A DINING HALL OLYMPIC STYLE

Two young wrestlers, Harold and Lloyd, and their coach, Coach Atlas stand near a huge building, just off the Bow Back Rivers, near Hackney Wick, just beyond the Westfield Shopping Center, Streatham, South London.

Large glass doors stand in front of them.

"Well, gentlemen," say Coach Atlas. "The Olympic Dining Hall.  This is where we eat."

Airplane hanger size, 5,000 chairs, open 24 hours.  25,000 loaves of bread, 230 tons of potatoes, 75,000 liters of milk, 330 tons of fruit and vegetables, all free of charge.  And they deliver, too.

They push through, and...

"Holy Crap," says Harold.  "Look at this place."

"Awesome," says Lloyd.  "This is going to be...Oh man."

"Now... this is a Dining Hall," says Coach Atlas.

Then the three spot the Golden Arches.  Lloyd elbows Harold, and points to the long line.

Coach Atlas rubs his forehead.  "There's a McDonald's here.  You gotta be kidding."

"No, Coach, this is terrific," says Harold.  "A McDonald's.  How can this be bad?"

"Look at all the Coke Machines," says Lloyd.  "There must be...Hundreds.  Place is like three football fields... Pinch me 'cause I've gone to..."

"Hold on, this ain't Heaven.  Before you order anything," says Coach Atlas. "And I mean anything, you call me.  All your orders go through me first.  Understood?"

"But, Coach..." they say in unison.  Then they smile and nod.

"Soft Drinks, Big Macs, Fries.  It's a trick,  guys.  It's the Brits.  They make us eat this, they stay on their diets, and they win Gold.  If they do well, I'll know exactly why.  They've figured out our weakness."  He grinds his teeth.  "Fast Food."

"Hey, there's Michael Phelps,"  says Harold.  "He said he scoffs down 12,000 calories a day when he trains.  He'd have to have a place like this to do it."

"Scarf," says Lloyd. "He Scarfs down, not scoff."

"Scoffs is okay," says Coach Atlas.  "To eat voraciously.  Origin of the word scoff is in fact Scarf."

Both Harold and Lloyd look over at the coach.

"What?" he says. "I also teach English at UCLA, when I'm not keeping you two on the straight an narrow. The only people that I've seen eat close to 12,000 calories are hammer throwers, and they all weigh, minimum, 300 lbs."

"12,000 calories?" says Harold.  "There isn't enough time in a day to eat that much food. I wonder if he has to wait half hour before swimming after eating all that?"

"Yohan Blake, the sprinter, says he eats 16 bananas every day for max Potassium levels."

"If I ate 16 bananas," says Coach Atlas. " I'd be running all right, back and forth to the bathroom."

They all laugh.

 
"If you need me, Coach," says Lloyd. "You'll know where to find me."

"This is a trap, guys," says Coach Atlas.  "This could tip the scales between winning and losing, spend too much time in here.  Promise me ..."

"How about Jake Oliver the British weightlifter," says Lloyd.  "He drinks colostrum, in a shake.  Protein rich milk from cows that have just given birth?"

"Hey, your not supposed to know about that," says Coach Atlas.  "Just the smell of that stuff, turned me off.  Rich in growth hormones.  Stay clear of any of that.  Extract from that stuff is banned."

Harold leans over to Lloyd. "You can get pineapple flavored colostrum in any health food store. Probably get that here, too. "

"Say what?"

"Nothing Coach.  Maybe they have Moringa Oliefera?  Evander Holyfield uses it.  Seven times the Vitamin C as  oranges, thirteen times more vitamin A than spinach, and amino acids, 2,500 times more than green tea and 240 times more than apples.  They must have that here too."

"Hey, how do you two know so much about this muscle stuff?"  He looks at the walls of Coke Machines.  "It takes years of hard work getting here, eating only the right foods, avoiding the crap... and then we get Double Big Mac-ed?"

"We gotta take a look around this place," says Harold.

They slowly walk up the aisle.  Every turn they see large banners, all the different types of national foods.

The Indian booths: Curried rice, pickled cabbage salads, stewed meats, spiced fruit salads, and naan bread with different dressings.

The Chinese section:  Duck, fried rice, stir-fries, spring rolls, dumplings, noodles, orange chicken, beef lo mein.

Italian Banners:  Carbonara, pizza, meatballs, scaloppini, radicchio salad, roasted vegetables, tomato salads, salumi, marinara sauce with pasta.

The American:  Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, ice cream, potato salad, pasta salads, corn on the cob, steak.

They walk through the vast table area, salad bars a hundred feet long, McDonald's in the distance. 

"There should be a separate dining hall for athletes, like colleges do.  Processed foods with high amounts of salt and sugar becomes addictive, the body craves them.  We have to break that cycles and eat as well as we can."

"Coach," says Harold.  "McDonald serves salads, and Oatmeal with Blue Berries, come on. What could be healthier.  Blue Berries is a super food."

"It shouldn't be hard to stay on our diet here, Coach.  Look, it's all delivered free."

Coach Atlas looks at the pamphlet he receives on the way in.

He reads aloud.  "How about, 'A traditional English fry-up for breakfast? How about a chicken curry or some kimchi?  Or would a lamb samosa and some baba ganoush from a halal kitchen be more to your taste?'"

"Look," says Lloyd, pointing to a large green banner.  "You can get roast Welsh lamb shoulder, sea trout with almonds, roasted potatoes, savory puddings, and, of course, fried fish.  With or without chips."

"I see all this...but...Unlimited McDonald's, Unlimited Coke.  This really scares me, guys."

"Coach, it's not the Gold Medal," says Lloyd,  He waves his hands.  "This... This is the true reward.  All the food you want.  And it's free."  They giggle.

The coach looks over. They lose their smiles.

"This is supposed to be for athletes. No chicken nuggets and drink machines.  He points.  "There's hundreds of them?   Big money, McDonald's has stolen the nutritional backbone of our athletes, and..."

"Coach, come on." says Harold.  "Olympics are run on corporate sponsorship.  Visa, McDonald's, Coca Cola, Omega, Samsung, whatever.  Place like this would never exist.  And it sure wouldn't be FREE."

"I'm just concerned...McDonald's sponsoring the Olympics.  It's kinda like a giant drug cartel sponsoring a world wide anti-drug program."

"We're okay with this." says Lloyd.  "We'll stay on schedule.  It's who we are.  Wrestling is our lives.  We know how important this is.  Coach, we aren't going to do anything to screw that up.  Don't worry so much."

"It's too bad everybody in America can't eat like an Olympian." The Coach smiles as he looks around at the vast expanse.

Harold elbows Lloyd again.  "Once we get our Gold Medals, then we'll pig out."

They both smile.

"Say what?" says the Coach.

"Nothing Coach, nothing." says Harold.  "Hey, look, Coach.   Box after box of apples, and bananas,  and look over there..."

The trust Coach Atlas has in the two young men wins him over. He looks at them, looks out at the utter volume of real food, and slowly begins to smile.
.....................

Help comes from:
bonappetit.com/blogsandforums/blogs/badaily/2012/08/olympic-dining-hall-london.html
twincities.com/life/ci_21263587/trends-at-olympic-village-hosts-serve-best-britain
community.ashworthcollege.edu/groups/gourmet-cooking-catering/blog/2012/08/08/whats-the-olympic-dining-hall
hindustantimes.com/Specials/Sports/Olympics2012
Google/Images,  Readabilityformulas.com

MONEY RUNS THE SHOW IN LONDON

My SmartPhone buzzes on the night table.  I open one eye.  2:15 am.
 
 It's somebody who either needs bail, or a designated driver?  If it's somebody who wants me to subscribe to the Times, I'll...

My hand jerks out, and I fall half off the bed.  I slap at it, and catch it in the air.

"Brentwood Belair here.  I'm really strapped for money at the moment, so..."

"Woody, it's me.  Aby.  And do I have a  story for you."

"Well," I say.  "As I live and breathe, Abilene Austin.  KLUK-TV Sports.  But, Aby... Sweety...can't this wait until I've had my morning..."

"Scandal at the Olympics.  Can that wait?"

I lurch up on my elbows.

"Heads will roll about this," she says.  "And I'm giving the story only to you, because...I like you Woody."

"So, how much is this Scandal going to cost me?"

"Nothing.  Like I said, 'cause I like you Woody.  We're buds, right."

"Who is  it, honey?" says Helena.  She rubs my leg.  

"You with somebody?  Who is that with you?  Helena?"

"Well, " I say.  I look over and touch Helena.  "We had some wine, it got late, and I asked her..."

"I'm not real sure what you see in her, anyway."

"She's blond."

Silence.

I swing my feet to the floor.  "Okay, Abilene.  What's going on."

"Nigel...he's  my guy...in London.  He just called me.  His sources have this story about money changing hands with the IOC.  It's scandalous.  I'll do the story first on TV, and you have to wait four hours before you can Blog about it."

"Seems fair.  This Nigel, how credible is he?"

"Honey," says Helena.  "Abilene Austin?  Why is he's calling you...at 2 am?  Woody..."  She pulls at my arm.

"I heard that," says Abilene.  "And yes, it's Nigel.  He might not be blond...but he's credible.  Hey, I can be blond too, you know."

"I like you just the way your are, Aby, you know that."

"You do."

"Aby...2 am...I've been drinking wine..."

"Okay, Nigel has his contacts.  Vice President Biden and his Dragon Tattoos.  Remember?  Nigel had a maid on his payroll at Number One Observatory Circle, where the Vice President lives. He gave me that story back when I was doing TV in Amarillo."

"That story was huge."  I remember.  "Stories like that don't come cheap.  You must have paid a lot for that one, right?"

"Well, we sort of had a history then, and he came to visit..and, well...Hey, I broke the story didn't I?  Woody, you want this Scandal story, or not?"

I smile and touch Helena again.  She is listening to every word.  Her eyes are wide.

"Aby, you're the prettiest sports lady on TV."  I wink at Helena.

"Got that right."  She breaths heavily. "Anyway, the Scandal.  South African swimmer Cameron van der Burgh, who won the gold medal in the 100-meter Breaststroke has admitted to cheating during his winning swim."

"He admitted it?" I say.

"So," she says. "Take away his Gold Medal.  He cheated.  But no.  There is a very short period of time when race results are subject to review. If that time expires, barring a failed drug test, the medal stands."

" Wait?  What? " I say.  "But he confessed?"

"According to the breaststroke rules, swimmers are allowed one "Dolphin" kick under water after they dive into the pool, and another one after each turn.

"Van der Burgh took three extra dolphin kicks during his gold medal swim.  And it was caught on camera.  But Olympic judges aren't allowed to use underwater video."

"So, he got away with it, and gets to keep his medal?"

Helena puts her arm around my middle. "Who gets away with it? " she says.

"Is that...her again?  Tell me again why she's there?"

"I told you, it's her dreamy blond hair.  Now... this Scandal.  It's crazy he keeps his medal."

"This Van der Burgh said he's not willing to sacrifice four years of hard work to somebody else who is willing to do it and get away with it."

"So he's saying they all do it, so it's okay?  Something like traveling in basketball?  They all do it?   Holding in the NFL?"

"I would think faster races would create more excitement," says Aby.  "Heck, the NBC underwater cameras could easily spot illegal kicks."

"Add sharks to the pool.  Now that would get me to watch more swimming." 

"Sharks?" says Helena.  She rubs my back.

"Is she still there?" says Abilene.  "Hey, I can be a blond."

"So, the officials won't make it right, even after the guy tells everyone he cheated?"

"Here's what Nigel says happened.  This guy Van der Burgh was so arrogant,  the USA said it would  challenge his Gold Medal.  So, South Africa, in response, is challenging Trey Hardee.  They say he stepped on a lane line in his 200 meter Decathlon run.  He should have been disqualified.

"So, here's the real Scandal.  Nigel says the IOC sat down with both sides, and took two million pounds from each, in exchange for turning a blind eye to the whole affair.  Everybody wins, it seems."

"Yeah," I say. "Everybody wins but Integrity."

Helena leans on one elbow.  "Hi, Aby," she says.

"Helena says Hi," I say.  "And thanks for the story."

"Yeah, hi...So we good on this?  'Cause I gotta go.  I need to go buy me a bottle of blond."

"You do that, my dear, at 2 :15 am."  I say. "You do that."
 .....................................

Help comes from:
washingtonpost.com/sports/olympics/ashton-eaton-trey-hardee-finish-1-2
/uk.eurosport.yahoo.com/news/van-der-burgh-admits-using-illegal-dolphin-kick-150250668.html
readabilityformulas.com,

DOES GOLD MAKE YOU A STAR?

A High School, USA, two gymnasts, towels wrap around their middles, sit at their lockers.

"Four years from now, I'll be in Rio."

"What?" says the other.  "Harvey...Harvey...Harvey.  You?  In Rio."  He laughs, and looks over. "You're going to join the Army, and see the world, right?  Do we have bases in Brazil?"

"No, Olympics Gymnastic Team."  He twists his combination lock.

"You?" says the other.  "You're crazy.  Olympic Team?"

"Guys get Gold, why not me?"  He snaps open the lock.  "Look, Conway, I'm aware of dedication.  You wait, I'll be a Star."

"An Olympic Star, huh?  Olympic Team not good enough?  You want to be a Star?"

"I can do it. Why not me?"

"Harvey, Star status takes a Gold Medal, minimum.  Even a team Gold is almost impossible.  Your good, but Olympics?"

"I have devised a four year schedule of intense workouts, so I will peak at the precise moment."

"Gotta get on camera as much as you can to be a Star," says Lyle, another gymnast sitting near. "People have to know who you are.  It's a 24/7 commitment, Harvey.  Think you can do it."

"Well, okay, maybe not a Gold Medal, but I'll be on the Team." 

"If you want to be a Star, you'll have to do better than just making the Team.  They're Gold Medalists who aren't stars.  Team Gold doesn't always make you special either.  Who'll remembers the names of the Woman's Gymnastics Team?  They all won Gold." 

"Okay, so it's tough.  I get that." says Harvey.  He opens his locker, and pulls out underwear.

A large young man wearing a Che Guevara T-shirt comes around the lockers. "You, Harvey?  You?  Can't do it alone.  You need agents, trainers, managers, orthopedic surgeons, psychics, whatever.  And they don't come cheap either.  You got a rich uncle?  Financial benefactor?"

Harvey pulls out his pants. "Guess I'll have to it on my own.  Others have done it on their own, I'm sure."

Conway shakes his head, "Don't count on it."  He puts on his socks.

"It's not so much Gold," says Lyle.  "It's who they are, their story, how you feel when you see them.   Lolo Jones came in fourth in the hurdles, but I think she's a Star. 

"I can do that."  says Harvey.  He pulls up his jeans.

"You'll have to get a Life Coach, Harvey." says Conway. "Sorry,  but you gotta sound smart in front of the camera.  I'm being honest here, you want to be a Star.  Boring is death.  Nobody wants to hear canned speech.  Takes more than a medal."

Lyle stands by his locker.  He nods.  "It's true," he says.

"Look at Reese Hoffa.  A star?" says Conway.  He points his SmartPhone at Harvey.  A picture.  "He got a bronze in the shot put, but a star?  A real sincere sounding guy, but..."  He pokes at his phone.  "Do you know who this is?" Again he points his phone.  "Jenn Suhr, pole vaulter. She got Gold and is she a star?  There's a lot more to it."

"A Star?  It's all personality," says Che.  "You're a Star if the TV says you are.  Comes down to personality, and if big corporations think you can sell their stuff.  Gold Medal is a plus for sure, but being an Olympian is more than enough if they like you."

"Make the team first, Harvey " says Conway.

Another gymnast stops and listens.  "Sharapova.  There's a Star.  No Gold Medal, but I'll take her over any of those other Gold Medal types."

An older man with a whistle around his neck, sticks his head around the lockers. "Meeting guys.  Five minutes."

"Hey, coach.  Harvey here wants to Star in the Olympics. The one in Rio."

The coach stops.  He looks at Harvey.  "And...why not?  Eight hours a day in the gym, for four years.  Why not?  I'll be watching on TV."

"What makes an Olympic Star, coach," says Lyle. "Harvey wants to be a Star."

The coach puts his foot on the bench, and leans over.  "A star, huh?   Missy Franklin,  Phelps, Usain Bolt, and those two volleyball girls, the one whose husband catches for the Dodgers."  He rubs his jaw.  "Being a Star is more than Gold.  You have to be recognizable.  That lady who won the skeet shooting?  I don't even know what she looks like, much less her name.  She got Gold.  And the guy who won the steeplechase, doing that dance, after he won Gold.  Legit Stars of the Games?  I don't think so." 

"Why then don't these people hire a voice coach, or an acting coach?" says Conway. "There's so much money to be made after the Olympics.  Dwight Stones, I don't know if he's got Gold, but he's always around when there is a televised track meet."

"Personally, I like the happy, friendly people," says Coach Burnett.  "Not the ones that look so serious.  It's supposed to be a fun time for them. That's why they call them Games.  I get enough serious looks from Administration Types already."  He smiles.  They all smile back.

"I hate watching people that seem...I don't know...unfriendly." says Lyle.   "Usain Bolt.  He's a Star.  A real Star.  Just be like him, Harvey."

"Popularity of the sport, too Coach," says Che.  "Track and Field, Swimming, Gymnastics, all good.  Equestrian, Badminton, Canoeing, not so much.   It's TV exposure.  You see someone so many times they becomes stars?  The announcer says you're great a thousand times, you're great."

"So guys..." says the coach.  "We've got four years to talk about this."

They all stand, close their locker doors, and heft their backpacks.

"Harvey, you want to talk about Rio, my door's always open. Gotta start now.  But...most Olympic Gymnasts started at about six years old."

"I've been doing this since I was about ten."

"Oh my God," says the coach.  He slaps his forehead.  "You didn't start until you were...ten?"  He laughs, and they high five.

"Okay, guys, Meeting." he says.

As the team meanders off toward the meeting room, Coach Burnett leans over to Harvey.  "Harvey, if you're good enough, we'll work on all the other stuff later.  Just stay excited about it.  That's all.  We'll have this discussion again in a year or so. We'll see how you feel about it then."

They walk out together.

"Be an exciting person, " says the coach.  He looks down.   "You know what I mean, a person everybody wants to be around.  That'll get you further in life than your gymnastic career.  Trust me."  Then he says, "But, hey, being an Olympian, well, that won't hurt either."  

OLYMPIC DOPERS BEWARE

"Please.  You got to be kidding me.  You want to do it in a Drive Thru?" asks Stella.

"Sure, babe," says Stanley.  "You said YES.  So.  Why not?"

"I was thinking more, you know, like I'd be wearing a white dress, and well, my sister would be here with champagne, and I'd have somebody to give me away."  She looks out the window.  "Not this?"

The sign on the side of the small building says, 'Welcome to Vegas.  Time 1:05 am. Temp 114 degrees.'

Stanley negotiates the U-Drive, and pulls the F-100 up to the Menu Board.  It gives prices.  Regular, (for the Veteran).  Special, (for the Second or Third Timer).   Deluxe, (for all you Newbies).

Stanley speaks into a plastic Wedding Cake.

"Hey, what's the difference between the regular and the special...you know...besides the price..."

"We throw in flowers." says a tired voice.  "It's a good deal, really."

"We'll take it." says Stanley.

"Flowers?  Hope they're roses, not lilies,"  says Stella.
  
"We gotta get this over with quick, 'cause I gotta catch a plane."

She looks over.  " A what?  You're leaving me...a plane?  What's going on here, Stanley?"

"Stella, honey, I told you.  I'm in the Olympics.  Shot Putter.  I told you, remember?"

"You're a big guy, but I thought it was just a line, to get me in the sack.  After fifteen, sixteen tequila shots, I tend to forget...UMMPH!"

A tremendous jolt shakes them both.  A huge black SUV with shaded windows slams into their rear, rocking the chassis.

Up front another SUV, in reverse, roars backwards toward them.  It skids to within a hair.

"We're trapped. What is going on?" says Stanley.

The Reverend, in pajamas, sticks his head out the 'Pick-Up' Window.  "You seem to be in some trouble, son?  Sure you're not already married?"

Men in black suits, dark glasses, stern faces, jump out of the SUV's, wildly waving badges, Helter-Skelter.

"Mr. Kowalski?  Stanley Kowalski?  Come with us, now,  please."  U.S.A.D.A. on his cap.
 
"He's ours.  We were here first." says the other.  He wares W.A.D. on his cap.  "I got my cup right here."  He waves a Dixie Cup.

"Hey guys," says Stanley. "This is really a bad time.  Can't you see?  I'm getting married here."

"What...is...going...on...Stanley?  This is getting scary.  Tell me you're not mixed up in drugs."  She slaps her forehead.  "I fell for a drug dealer.  This isn't happening."  She opens her door. "I can't do this."   Her breathing is heavy.
 
"Wait.  Stella.  It's a drug check, sweety.  Nothing to worry about.  I'm clean."

 "It was too good to be true. I knew it."  She's out the door.

"Stella.  Steeellllaaaa!"

 "Come on Stan," says W.A.D. "You knew this was coming.  You could be on the operating table, past out drunk, or in a coma.  You get tested.  We have no choice.  You want a clean Olympics, you have to have surprise drug tests.  We had an old marathoner who was ready to be cremated, but we did the test.  Who knew, he could wake up.  You never know."

"Sweetie." Stanley waves to her.  "I gotta go with these guys.  I'm really sorry." He squeezes out the door.  He spots the Reverend in his pajamas.  "Got a bathroom in this place."

He points toward the mountains.  "The Shell Station at the corner.  Hey, you coming back soon, 'cause we got this Sunrise Elvis Theme reception..."

"Official business, Sir," says W.A.D., plastic cup in one hand, badge in the other.  "Unless you want to impede an official investigation."

"Dearly Beloved!  No way I'm going to jail."  He jumps back, palms up.
 
Stella runs off toward the street, chased after by the U.S.A.D.A.

 The W.A.D. suit yells.  "I'll get samples for the both of us.  I'll buy him a beer if he needs it."

U.S.A.D.A. waves, then darts after Stella.   "Ma'am...come back...Mrs. Kowalski...Miss... Mrs.... whatever.  Please stop.  Let me explain."

She stops and turns around.  "What's to explain.  Why do I always fall for losers?"

"Ma'am. You got Stanley all wrong.  He's an Olympian.  A Shot Putter.  We have to test him for performance enhancing drugs, that all.  Human Growth Hormones.  Doping."

"So," says Stella.  "He was telling me the truth.  Guys coming up to me all the time, all kinds of stories, me pole dancing eight times a week, twice on Sunday.  But Stanley..."  She looks toward the far mountains.  "He was different."  She blinks.

"The count down for London started last July.  I'm with the U. S. Anti-Doping Agency.  The other guy is with the World Anti-Doping Agency.  Every potential Olympian has to be in the drug-testing pool for at least one year before the Games.  I did LaBron last week.  They have to strip down right in front of you and you have to watch them...

"Well...we can't have any cheating, now can we?  The credibility of the Olympic Games is at stake.  This is very important."

"So Stanley isn't a scumbag." she says, a smiles on his face.

"Every athlete gives us what's called a Whereabouts.  It tells us where they are.  And an hour window for testing.  We make surprise tests, any day we want.  We have about the same power as a bounty hunter.  Stanley told us he'd be here in Vegas, and he gave us a midnight to one o'clock time for testing. 

"If he misses three tests in an 18 month period, he's suspended from competition for two years.  We don't want that."

"So Stanley's not a drug dealer?"  says Stella, tears in her eyes.

"Last night he told us he might be getting married. He was real good about that."  He laughs. "We surprised one pole vaulter at a hotel in Kansas City, in bed with a hook...er...well.

"We had one guy, a diver.  A surprise exam, so we go to his house, find out he's at the hospital with kidney stones.  You never heard such crazy screaming in your life.  No blood test, had to be Pee."  The man laughs again.  "We let him take the test the next day."

"So Stanley's not going to prison." says Stella, her arms in the air.

"And we keep the samples, whether its Pee or Blood, for eight years.  We're just about finished checking the 2004 Olympics for any problems.  Dopers we didn't have the technology to catch back then.

"Right now we're looking at this 16-year-old woman Chinese swimmer, Ye Shiwen, who swam faster than the male world record holder at the same distance. Very interesting.  It never ends for us."

Then Stella spots Stanley coming around the F-100.

He sees her.

The chaplain, head out the window, "Stanley Kowalski do you take Stella..."

"I do!  I do!"  He runs toward her.

"And do you, Stella..."

"I do!  I do!"  She runs toward him.

They Collide like Fireworks.

The two Doping Officials, snap lids on their plastic Dixie Cups, check their GPS, wave, and screech off after their next assignment.

"So...With the power invested in me by the Great State of Nevada, I pronounce you husband and wife. So...Congratulations.  Please, just pay at the window here.  And remember, cash only.  We don't take checks."
................................

Help comes from:
msnbc.msn.com/id/48438898#.UBneg6Adxdg, readabilityformulas.com,
cnn.com/2012/08/01/sport/olympics-drugs-pound-shiwen/index.html,
i4u.com/2012/08/jonathan-weber/testing, Olympics/WikiPedia, thesaurus.com/