We spent the weekend in Montreal over Memorial Day. And of course we had to drive out of town to go see the Olympic Stadium.

And this thing has taken over my life.

So intriguing. Fascinating! From a month, 36 years hence, hulking on the Montreal horizon, a beacon to hope and the global community and at the exact same time a sign of failure and what might've been. Breaking down, slowly, in the Canadian winters. A roof that never worked. A tower that wasn't completed until 8 years after the games had left town.



I've been reading about it and searching images of it and can't get it out of my head.



Visiting was like seeing Blade Runner in the flesh. A Mad Maxian world of concrete being taken back by plant life. Paint abandoning hope, falling onto shape fields from the world of tomorrow that now cracks thanks to the past.

Marianna loves the Olympics. I remember watching them all through our wedding weekend four years ago. Bars filled with revelry. Flat screen tvs all through Chapel Hill tuned to China. Her counting medals and events and loving every second.



Our house will be filled, come a few weeks, with the cheers and the anthems of far off lands. And the tears and the stories of redemption and hope and failure and breakdown.

I guess, in that way, Montreal's stadium is an extension of the sport: lots of potential, a world stage, partial glory. And despite the choke, still living on. A legend far bigger than it's time.