On Friday morning, the Olympic torch relay moved through Stanley Park and into the crowded West End, nearing its final destination of BC Place. 

Vancouver police got their first taste of trouble. One of their own arrived for Games detail with alcohol on his breath. He blew under the legal limit. He was relieved from his Olympic duties nonetheless. 

There soon was word that protesters had interrupted the relay in the Downtown Eastside, protest central. This was trifling compared to what came next. A terrible crash in Whistler. An athlete's death. Complete shock. Outside a downtown conference centre, standing in the ever-present Games ticket line, a woman wept.

Inside, B.C. Premier Gordon Campbell began an environment-themed discussion with California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, Washington state Governor Christina Gregoire and Oregon Secretary of State Kate Brown. The politicians must have known about the luge accident, but not a word about it was said; the conference was tightly scripted and reporters had no time to ask. The Premier earnestly described the group's Pacific Coast Initiative. Gov. Schwarzenegger spoke fancifully of linking San Diego and Vancouver with high-speed rail. Handshakes and grins. This was supposed to have been a noteworthy occasion, and the prelude to wild festivities. But for many of us, the day's somber tone had set. 

The Premier's office issued a statement of condolence afterwards, to the family of Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritashvili. Back outside, into the packed Robson Square. Families dressed in freshly purchased 2010 garb skated merrily around the square's skating rink. 

Two blocks north, on a plaza outside the Vancouver Art Gallery, protesters gathered in disparate groups: pro-marijuana activists pushed their cannabis agendas; anti-freeway expansionists heckled passing traffic; comrades from the Seattle Anti-Imperialist Committee distributed incendiary leaflets.

By 2:30 p.m., the number of protesters had multiplied five fold. An RCMP helicopter began to circle overhead. As if on cue, a small cluster of pro-Games people arrived. They pushed their way into the centre of the plaza and started shouting: "They say protest, I say party!" Within seconds they were surrounded, their chants drowned out by what in this city is a far more familiar refrain: "No Olympics on Stolen Native Land."

Accusing fingers were pointed. The Games lovers called a quick retreat to the plaza's northeast corner, away from protest-central. But they were followed and at least one minor scuffle ensued. At three o'clock, the pro-Games folk splintered. 

The protest crowd grew larger, their numbers in the low thousands. Some began to sing and dance. "We live in a police state," a woman shouted into her megaphone. The police continued keeping the peace. Any trouble now would not be unexpected. A band began to play, and a march formed, destination BC Place. But by 7 p.m., the demonstrations began to fizzle out.