A little American flag popped up on my computer the other day. I'm not quite sure when this happened, but I'm going to assume the timing was not just coincidental. You see, the Olympics are going on.

It's the easiest thing in the world to be patriotic about the Olympics. Even if they're all hopped up on horse tranquilizers and adrenaline (and yeah, I'm joking about the first part), you wanna root for the U.S.

I had a second-great cousin (or something like that, her great-grandmother was my grandfather's sister--I think that's how it went) on the women's swim team. She won a couple of medals, but no gold. I'd mention her name to people, and they knew who she was. Which was pretty cool. Of course, I had one person say to me, "Well, she's not really related to you."

But she looks like a Heyne, my mom's side of the family. And if she looks like someone related to you, and there's blood involved (even if it's a little down the line), I'm thinking we're related. My retort was, "There are Worleys in Albuquerque I'm not related to at all, and we have the same name."

In fact, a mysterious Worley popped up in the paper this week. There are occasional stories about this guy every few years, because no one has figured out who he really was and where he came from. He died in Vietnam after jumping on a grenade to save the rest of his platoon. I'm not related to him, but he's a hero. I have no idea how you do something like that. But no one knows where he came from. Reports say he grew up in the Farmington area, but the schools have no record of this. He was an orphan, and maybe he just made up a name for himself before going to war.

In a way, he won a posthumous gold.

Before the Olympics started, I hadn't really thought much about watching them. I've had a lot going on lately, and the thought of plopping myself in front of the TV for a night of various sporting events was slightly alien to me. I skipped the opening ceremonies (saw the pictures), but then found myself flipping around to the four or five channels that show the games. Looking for something.

And then I went to Ohio for a few days on business. I kept ending up in the hotel bar drinking a beer with strangers and watching Michael Phelps. He was always swimming. Sometimes it was a medal race, sometimes it was a qualifying one, but he seemed to live in the water. And, he kept winning.

I have this habit of toasting when I drink. Not just before the first sip, but whenever it seems necessary. I've noticed there are a lot of people who don't do this. It's not a prayer or a superstition, it's just an acknowledgment of why we're all sitting around drinking. There's got to be something to celebrate, and a clink makes it all good. I toasted Michael Phelps and the U.S. swim team a few times with people who didn't seem quite so comfortable with the practice. Maybe they didn't feel comfortable clinking with me.

I saw the psych-out of the women's gymnastic team during team play. I heard the next day that one of the trio blamed herself for their collapse (they only got a silver--and only seems a little harsh in this case). In fact, all three did the very same thing in the floor exercise. They all stepped out after their first big run of tumbling. All three. Of course, two of them went on to win individual all-around medals--and nailed their floor exercises. Clink!

Last night during my band's gig (kind of early, and the small crowd wasn't sure if they were ready for us), we had a few technical problems of our own. During the song I sing lead on, the guitar went out. Brandon (who was playing bass on the song--he switches around instruments) and I kept going while Malcolm and Nathan tried to figure out how to get the guitar going again. A team effort. We stuck the landing at the end. Clink!

And that's what a team is about. You all screw up and you all keep going and everyone owns the end result.

Which is why we root for the U.S. even when there are better athletes from other countries. We're not always the winner, but we're together.

And, at the end of it all, we're gonna clink glasses and toast getting through it all.

Matt Worley would go for the gold, but he plays the wrong sports.