Cheek: Yeah, baby.

I think I may have found my Winter von den Hoogenbad in American speed skater Joey Cheek. In last night's qualifying race of some non-short track variety, he raced his little heart out and came in well ahead of the nearest qualifier. After crossing the finish line he looked up to the board, and apparently couldn't find his score. When he did--a whopping doozy of a score, apparently, but since I know nothing of these things you'll have to trust me while I trust the commentators--he just kind of laughed. No fist pumping, no theatrics, no crazy-man yelling. Just an "aw shucks" laugh.

But the best was yet to be. Joey went on to win the gold, handily, and in a similarly under-ostentatious kind of way. Then he went to the medal winner's press conference, where he announced he's donating his winning money ($25,000 from the US Olympic Committee) to refugees from Dafur. To an organization set up by the best speedskater from a couple Games ago, Johann Olaf Koss. Awww! Johann Olaf Koss is the boss. Cheek told reporters "I know you want to write about happy American gold medal with hearts and flowers and butterflies, but I've got a pretty rare opportunity at a microphone like this, so I'm going to talk about death." Take that, Kostas! He pointed out that "my government" has labeled this a genocide, but it's still gotten little attention. He'll donate any other money he wins, too. He gently but pointedly suggested he'd be asking Olympic sponsors to match his donations. (Nike has already said they're in.)

He's adorable and appears to be not macho insane-o and he's awesome and humanitarian. To that, I say: You, Joey Cheek, are a champion. You win the gold medal of my devotion. Huzzah!

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In other news: Our vice president shot somebody? In the face? Who then had a heart attack? Eh. I'm sure nobody'll notice.

I particularly like that (a) the VP has time to relax away from the pressures of running a war, specifically by taking up arms. Now in his next surprise visit to Iraq, he can really relate to the soldiers. Thank god quail are piss-poor with improvised explosives. (B) that after getting Whittington to the hospital, the rest of the gang sat down to a nice dinner. Why mess with reporters when there's all that fresh meat to eat?