The sun is shining first thing. At least that's an improvement on what - Annalise Murphy's exploits aside - felt like a drizzly scutter of a day on Wednesday.
So it's off to Lagoa we go again, mostly just hoping we get some rowing today and sure if there's a place in a final for either Irish crew - all the better. Redemption, it turns out, is shot through today. Whether on the arm and actions of Stephen Donnelly (more of which anon), or Christ the Redeemer perched high behind us at the gorgeous Rowing venue.
There's a slight note of optimism in the air, though none of us hacks want to openly admit it. But as the boat of Sinead Lynch and Claire Lambe enters the final 500m of their semi final, that optimism is well-founded. Sam Lynch - Sinead's husband - is to my left and roars them home. There's a tiny Irish contingent here today, but by god Sam's making sure they're heard. Third for Lambe & Lynch, and we'll be back tomorrow for a final.
Make that two. Paul & Gary O'Donovan hold off the Great Britain crew for another fast third and another final appearance for an Irish boat tomorrow. Suddenly the thoughts of referee's warnings, bruised faces and battered Olympic hopes of Riocentro are cast aside. "Jaysus, we've never won a rowing medal"... "When was our last final, 04 was it?". The stature of these achievements are discovered as we slap on the sun cream. A good day this, already.
Both crews impress in their post-race interviews (they'd want to after making us wait over an hour). Lynch and Lambe are a perfect blend of youth and experience. Of assured nature, graciousness and confidence. The O'Donovans? Pure West Cork. "Schpiralin' on the interweb, getting arms full of Oakley sunglasses".... these lads may be playing up to a shtick at this stage, but it's working. They'll do well tomorrow.
Such was the wait for the chats, we were now running late for Steven Donnelly's last-16 fight. With media buses in short supply, I suggest to Shane McGrath that we split an Uber. All going OK, but we watch the estimated time of arrival creep up and creep up and creep up until boom.
We're reminded that Rio is the world capital of pointless road closures. We double back, go around the short roads and eventually have to hop out of a still moving car (he got paid, fret not) to literally run to Pavilion 6. We arrive just as Donnelly is stepping through the ropes. He exacts his game plan perfectly. Sure. it was close at times, but this was the kind of thing we'd become used to from Irish fighters. Afterwards, broad smiles and a sense that the clouds were maybe lifting from Irish boxing. For now, anyway.
Jonathan Healy wants to talk to me, of course buoyed by the prominence of Cork in the day. Then a chat with Ger, and then my evening's free.
We scab tickets to the Women's Gymnastics All-Around final (because even us smelly journos need to scab tickets sometimes here). Turns out to be an excellent call. To be in the same hall as Simone Biles and Aly Raisman as they perform their floor exercises is a treat.
My friend Emma asks if she's watching CGI back home. These people are rubbery magicians, spring-loaded contortionists. Plainly, just a joy to watch.
To borrow a line from the great Bard, Mr. Ice Cube, it was a good day.
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