That Was Hockey!

There were no losers in that gold medal game. Hockey was the winner. It couldn't have show-cased any better for any more fans the grace, artistry, speed, and organized chaos that hockey is supposed to be ... without the goons and fistfights that NHL owners think necessary to keep beer-swigging dolts coming to games. And the point is, those remarkable players who cared so, who emptied their tanks for pride and country and team, are NHL pros -- the same guys who besmirch their game with gratuitous violence week after week until fans like me give up.

I once relished the old Northstars of Minnesota -- that was super hockey. And at Marriott, Sam Huff and I worked the NHL teams for contract rooms. But then the league began to pander... and now franchises shift about in regions where there is no cultural appreciation for the game. When DC got its franchise (from Minnesota) fans used to scream with delight at showy but fruitless slapshots from the blue line. Pleasing crowds with meaningless drama and fighting became the standard. The owners mealy mouth about fighting, and they get the fans they earn.

Anyway, hats off to the Finns, Canadians, and Americans who gave the world a look at hockey as it was meant to be. C'mon, NHL: take a fresh look.

Home Again, Home Again....

What a great adventure: Ann was all support; Frank’s initiative made it possible; I supplied encouragement. Neither of us could have done it without the other. Frank and I make a surprisingly compatible odd couple. He has an incisive wit; an explosive disdain for “those idiots” who usually turn out to be authorities, politicians, or drivers of cars in his vicinity; and a charming ability to chat up strangers, developing instant rapport because of his obviously sincere interest in them. As an inventor, his mind is constantly in quest of the better – no matter what the object of his attention.

This probably ends my Olympic quests: I’ve been very lucky: three winter games – Innsbruck ’76, Calgary ’88, Vancouver ’10; two summers -- Montreal 76, Los Angeles ’84 -- and peripheral involvement in Moscow ’80 (as unexpected advisor to Vneshtorgbank on marketing Russian Olympic coins.) I’m sure I won’t be going to Sochi, but wouldn’t it be fun?

The games have changed so. When I fell in love with Winter Olympics, in ’76, stars were made by the games, not for the games. Yes, there were corporate sponsors and broadcasting contracts, but ordinary joe fans drove most of the action. Security was not intrusive until post 9/11– despite the tragedy of Munich in ’72. The venues were small and intimate and manageable w/o daunting transportation challenges. Hell, at Innsbruck, I climbed up the mountain with a guy I met on site, and then, when the guards weren’t looking, we clambered into and out of the bobsled run to make our way to the downhill course (and by dumb luck we hit it at the corner where Klammer went airborne.) Calgary, though larger, still felt intimate. The Summers have always been too large – Rome, Sydney, Los Angeles, Montreal, Tokyo, Beijing and all, but Winters until now have been tight and close. Sochi may return to that pattern.

This is not to say Vancouver was disappointing. Yes, it was too big – three venues at Whistler and six in Vancouver. Yes, it’ll be a flop financially and yes, VanOC made some bonehead moves – scaring away fans, fencing off the flame, creating a unused reversible lane highway ... the IOC didn’t help by bestowing a ticket monopoly on a highly suspect tour packager…. But Vancouverites made up for all that with their delight, their welcomes, their smiles and courtesy. As for sour grapes about how intent they were on podium positions? They’re no worse than any other host people who are proud and determined to show the world what they’ve got. And the beauty of the setting – a natural advantage winter games have over summers for, after all, you do need snow covered mountains – Vancouver is hard to beat. Neither Calgary nor Albertville nor Lillehammer had the Pacific Ocean as their front yard.

Despite the kleptocratic and sometimes ridiculous IOC (the delegate from Oman awarding cross-country ski medals!), the millions spent, and whatever the venue, all who attend a winter games -- corporate host or guest or ordinary joe or local resident -- all share a single focus and one enthusiasm – the games. In that way, the Olympics truly do bring the world together for a brief moment -- and that is precious, indeed.

Mother Nature Blesses Whistler... Finally!

A stunning alpine day -- cloudless, warm, barely a breeze, 7cm of new snow dusting the tracks and trails. D'hiller Frank opted for skiing along the women's downhill to see whether Lindsey V's injury was real or a media thrill. He got the answer, and so did all the other women, and some great shots which I will pass along soon. The ancient skate skiier opted for the men's and women's classic sprints.

The Olympic Center, i.e., the sprint course, the sliding center and the jumps, were constructed by VanOC, and they are super -- super fast, super sited, super for fans. And VanOC has set up a Cle$1.5 million for operating support for IntraWest's takeover of the facility. But IntraWest is in bankruptcy (was the auction yesterday?) so no one knows what to expect. But now is the word at the Olympics... NOW.

From the stands, awash in a sea of oomlauts and those funny oh's with the backslash through them, I watched 5 heats of qualifications, four quarter finals, two semi and the finals -- twelve races for each of men and women. The sprints are 1.5kms with 95mtrs of altitude gain. They ran it in around 3:40, with the women typically only 8 to 10 seconds slower. It was awesome. I never saw so many Scandanavians in one place before, a sea of Finns, Swedes, and gigantic Norwegians wearing Viking gear, all waving flags and clanging bells. But over their shoulders lurked the Russians -- two golds in the men's in a fantastic finish, way outpacing the bronze Norwegian. Norway did take the gold in women's, to everone's delight (except the Swedes and Finns.) But the exhausted Slovene who bronzed stole the attention, for she was in real trouble. Even 7 hours later, she had to have two EMP's helping her to walk and get up on the podium at the award ceremony. Afterward, the organizers got it right; the crowd walked the 3kms to the bus loading zone and were whisked off to Whistler.

We hooked up, had a late afternoon lamb stew, and wandered. There are live performances all about Whistler. Bare Naked Ladies were playing to a tightly massed crowd. Monday, we had seen a First Nations group named George Leech (or maybe Leach) who was so much better a group of musicians -- playing before a so much smaller crowd. What a shame. BNL were really dumb. I blew my way through the crowd to check out tix for the awards ceremony.

The deal is tix are required but cost nothing. Step 2: wait list. Wait list for tix? Well, no...just go stand in what they term a wait list line and usually they let all of you in. So I called Frank and stood in line awhile. He showed up, but we lost one another at the security stations, and just like with TSA, my artificial knees set off alarms. The ceremony was fun; Lindsey and Mancuso were great. Marte, the Norwegian gold sprinter, was charming. The Bronze Slovene woman proud though clearly suffering.

And so off to town on that three lane highway, now with a steady stream of cars heading down off the mountain. And the reversible lanes in the utlimate wisdom of the organizers? Two empty lanes up; one jammed lane down. Oh, and in response to the outcry of protests about fencing off the flame cauldron? They have cut a nine inch slice out of the fence at adult eye level so that one can shoot pictures through the slot. Still can't shoot your kids in front of the flame. No wonder Mother Nature has been dumping on these VanOC goofballs.

Never a Wasted Day -- Some Just Better Organized...

Since the downhill and combined events were moved, we two oj’s w/o tix wandered about Vancouver trying to make up our alleged minds as to what venue we wanted to try for last minute or scalper tickets. But first, coffee. At Benz we were sassed by a charming barista. Next door, Frank spotted a Lululemon design and sample operation which he couldn’t resist (Frank engineers outdoor and athletic apparel) and wound up schmoozing with the designers.

Then to town center; first objective: the Museum. Second: pin barter for some national team material or older games. (I have pins from all the games save for the 1st, 1920, Chamonix – and 3rd 1932, Lake Placid.)

Well, the town was packed…. A block long line awaited entry to the Museum; to hell with that. Pin traders on the street hadn’t yet begun to get team material; the athletes don’t start to circulate and trade until later in the second week after more of the events have transpired. So we headed for The Bay where a pin dealer’s area had been set up in their Olympics gear department. That line stretched out the door of The Bay and down two blocks!

We amused ourselves with street performers, watching the crowd. Found a good seafood lunch. By the time we decided to try for some tix, the events of interest were nearly over. A wasted day? Not at all….

Here are some shots from the men’s downhill yesterday – yes, I know, you could see it a lot better on TV.

Two Decisions That Imperil Our Republic

Recently (11Feb'10) I gave this talk at the Olympic Club (Seattle.)


The Roberts court’s overturning of McCain-Feingold restrictions on corporate campaign advertising came as no surprise. Two prior decisions lay the legal foundations that almost made inevitable the legal activism of the conservative majority. They ignored 103 years of precedent…(remember Robert’s reassuring confirmation words about respecting precedent?)

• The first? 1886 – Santa Clara County v. Southern Pacific Railway: corporations are persons.
• The second? 1976 – Buckley v. Valeo: Money is the equivalent of speech

Let’s start with 1886: Corporations’ rights and protections had always presented difficulties. English common law and in colonial times, too, a corporation was termed an “artificial person” as against “natural persons” like you and I. But these were small matters, for corporations played but a tiny part in the economy of the Confederation. Most were chartered hospitals and colleges. In fact, corporations are not even mentioned in the Constitution.

But in early 19th century, corporations grew more numerous, a peculiarly American phenomenon. (By 1810, there were more corporations chartered in Massachusetts than in England and the Continent combined.) And as they became more prevalent, corporations more frequently posed issues of rights and protections as “artificial persons.”

From the Dartmouth case of 1819 on (which had held that corporate charters were contracts) corporations’ rights, especially as railroads expanded into interstate operations, became an increasingly hot issue. What was a corporation’s status under the constitution vis-à-vis that of governments?

In 1886, Santa Clara County sued the Southern Pacific Railroad – a garden-variety property tax dispute. It was appealed to the Supreme Court. At the opening of the hearing, Chief Justice Waite said “The court does not wish to hear argument on the question whether the provision in the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution, which forbids a State to deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws, applies to these corporations. We are all of the opinion that it does."

The Reporter of the United States, Bancroft Davis, charged with preparing summaries of court decisions, wrote in the headnotes that “The defendant Corporations are persons within the intent of the clause in section 1 of the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States which forbids a State to deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”

Years later, correspondence came to light between Davis and Chief Justice Wait in which they had discussed whether the court had really ruled on whether corporations were persons or merely opined that they were – but, Waite wrote Davis, “I leave it with you to determine whether anything need be said about it in the report inasmuch as we avoided meeting the constitutional question in the decision.” In other words, the Chief Justice left it up to the court reporter to decide.

It should be noted that court reporter Davis had served as a jurist, an Asst. Sect. of State. and -- wait for it -- as President of the New York and Newburgh Railroad.

Thus an otherwise inconsequential case enshrined the idea that corporations are persons.

Consider the inherent, ridiculous inconsistencies:

• Why can’t “person” General Electric vote for the Fairfield, CT. school board, where the “person” is headquartered, or for the New York attorney general, in which state “person” GE is incorporated?
• If “person” GE is owned by shareholders, i.e., other persons, then don’t persons own a person? Isn’t that slavery as prohibited under 13th Amendment?

OK, enough of this nonsense – a corporation to me is an enterprise interested mainly in its survival, not a person.

Ninety years later, 1976, the second shoe dropped. Buckley v. Valeo: money is the equivalent of speech.

The campaign spending restrictions of ’74, passed over President Ford’s veto, was contested by Senator James Buckley and others in a lawsuit against Francis Valeo, Chairman of Federal Election Commission. The majority overturned campaign spending restrictions on First Amendment grounds, ruling that money is the equivalent of speech.

As Justice John Paul Stevens said two weeks ago in his dissent to the Roberts decision: “Money is property; it is not speech.” This (waving bills) is my property; you have your property. These pieces of paper are not speech.


Why do I view these two decisions as a threat to our republic? Because corporations can buy a bigger megaphone than can you or I. They can buy more megaphones; they can buy up all the megaphones.

By 1886, as best I can guesstimate, corporations accounted for something around 1/5th to 1/3rd of our GDP. Today, what might it be? Big corps, small corps, S-corps, LLC’s -- ninety plus percent of GDP going through their hands? And the cash flows they command…?

Last Dec., Jaques (a French-born naturalized US citizen, member of the Club) spoke eloquently about why he chose to emigrate to the US. One of the ideas that moved him was that here, rich and poor alike were treated equally. Well, corporations as persons with cash buying the biggest megaphones knock that ideal into a cocked hat.

What is to stop

• Philip Morris from funding a challenger to defeat Jim McDermott, who believes in stricter regulation of tobacco, thus replacing him with a new Congressman who is beholden to whom – a No. Carolina “person” or to the citizens of Seattle?
• EADS/Airbus and Lockheed Martin spending to defeat Norm Dicks, likely chair of Armed Services Committee, to replace him with a new representative beholden to whom – a European “person” and a California “person” or the voters of Tacoma and the Peninsula?
• Carnival Cruise Lines, a Miami Headquartered / Panama registered company founded and still controlled by a US family from campaigning against Patty Murray over reform of foreign tax havens? Who would her replacement represent – a foreign “person” paying no taxes to the US or the taxpaying citizens of Washington?

Am I being overdramatic? Only slightly. This serious issue deserves careful thought, for while corporate personhood is deeply woven into the fabric of our law, and the First Amendment is the fundamental right of citizens, the effect of these two decisions does imperil out representative form of government.

Solutions will require much more time than I am allotted here to explore and craft. But these three questions deserve our concern. Consider well, gentlemen:

1. Are corporations really persons?
2. Is cash speech or merely property?
3. Who does your representative represent?
   
   

Now Fletch Comes Clean With Ann

Some may recall my saying after our 1st trip to Whistler that we had learned we could take the gondola up and “get down" along the race course saving us having to buy an event ticket and giving us better vantages. Well, since now it’s done and I’m in a foreign country without marital extradition, I can admit that “getting down" is a euphemism for skiing. Yes, this 75 year old body on two artificial knees that haven’t downhilled since ’99 went downhill skiing. It wasn’t pretty….

First, a bit more on Valentine’s Day in Vancouver. There were folks all over offering “Free Hugs”, which were given galore. I even got one. Fun. And then last night we found a Safeway for some more eggs. Frank bought a Starbucks and I picked up a Seattle Times; God, exotic foreign travel is so broadening, isn’t it?

Michele went home today, having hosted for VISA and missing her family for four full days. There is little harder duty – smiling and being helpful from morn to night and never getting away from the guest VIPs, never getting to wander about sampling a venue’s fare. She earned her two tickets – to the opening ceremony and pairs dancing. We on the other hand, have yet to buy a ticket.

We stoked up on eggs, hit the the elaborate but empty highway to Whistler early, geared up, got on the lift and headed up. No warm up – the race was starting, and Bode Miller was off #4. We missed his run by about two hundred metres, but then past us they came. We weren’t allowed to crowd the course as close as at Innsbruck or Calgary, but pretty good views amid the crush of the fans and clanging cowbells. Lots of air on the curve we were on, but hard to shoot. I'll edit and add a pic tomorrow.

The ski legs did not come back as fast as I had hoped. By the time I got a bit rhythm and feel, my thighs were burning and the older knee was telling me that it had had enough; just get me the hell down it said…. I did, but it wasn’t pretty.

Rendezvoused with Frank , who had lifted up again and gone real skiing – he’s an expert – at 3 at the Lake Placid Center. Ate some lunch and wandered the town, listening to live music in squares, enjoying the crowd, watching for athlete stars, and generally savoring the camaraderie. Masses of RCMP’s wandering about with big grins; easiest assignments they have ever had.

Sunny Sunday -- Finally!

A sunny, warm Sunday brought out the Vancouverites in droves! We took the skytrain/subway to Waterfront and walked that wonderful cityscape. Caught Michele briefly before she set off to the ice dancing, courtesy VISA (a $420 seat.)Pin action is negligible; there is no pin trading center as was in Calgary. Wide streets closed off to create pedestrian malls, like Robson and Granville, were packed shoulder to shoulder with joyous families and visitors.

We found the flaming cauldron – which is an anti-climax. It is penned off by chain link fencing in lonely splendor a few hundred feet away from mere fans. In fact, the whole thing -- hauling Gretzke to light it in the bed of a city pick-up, the tin-foily look of the cauldron, the industrial chain link fence, and that awful speech of the chairman – leads Frank to conclude that VanOC is really a collection of ordinary Molson joe six-packs.

But the Canadians love all of it. I got interviewed for Internet Interviews 2010 and made friends through the best hat in Vancouver. We crammed ourselves into a true pub on Robson, a block from the medal award center, and watched the men's moguls with a charming gang of new chums. When Canada finally won their first gold as host country, they simply went wild.

To Our Men's Mogul Pub Pals

Frank' Rebuts....

30 feet of RV =30 feet of stuff. Fletch lies, he has as much stuff as I do; he just can't find it. He has a "vintage" 1988 outfit that he claims has an exact copy somewhere in the world. Keep an eye out for a teal snowsuit. And incidentally, the restaurant is Vij's... his memory is good but somewhat short.

Saturday: All the Whistler Folderol Turns Out to be Just That -- Folderol

The warnings about permits, proof of parking access, RCMP road-block inspections on Sea to Sky highway? Well, it would be funny if it were not for the millions of Loonies spent to make three lanes out of two for about 45 of the 80 km up there. Literally thousands of pylons mounted into the highway to create a reversible center lane – all for naught. There was no traffic – sometimes only one car in a thousand meters of road. And the road-block? Nothing but a cursory glance at the placard pass in the windshield. When we got to our ‘critical’ reserved parking spot, the garage was 1/3rd full.

Yes; men’s d’hill was off. And off again because the course is so slushy that they can’t practice today.

But happily, also no rain. Blue patches of sky peeking through. So, we wandered about enjoying the sparse crowd; a fun crowd – happy, multi-lingual, flag-wrapped fans. Kids and dogs, strollers, skiers, gawkers and hawkers. Though Alpine coaches and athletes are frustrated, they’re willing to sit around the plaza chatting with folks. From the lobby of a hotel where we were freeloading wi-fi, we were treated to the arrival of Joe and Jill Biden. (Now that’s no Ordinary Joe!)

Drove back to Vancouver, took a shower at the Marina Club, and headed out to dinner. You'd think that Vijai's, a popular hot spot that Ann and I loved three years ago, would by know have cooled off, and that at nine o'clock at night, there would be little delay. You'd think? An hour and a half for a table.... We found a lovely little Okanagan-specialty house with great hospitality and wines: Pair Bistro on 10th off Alma.

We will sample Vancouver Sunday and go up again on Monday if the events are really to be run. In the meantime; Valentine's Day without our Anns; Chinese New Year; perhaps hook up in the afternoon with daughter-in-law Michele. So far... super good. Ciao.

Friday Evening: In Vancouver

Sitting in the club room of Jericho Sailing Center; warm, breezy, rain squalls scudding across English Bay. We cleared Blaine in five minutes – no sweat. Frank handled Winnie Bago, the sheet metal mountain, adroitly except for clipping one safety cone – a small blip to remind him he’s a mere mortal.

Not many rigs here yet. And Frank hasn’t pulled out the outrageous cowboy hats again; he says you can’t present yourself as a real RV’er without a modest cowboy hat. Frank has lost his ordinary joe designation – not for going suit but by being over-equipped. His packing is a Parkinson’s Law system – if there is a space in 30 foot Winnie Bago (I know, it’s getting smaller now but I am zeroing in on it.) he will stuff it with gear. Three ski parkas, innumerable ski pants, sweaters galore and enough shoes and boots to turn Imelda green.


Tonight we are hanging out with visitors and local sailing club members to watch the opening ceremony on a big TV. A couple from Butte, the only other State-siders; folks from western slopes of Alberta, Saskatoon, upper BC, lots of very proud Canucks. They are justly proud, applauding each aging Canadian star, standing for “Oh Canada” despite a dreadful rendition – one starchily asked an American to remove their hat – and even applauding VanOC chairman’s maudlin, cliché-packed address (“young role models,” “persistence and dreams,” “youth coming together in name of world peace” and all the other self-congratulatory clap-trap that the IOC brings out in otherwise nice, civic-minded citizens. Thankfully, the fans, host volunteers and athletes make up for all that. And Vancouver topped Beijing by being all the Chinese weren’t – relaxed, sometimes imprecise, faintly amateur and always joyful. The light effects were the best ever.

The tragic death of the Georgian luger raises questions about access to the sliding course given to foreign teams and, more, about the need for a threshold of international experience that should be applied. It was the only down note of the evening.

And now the games are open. Tomorrow? Rain and fog; will the downhill be cancelled?

Heading North! Chapter 2

Those two non-corporate ordinary joes,Frank and Fletch, still without tickets but blooming with optimism, are gearing up for lift-off. Oj Frank, he the driver of that Winnebago sheet metal Queen Mary, has wangled a highway pass that allows us to drive (a car) to Whistler, thus avoiding all that petty bus hassle about no tickets – assuming we have a car and a place to park. Oj Fletch has wiggled himself into five days of a parking spot and will drive his SUV. So two ojs, one in an RV and one in a SUV – how’s that for environmental responsibility? Sen. Imhof would be delighted.

In Whistler? There is snow – plenty of it. And we learn it’s possible to ride the lift up and then get down alongside the downhill and super-G courses; just a lift ticket needed. Better (and cheaper) than scalped SRO tickets around the finish lines. And so the adrenaline builds….

Pin-head Fletch is pumped; he’ll be looking for Squaw Valley team pins, early (i.e., 1932)Lake Placid,maybe some oddball Nagano and Torino team badges. His trading material is at the ready.

Friday is D-Day. Assuming we remember our passports and get our rigs and wine through Blaine,while you all will be comfy on the couch watching opening ceremony close-ups and muting out NBC’s sappy commentary, we two ojs will be milling about in some smokey pub with a bunch of raucous, foreign drunks trying to hear what’s happening on the big screen in the corner --- and having the time of our lives.

Tune in again Saturday.

Innocents abroad at the Vancouver Olympics --1

The Olympic games of yesteryear were once for amateurs and fans. Today's games are for pros and corporations ... sponsors, broadcasters, ticket and tour packagers. For ordinary joes, like my buddy and me, dreams of attending the games are a challenge to realize.

Frank: still downhill racing in his fifties; Fletch: elderly skate skier, winter Olympic pin-head. When way last year we discovered we long shared the goal of getting to Vancouver, ever since separately attending the ’88 Calgary games, Frank as ski bum, Fletch as corporate muckymuck, we decided to make it a team effort.

So last week, ordinary joe Frank and ordinary joe Fletch scouted out Vancouver in prep for our Olympic trip … two US Childe Harolds to the Canadian dark tower came. Does Vancouver Olympic Organizing Committee (VanOC) really hate ordinary joes?

First thing first: lodging. Frank had already arranged loan of a 17' Winnebago and started looking for a parking slot. Well, not in Whistler downhill racer… nothing for non-residents -- not RVs, not vans, not even cars. But found a nice deal on Jericho Beach; no plug-ins but access to marina shower and food services. OK -- except Jericho Beach hunkers down on the south shore of English Bay, three hours from those alpine and Nordic events at Whistler. But it does have a nice view of Vancouver... and a hospitable marina staff and director.

Transport? Not by car, eh? Only public transport. No parking allowed, not at any of the eight venues scattered about the region. And up in ski country? Only Whistler residents will have access to the new multi-lane highway ‘tween Whistler and Vancouver. Busses? Sure, but not too nearby, eh? Shuttle to Skytrain (Vancouver’s neat light rail -- Seattle should be so blessed); Skytrain to waterfront; Seabus (first one at 6:10am) across Burrard Straight to Lonsdale Quay where busses await the lucky for a two-hour ride to Whistler, shorter to Cypress Mountain. But one must have a reservation for that bus and be half an hour early. OK. But hold on, there’s more -- to use that bus reservation, one must show an event ticket for that day at that venue.

Ah, well, yes … that brings us to tickets.

The two arrested-adolescent, ordinary joes (oj’s) had envisioned going without and picking up tix on the fly at venues, at the VanOC offices, on the web last minute – as in past Olympics. After all, those early prices were outrageous, especially for Americansdue to the VanOC's monopoly grant (see http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/olympics/2010276798_olytickets15.html. )Ah, yes, VanOC hates oj’s... especially American ones.

First stop, official ticket office in Robson Square. Everyone in line was turning in an e-mail reservation receipt and picking up tix. We two oj’s were feeling very self-conscious, bare handed and bare faces hanging out. "What’s for sale?" Damn little: women’s curling preliminaries, victory celebration (whatever that is), some early rounds of speed skating high up in the rafters. Corporate sponsors and eager Canucks had scarfed up all the tickets.

What of re-sales? A friendly sort at a visitors’ center pulled up an official re-sale and auction site. Great! We will hit that back home in Seattle, where we have our computers.

Back home: not much available. No alpine, no Nordic, no sledding (sleighing to those north of Peace Arch), no jumping. Some Free style, (which oj Frank had pronounced was not a sport, at which the visitor center suddenly turned chilly.) Things weren't looking so hot to the two innocents abroad.