There is a malady that has taken hold here of many members of the news media, which we have named the Olympic Fatigue Syndrome.

The symptoms: bleary eyes, interrupted thought process, forgetfulness and more frequent calls to loved ones back home. In the case of men, the illness is also often accompanied by several days beard growth.

For the last 16 days of the Games, we have all been starting early and finishing late. Days filled with competitions, controversies and chasing stories have even taken their toll. One of my officemates from National Public Radio has actually pulled three all-nighters.

I had an invitation to my first Olympic Party last night, the much-coveted Sports Illustrated party where all the athletes congregate.

I was just too exhausted to go. It started at 10:30pm. I was still at work. Then came the big choice.

Party? Or Sleep?

I chose sleep. I still had to get through another day.

It’s funny what a good night’s sleep will do, and today dawned a new day for us all. It is our final day of the Games of the 28th Olympiad and there is a distinct change in the atmosphere. Smiles are back on the faces of the people in the halls. Energy that was waning seems somehow renewed with the end in sight.

The usually bustling security checkpoint at the Main Press Center was today deserted at 8:30 a.m. when I arrived, as people pace themselves for tonight’s closing ceremony.

For all the apprehension we had at the beginning, things have gone well and have been remarkably easy for us. The transportation functioned well, information was easy to get, and the venues – although many were built hastily and at the last minute – were beautiful.

The thing I have missed most is that sort of celebration fever that usually takes over an Olympic city where everyone gets excited about the Games. It just didn’t happen here.

About five nights ago, I wrapped up early enough to get away from the Olympic complex and go downtown Athens. The place had finally started picking up. I even ran into Australian swimmers Sarah Ryan, Alice Mills and Leisel Jones roaming around near the Acropolis.

Competition is over for most of the athletes, and they can finally enjoy themselves. Tonight will be that time for me. Rumor has it, there could be a ticket to closing ceremonies with my name on it.

Packing began yesterday with solid fervor and office floors throughout the Main Press Center were filled with stacks of this and that as people sort through what would be shipped home, what would be given away and what would be thrown away.

Volunteers are going home with armloads of gifts from the companies they have been working with. People are finally taking down those pictures of their families and pets which have been tacked to office walls or posted on refrigerators.

In the ultimate example of high-tech homesickness, I spied one guy with a webcam on his laptop, roaming the halls using wireless Internet and explaining to his young daughter that this was where he had been for the last three weeks. She wanted to know when he would be home.

Soon, very soon.

It’s one thing to be in Athens during the Olympics. It’s another to actually see an event in person.

Contrary to popular belief, every journalist here does not actually get to witness the competitions first hand. In fact, for some, the only view they have of the stadium or arenas is from the roof of the Main Press Center.

Seeing an event, while physically sitting in the stands is sort of icing on the cake for many reporters. Who has time to make the journey and fight the crowds?

We have deadlines to meet.

Most of us see the sporting events themselves from large and small screen televisions in a building about a quarter mile from the nearest venue.

There are 28 sports included in the Olympic Games, covering 37 disciplines. A total of 301 medal ceremonies taking place, with a total of 2,983 medals being awarded.

That’s a lot of events over the 16-day period.

But, many of us are here to cover not the actual results, but the stories around them. These are the personal stories of the athletes and the people involved; the stories about the business of the Olympics themselves, and the so-called “color” or scene setting stories.

Those stories require a little more set up work, making of phone calls, doing interviews, chasing down rumors. Things you can’t always do at a stadium or sporting hall.

The MPC is a 24 operation and any given hour of the day, you can find reporters from around the world filing stories.

Since the game schedule starts early in the morning and goes late, some people are putting in some horrendous hours.

To make things a bit easier on us, the Athens Organizing Committee provides support staff to help – including managing the daily data flood. Schedules, results, biographies of athletes, and just about any statistic imaginable are available through a computer system.

There are terminals set up throughout the building and in the main media workroom, as well as in the workrooms at the various venues, so whatever information you need is at your fingertips when you need it.

And there is a small, invaluable army of volunteers who do a loop throughout the building delivering results from an event almost as soon as it is over.

For those who don’t have an office, there is an entire wall of cubbyholes in the Press room where the results are available to be picked up.

Of course there are food operations to keep us fed, but there are also a few other little amenities.

The MPC has a bank, a travel agency, a small store for incidentals, and a post office.

Best of all? Massages.

Yes, you read correctly.

A local massage group has set up in one of the lobbies, and provides free 15-minute sessions to those suffering from Olympic-sized stress or from carrying tons of equipment back and forth.

About the only things missing from the MPC are a laundry service and beds, although some people have brought sleeping bags, and some couches can be transformed, as needed.

And as the days go on, believe me, they are needed.

You've seen them on TV, you've read the quotes that come from them, but attending an Olympic News Conference is a gold medal event in and of itself.

First of all, you need a ticket to get in.

Ok, well not a real ticket, but if the presser (that’s media speak) is at an Olympic Venue, which 99.99 percent of them are, you have to have an official media accreditation to get in.

As with any scheduled event, you must go through the equivalent of a ticket taker to gain entry to the building. A security person scans you, checks your badge, and makes sure you are legit before you enter.

Then you make your way to the assigned venue, and take your seats in the stands while the photographers jockey for the best position to catch the athletes.

There are big venues and small venues, like this one where some 500 media types surrounded the Australian swim team.

You can watch from up close, or from far away.

Some pressers are well attended, others are not.

Early on in the Games, it seemed everyone was trying to get on the schedule to get some publicity. The various conference rooms were booked back to back with a plethora of organizing committees, sports teams, or government officials.

Now, they’ve slacked off to largely the daily briefing, and the trotting out of various medalists to meet the press.

I attended one of the early sessions for the US swimmers, including the much-touted medal winner Michael Phelps, and plunked myself down in a front row seat.

While we waited, I saw the manager walk down the line of the empty tables and check all the water bottles to make sure their seals had not been broken.

The volunteer who had just placed them there was a bit offended and whispered, “They are all new.”

To which the coach replied, “I’m sorry, it’s my job to make sure that they are.”

In the wake of all the brouhaha over athletes taking performance drugs, she was making sure that no one pulled a fast one on her team and tampered with their water. I wouldn’t have even though of such a thing, but she obviously had, just in case someone else had thought of it as well.

I was feeling quite comfortable in my big ticket seat, and just about the time I’d settled in for my view of the spectacle, the doors opened and the photographers stampeded in.

The photogs who cover news conferences are not usually the same ones who cover the actual sporting event, but that doesn’t mean a presser is less competitive.

As they descended upon the stage, I was crushed by the hoard. Their cameras were bigger, they won.

I took my few happy snaps, and the headed to the safety of the cheap seats.

At the next Olympics, I’ll start training earlier for the photo competition.

Today’s the Big Day. The Opening Ceremony of the Athens 2004 Olympic Games and the excitement around Athens and the Main Press Center has ratcheted up a few notches. It’s a Greek National Holiday (so is the day of Closing), so the streets were pretty deserted this morning as we made our way into the city.

But once inside our building, this place is buzzing with activity.

In addition to newsgathering, people are busy laying plans for viewing and possible attendance of the “Big Event.” But the reality is most of us will be in our little cubbyholes at the MPC working away while others enjoy the spectacle.

For those who missed yesterday’s blog, MPC means “Main Press Center” and working around here is an exercise in acronyms: Next door to the MPC is the IBC run by the AOB and overseen by ATHOC who answers to the IOC. And both are located next to OAKA. Got that?

OK, to help sort out the alphabet maze, the IBC is International Broadcasting Center, AOB is Athens Olympic Broadcasters, ATHOC – Athens Organizing Committee and IOC – International Organizing Committee. OAKA is actually Greek but means “Athens Olympic Sports Complex.”

Today is a day that the NOCs (or National Organizing Committees) are popular because they are the keepers of free media tickets for the journalists from their country. There has been much jockeying for position over at our NOC, the USOC.

Each credential-holder here also has a letter on their ID. For example, “OBS” means observer, “E” is written press, “EP” is photographer, “Rtb” means Rights Holding Broadcaster. My credential is “Ec”, meaning I’m part of the support staff at the MPC.

Our group has snagged a coveted Opening Ceremony ticket and Anthony Stavrinos, a co-worker, will have the honor of being able to see it in person. It’s a reward because he had been at the forefront of the early competition among members of the media to ferret out particulars of the actual ceremony.

It was all very cloak-and-dagger sort of stuff, with phone whispers and late-night visits to our favorite souvlaki stand for clandestine meetings with ceremony participants to ply them with gyros and honey-yogurt desserts to try and get them to talk.

Most stood firm on their vows of secrecy. But Anthony, being Greek- Aussie and adept at the language, worked his sources to find out that the opening ceremony begins with the stadium flooded with water and dancers emerging from the pseudo-Mediterranean Sea.

Of course Tuesday’s dress rehearsal pretty much gave away most of the mystery, and there was broad agreement that it was an amazing combination of technology and artistry. But there are still a few bits of mystery that have yet to be answered, such as just what the caldron looks like and who will light it.

The big news today was the Greek runner Konstantinos Kederis, who was rumored to be the 'anointed one,' is caught up in a controversy over whether he may have used performance-enhancing drugs. The story now is that he was hospitalized this morning after a motorcycle accident which removes him from the Games.

Members of the media who thought they had the whole “Big Finish” figured out are now all in a tizzy about who the replacement will be. The Athens Organizing Committee is just as secretive about their plan “B” as they were about their plan “A” so most people are resigned to just having to wait at this point.

Besides, after tonight, it’s all about the Games and the watching of the Games, so “Let the Games Begin!” Or, if you prefer, “Xekinane I Agones!”

For all of the nay-sayers (and I was one of them) who said it couldn’t be done, well guess what? The Olympics are here and it looks like Athens is ready. I wouldn’t necessarily lean heavily on any of the walls, but it sure looks good.
I’ve been in Greece for four weeks now, and have watched an amazing transformation. When once there was dirt, there is grass. Where there was once a pile of trash, there are trees and flowers.
It’s like the landscaping fairies come out at night and sprinkle the ground with colorful things.
It’s like Christmas every morning. You don’t know what you’ll find beneath the Olympic Rings today.
The streets have gone from relatively deserted, dusty stretches of asphalt to newly-painted stretches, adorned with colorful Olympic banners, teeming with journalists, clamoring to get that one picture angle of the Acropolis that has not been taken or the one story that has not been told.
My home away from home these days is something we fondly call the MPC – the Main Press Center.

(Last night the shade fairies came and put up tents outside the MPC so you didn't have to stand in the sun to go through the security check.)
The complex is right next to the main Olympic sporting complex where the stadium is located, and consists of a labyrinth of floors and halls spread out over three buildings. It houses more than 5,000 journalists from around the world.

Some have offices.
Some have not.
ALL have deadlines and any given hour there is a press conference somewhere on some floor; the importance of which can be gauged by the throngs in the hallways, looking at the maps on the wall with dazed and confused expressions on their faces.
It’s a little funny to see someone from Japan, trying to ask someone from Brazil where to go, being interrupted by someone from Spain and their common language is actually English.
Greek, is well, Greek to us. And unfortunately for many of the volunteers, English is Greek to them.
It’s a good thing most of us arrived early, because it was not unusual in the early days to walk up to the Transportation Desk and ask something easy like "When does the next bus to Syntagma Square leave?", only to be met with a blank stare, followed by a look of panic, a shy smile and a motion of “one moment please,” while they hurriedly dialed a phone number and handed you the receiver to speak with someone else.
In fact, even the signs are a bit challenged at times. On the back roads of the OAKA, the main Olympic area, where buses drop off volunteers, athletes and journalists, there is a bright orange directional sign, pointing all to the “DOPPING Center.”
Mention it to anyone at the Organizing Committee and they just smile sheepishly and shrug.
What? It’s enough that we have the Doping Center, you also expect the name to be spelled correctly? You ARE demanding, aren’t you?
A detail like that just doesn’t seem to matter anymore. We’re on the eve of the Athens Olympics and as far as most Greeks are concerned, “Ola ine kala.”
All is good.