On Day 12 of the Games, The Mag's Anne Marie Cruz tries to stay focused on the competition.

Wow, people really do care about the U.S.-Canada rivalry in the 4x100 relay, I thought to myself as the media packed the conference room. Isn't it nice that everyone came out to hear USA Track & Field announce the relay team?

Silly, silly me. Just a whiff of scandal will release the newshounds, and this C.J. Hunter mess offered more than just a whiff. USATF communications director Jill Geer read a statement meant to soothe the hungry press and strongly discourage any further questions on the subject. Now who's being naïve? The next half hour was a tense tapdance, with Jill clinging to "No comment," while men's head coach John Chaplin -- an impatient man in any case -- spat fireballs at the journalists. In the end, we learned nothing new about C.J. and his, ahem, knee problems.

Overheard

"You, I like."

—U.S. men's track coach John Chaplin, to a reporter who asked him a question not involving C.J. Hunter.

On to events viewed through binoculars, rather than microscopes: I got to watch this historic night of track -- the first women's pole vault final, M.J.'s 400 repeat, and Cathy, Cathy, Cathy -- through a pair of high-end Canon Image Stabilizers. Meaning I could watch spectators squirt tomato sauce (that's ketchup to you) all over their "hot dogs" (the outer skin on the Olympic Stadium version is more shiny than a fire engine and more alarmingly plastic than red birthday party balloons) from across the stadium. Through my newfound bionic eyes, I saw Stacy Dragila waiting her turn, doing a pole-vaulting-specific form of sit-ups. Since she was lying behind the bench where her gear was, I could only see her legs and pointed toes, then her arms and head stretching toward the sky, then toes, then head, then toes again, like an upside-down rocking horse. A kids' game gone serious. Ultimately, 4.60-meters serious.

After Stacy's gold-winning vault, I rushed indoors to catch the press conferences. In the mixed zone, Mike Powell (like Jonny Moseley, a little burlier in person than on TV) paced around, looking like he was waiting for someone. A couple of foreign press guys stopped him for a photo. I like to think -- and I'm probably not far off -- that I was one of 10 people in North America who were up at two in the morning back in '91 when Bob Costas called Mike's record-breaking long jump from the world championships in Tokyo.

I stuck my hand out.

"Yeah, I wish I was out there right now," Mike admitted after we got the niceties out of the way. He's here as an ambassador for Olympic Aid. "It was a rough morning for me," he continued. Ah, of course -- the long jump prelims. "I knew it was going to upset me, so that's why I came. But after I got it out of my system," -- here, he put on a slightly cartoonish sad face, wiping now imaginary tears away with his fists -- "I'm fine now."

Mike was hoping (but not hopeful) to grab Cathy Freeman as she walked past the gauntlet of gamey journalists. He and Cathy became friends seven years ago during a meet. "I'm happy for her. I used to come down here to compete, when no other Americans would. I was friends with her ex-boyfriend, too."

Nick Bideau? I wondered. Didn't get a chance to ask.