Ö÷²¥´óÐã

Some years ago, on a skiing holiday, my boyfriend of the time stood over me as I slumped, whimpering, on a not very challenging slope, and declared in exasperation, "I can't understand how you can earn your living from sport, and still be so rubbish at it!"

It was not my finest moment. But I'm not just an embarrassment on a ski slope. Get me on skates and I make Bambi on ice look like Katarina Witt.

And yet I was a passionate fan and part time commentator on the ice hockey team while working at Ö÷²¥´óÐã Radio Shropshire in the late '80s (I just never once set foot on the Telford ice rink, for fear that someone might be watching), and I spent a happy few months in 1994 following as they attempted to regain their Olympic ice dance title in Lillehammer.

They were simply gorgeous to watch (we can have the debate about whether they were robbed of the gold medal another time), and it's why I find watching a less satisfactory experience, in a sporting sense, than watching Strictly Come Dancing.

In the latter, there's a reasonable chance that an amateur celebrity, with lots of training and dedication, can be turned into a dancer of almost professional standard. But for them, the floor tends to stay in roughly the same place, which is not the case in the skating show.

As Giles Smith of The Times about ex-East Ender Todd Carty last year, if the programme had been called "Standing on Ice", he would still have found himself struggling to qualify.

It brings home all too clearly the incredible skills involved in becoming a top Winter Olympian.

But maybe it's that possibility that something might go horribly wrong at any time which makes the Games so compelling.

One of the most memorable moments of Torino in 2006 was the final .

It's an event which made its debut in Italy last time out, in which four snowboarders launch out of the starting gates at the top of a slope, and race each other down a twisting course.

Collisions are not uncommon, but four years ago, American Lindsey Jacobellis was so far clear of her rivals, that with the finishing line in sight, she attempted a little show-boating trick - and fell over, to be overtaken by Switzerland's Tanya Frieden. The Ö÷²¥´óÐã commentary from Ed Leigh has become a YouTube classic.

And while you're there, remind yourself of the glory which was the in Salt Lake City, 2002.

Steven Bradbury won Australia's first ever Winter Olympic gold when the four guys in front of him all crashed into each other on the final turn, and left him to cross the line as the winner - the most bemused Olympic champion in history?

I can guarantee that you'll enjoy the full comedy of that great moment even more with the help of legendary Aussie commentators Roy and HG if you go on YouTube.

In Lillehammer in 1994, misfortune befell in both the 500 and 1,000 metres - he'd won demonstration events in Calgary in 1988, but a damaged blade on his skate denied him the chance to take gold in the real thing.

When we went to interview him afterwards, he just shrugged his shoulders in resignation, and said, "Well ... that's short-track!"

In our house ever since, it's become a standard response to any kind of random domestic mishap that should befall us. Just hung out the washing and it pours with rain? Burnt the toast and there's no bread left? Accidentally dropped a bag of flour all over the kitchen floor?

Hey - that's short-track.

I'd like to think that the moments we'll all relish in Vancouver will be the perfect examples of sport at its best - the dream downhill run, the thrilling ice hockey match, the transcendent figure skating routine. But don't feel guilty for glorying in the things that go wrong, too.

After all, where would sports fans be without a bit of Schadenfreude?