within the show, like most accounts of that proud nation, lingered on the ancient/classical days and rushed through everything since. As the ceremony’s parade of live tableaux depicted it, the fall of Greek creativity didn’t stem from the Romans’ conquest but from the rise of that late-Roman religion, Christianity.

PS: Yeah, the original Olympic athletes were all male and naked. But there were even more differences between then and now; some of which involved the eternal contradiction between democratic ideals and slavery.

…to know the Athens Olympics have their tight security measures firmly in place, ready to strike back in an instant against fans carrying Pepsi products into the Coke-sponsored events.

YEP, IT’S TIME for our annual “In Praise of the Hydros” piece.

Since many of you have read some, if not all, of our previous installments on this topic, this year’s version will be short. Essentially, the hydroplane race is perhaps the most “unique” (to use an overrated LA term) cultural institution Seattle’s still got. Over a quarter-million people gathered on Sunday to watch a sport that exists one week a year here, and is barely noticed anywhere else. KIRO-TV paid a big rights fee to telecast the event, in a seven-hour marathon broadcast utilizing all the hi-tech tricks available to the industry. Advertisers ranging from GM to Mike’s Hard Lemonade commissioned special commercials for the telecast.

Yet, for all its enduring popularity, this may have been the last hydro race as we know it.

To explain why takes a little back-story.

Since the ’80s, the hydro racing circuit was dominated by the Miss Budweiser team, owned by Bernie Little. Anheuser-Busch poured healthy portions of its national ad budget into Little’s operation, as a thank-you for Little’s success as a Bud regional wholesaler. The sport became less and less competitive, especially after other big sponsors (Atlas Van Lines, Procter & Gamble, Kellogg’s) bugged out. As the circuit deteriorated in popularity everywhere except Seattle, Little bought out the whole operation under the name Hydro-Prop.

Little passed away last year. His son took over the Miss Bud team. But soon thereafter, Anheuser-Busch announced it would stop sponsoring the boat after this season.

Hydro-Prop is now in organizational shambles. Little’s heirs haven’t found a new sponsor. Some observers are suggesting the sport physically rebuild itself from scratch, replacing the surplus airplane engines it’s always used with more modern automobile-based engines. And the better-organized Unlimited Lights organization threatens to build its own set of bigger boats, rivaling the “unlimiteds” of Hydro-Prop.

But no matter what happens in the coming years, the 54-year heritage of the hydros will remain an integral (and fun) part of Seattle’s civic psyche.

…of the many things we saw and did last weekend.

First, our friends in the band Lushy played the last night of Eastlake’s Bandoleone restaurant. (The building’s coming down; the management has found a new site in Fremont.)

When filming a Ford SUV commercial downtown at night, be sure your camera’s mounted on something rugged and sturdy—like a Mercedes SUV.

Seahawks Stadium hosted a big England-vs.-Scotland soccer exhibition. So, of course, the George and Dragon Pub in Fremont hosted a huge postgame party. The joint was filled with raucous singing, replica team jerseys, and dudes with accents boasting to me about their love of drinking until passing out.

And our ol’ friends Elaine Bonow and Harry Pierce debuted their funky li’l soul band Stupid Boy at the new intimate Blue Button cabaret space.

A random survey finds our own Safeco Field the second-most popular ballpark among baseball players. For opposing teams this year, it’s been real popular, alas….

…I’ve found with the already famous, yet extremely rare, Lauren Jackson nude photos from the Aussie art-mag Black & White.

As you might expect, the Seattle Storm basketball star is not only a great role model, but also a great model. Her taut muscle tone is the product of working out, not of surgical treatments. Even in monochrome scans, her life energy bursts forth.

…that one year the NBA Eastern Conference series will match the Pacers and the Hornets, so the pun-lovin’ sports media would all rediscover the golden age of American Motors cars.

The Lucking Fakers were thoroughly trounced. The mighty Detroit Pistons, a real basketball team (as opposed to an overpaid, overhyped bunch of divas) handily won the basketball championship Tuesday night.

The victory was a mighty blow for all that is right and good in America, and a slap against the NBA’s powers-that-be and its “broadcast partners” (ABC, ESPN, TNT). In the post-Jordan era, the league and the networks have conspired to treat the Lucking Fakers as The Team That Deserves Everything, The Team You MUST Love. All 29 other squads received as much combined respect as the Harlem Globetrotters’ sham opponents.

Back during the regular season, TNT could barely bother even covering game one of its weekly doubleheaders; instead, the channel spent two and a half hours plugging the Lucking Fakers’ forthcoming appearance in game two.

In the playoffs, the national print media joined the broadcasters in predicting a Lucking Fakers walkoff. Sure, the Pistons had more teamwork, more energy, and more balance, but they didn’t have more endorsement deals!

So the Pistons’ victory, not just by an edge but by a trounce, proves that there’s still room for sports in American sports.

…to a nicer really tall 40-year-old ex-Seattleite whom I once met at the Crocodile: The Big Unit threw a perfect game.

For the baseball-impaired, an explanation: In bowling, a perfect game is when everything happens. In baseball, a perfect game is when nothing happens. The starting pitcher gives up no runs, no hits, no walks, no hit batters, no opposing players on base for any reason. In the 100-some years of Major League Baseball, it’s only happened 17 times. The last time was five years ago.

Perfect games are a subset of the slightly less exclusive statistic known as no-hit games. Johnson pitched one of those for the Mariners, way back in 1990. Few pitchers ever achieve one of those, let alone two.

THANKS TO the Library of Congress, we can re-learn the forgotten game of indoor baseball.

Major League Baseball is selling ads on the bases.

While homophobes and their opponents verbally duked it out last Saturday, inside and outside Safeco Field respectively, more positive social visions were enacted four miles to the north, along the Montlake Cut.

Seattle has two annual dates with the rubric “Opening Day”—the start of baseball season (of which, right now, the least said the better) and the start of “boating season,” the first Saturday in May. The latter Opening Day’s been celebrated at least since 1913, as far as anyone can recall.

Since 1970, a rowing regatta’s been part of the festivities. This year, the UW men’s and women’s crews hosted WSU, Oregon State, UCLA, Navy, and an Italian squad.

This Husky alum’s proud to say the Dawgs won all but one of the races in which they were entered. At a time of turmoil and scandal in UW sports (even UW women’s sports!), it was great to see a good ol’ triumph of skill and teamwork.

Right after the races, the Montlake Bridge is raised for three hours for the parade of boats. It might sound like an elitist activity to some of you, and it’s even sponsored by a yacht club; but it’s not. Anybody with access to a power boat of any type can participate. Anyone can watch, for free.

The atmosphere isn’t one of rich people trying to intimidate the rest of us with the size of their “toys,” but of proud hobbyists sharing their love for classic beauty, and honoring our local and timeless connection to the sea, the source of life.

And this year, it was a good excuse to get one’s first sunburn of the season.

Not only have the Mariners descended to the depths of their ’80s suckiness, but during their current road trip the joint was rented out to pious hatemonger James Dobson. He held what his staff billed as a stirring crusade-service defending “traditional marriage.”

In Dobsonspeak, “traditional” (i.e., heterosexual) marriage is simultaneously the strongest, most sacred bond in human society AND something so frail as to require government-sanctioned monopoly status, via the clad-iron banning of all other possible romantic combinations.

Fortunately, many upright area citizens were more than willing to vocally disagree.

This chalk-art slogan reads, “Love Thy Neighbor.* (Some Restrictions May Apply.)”

…gets to become a bigtime movie star. His ol’ pal Squiggy gets to become a Mariners assistant scout. (Scroll to bottom of page.)

…the Ms’ worst start in a decade, Drew Pierson’s posted a long, lucid Anti-Yankee Manifesto:: “A formal indictment of the New York Yankees, why they suck, and why you should hate them today.” (Found at Slumberland.)