Breakfast At Isabella's

Every morning Isabella waits for me at breakfast, lurking behind the counter, eyeing my tray very carefully.

Runny, yet quite satisfying scrambled eggs. Three slabs of incomparable Italian bacon, cut so close to the bone you have to remove the gristle sometimes. Swiss muesli cereal with canned peaches on top. A chocolate brioche. A marmalade brioche. A plain brioche to take to work to put cheese and salami on later. Two glasses of fresh-squeezed blood orange juice. A cup of mud-thick coffee with three sugars. Mixed-berry yogurt and tangerines for the bus. Little cheese packets. Sometimes a bowl of Cocoa Krispies . Maybe some Nutella on a piece of wheat toast, just to make sure the blood sugar is up.

"You eat too much today," Isabella says. "You need to eat less and much slower."

Isabella is the manager of the Verolengo Media Village cafeteria and bar.

Twenty days running, Isabella mothers me in hopes that I will leave food for the rest of the world's sporting media. Twenty days running, she checks my tray.

After one particular breakfast binge, she finally confronted me.

"Can do me favor before you come tomorrow?" Isabella asked the other day.

"Sure," I said, wiping that succulent bacon grease from my lips, mashing the plain brioche down into my jacket pocket.

"Eat. Eat before you come. My budget . . . it's no good with you."

-- Mike Wise

Blue Cheer

They must be tired by now. Tired not only physically, but of pulling on their white skirts, their orange, yellow and gold tops, their orange -- and yes, you're about to read this correctly -- leg warmers.

And the songs. The songs! The same ones over and over, from bad versions of Harold Faltermeyer's "Axel F" (come on, you remember, from "Beverly Hills Cop") to the tired, tired Spin Doctors.

They are the Olympic cheerleaders. What, you haven't heard? Yes, there are cheerleaders here, standing in the aisles at many of the events when there's something to cheer about (or, alternately, when music blares over the public address system), sitting when there's actually action in the arena.

The cheerleaders, most of whom appear to be high school age or younger, are at each hockey game, and as the tournament has worn on, they've grown less and less enthusiastic about their task. Sure, they still get up when they hear a song, but their moves lack the crispness, the enthusiasm, from earlier in the Games.

Friday night, during a break in the Finland-Russia game, a recorded voice screamed through the Olympic Sports Center, "Put yer haaaands together!"

The cheerleaders lifted themselves off the stairs. They stood up. Somehow, they managed to put their hands together.

They have one more game to go, the gold medal match today, the 58th hockey game -- men's and women's -- in the Olympics. Here's hoping they make it.

-- Barry Svrluga

Buckles of Waistband?

Everyone connected with the Winter Olympics -- whether spectator, journalist, judge or volunteer -- must pass through a metal detector before entering a competition venue. And, just like before boarding a flight, each person's belongings are run through X-ray machines. Anything that sets off an alarm is inspected or scanned by the vigilant Italian police.

In an effort to cut down the waiting time, items that are prohibited from Olympic venues are listed on giant signs out front, printed in Italian, French and English, more or less. The sign at Sestriere Colle, host of Alpine skiing's slalom and giant slalom, lists the following as prohibited: "Glass; bottles; cans; lighters; big buckles of waistband; and knives and any object that can disturb the regular develop of the event."

-- Liz Clarke