Small Wonders:

“Imagine Miley Cyrus, the Jonas Brothers and everyone from the Disney Channel competing against iCarly, SpongeBob and everyone from Nickelodeon in a series of contests to see who’s the best. Things like the Over-Synthesized Lip Synch, the Wacky Spit-Take and the Caught-in-Awkward-Position-by-Parents Sprint. You hope your favorite wins, but it’s not so much about that as the fact that they all got together and even support each other; while winning is good, representing your channel and doing your best is what really matters.”

No, this is not a pitch for “Battle of the Adolescent Network Stars.” This is how one explains the Olympics to an 8-year-old girl.

As we watched the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics last week, I tried not to compare it to the 2008 Beijing opening ceremony. This was made a little easier by reading recently that China’s centerpiece “Bird’s Nest” stadium is now a semi-abandoned money pit. Excess can be beautiful in the moment, but what are you left with when the crowds go home? An empty nest (sorry, couldn’t resist).

Thankfully, Bob Costas hit it on the head during the Vancouver telecast, saying that a host country can’t try to compare with the last Olympics; they have to do what is right and best to represent their own country and its unique glories. Apparently indigenous tribes, technical glitches and Donald Sutherland represent Canada.

I hear they were handing out affordable prescription medication in the stands too. But other than the glassy stares and smiles on people’s faces, I can’t confirm that.

“What’s that?” Thing 1 asked as we watched skaters, dancers and a violinist in a canoe perform an homage to our northern neighbor.

“That’s a maple leaf,” I tell her, describing the swirling symbol cast in light upon the stadium floor.

“Canadians worship a maple leaf?”

“No. That’s just the symbol on their flag. They worship cheap beer and Wayne Gretzky.”

Normally I’m not a big fan of watching sports with the kids. Too many questions. “Why did he spit like that, Daddy?” “Why does he touch himself there, Daddy?” “Why’d Torre go with a slumping, steroid-jonesing Manny Ramirez in the playoffs when Juan Pierre was bottled lightning all season, Daddy?” All questions I can’t answer.