The sad inevitability of my mission looms large. Now I know how those brave boys felt as they prepared to storm the beach at St. Tropez. I'm suffering privation as they did...Forced to travel "Business Premium" - whatever THAT is. And only three catered meals a day.

As I gird my loins for Olympic battle, I'm reminded of something Groucho Marx said:

"Hello, I must be going".

The clock is ticking...what have I done?

The paperwork is flyin' now...and still days 'till departure for Italia. They've even provided us with a laminated package of phonetic Italian phrases , like "Sorry I puked on your daughter, Madam."

Dorothy, we're not in Kansas anymore.