My recent travels to San Francisco coincided with the sole stop of the Olympic torch on US soil. An avid watcher of the Olympic Games since my early youth, a childlike smile came across my face when I discovered the scheduled torch route would pass a mere four blocks from my office building on Market Street. Perfect; I was going to see the flame, the very spirit of the Games.

The migration of event supporters, journalists, and protesters to the bay area filled the city’s hotels to capacity forcing me to spend a week at Fisherman’s Wharf. That morning, the normally quiet taxi ride alone the Embarcadero bustled with the influx of news vans and camera crews. All were up early to capture or rather "create" the news for the day.

After the major protests earlier that week in London and Paris, concerns existed –about what might transpire in San Francisco. With the city’s significant Chinese-American population, it had originally been a logical location for the touch route. However in hindsight, the city’s protest-friendly reputation suddenly made the organizers nervous.

My cab driver for the morning commute, the stereotypical San Fran cab driver with a long-haired pony tail and still searching for the "girls with the flowers in their hair," nonchalantly started the conversation.

"They’ll be blocking off the streets today."

My cabbie first protested the red scare McCarthyism ‘lists’ as a teenager and described how fire hoses washed him from the steps of City Hall many times over in the last 50 plus years.

Wow, it prompted me to ask, "How many protests have you taken part in?"

"Can’t even count, but I am surprised there haven’t been more about the Iraq war."

My interest opened the flood gates. The driver started offering his opinions on a Free Tibet and the rumors about a change in the torch route later that day to evade the hordes of protesters. You eventually learn no cab driver in San Francisco is short on opinion and normally that makes the ride quite entertaining. This morning - ten minutes well spent.

Time passed and my late lunch date with Olympic torch arrived as I made my way towards the Ferry Building and into the frenzy. The stage was set. Many came to protest, but passion, pride, and patriotism dominated. The largely Chinese crowd waved the red and yellow flag of the People’s Republic along side the Stars and Stripes. Dragons paraded the sidewalk as a few others marched for peace and human rights and a free Tibet.

But we all watched as a Olympic propaganda played out on the large screens, displaying past Olympic triumphs and the journey of the torch through past Olympic city sites. Everyone also enjoyed the traditionally-dressed Chinese performers who captivated the crowd with sensuous song and a sensational artistry of dance.

Anticipation and emotion came across the crowd not unlike a wave of fog rolling across the city when monitors displayed the flame’s arrival at AT&T Park to start its six mile journey through the city.

But only minutes after the flame appeared on screen, the route changed dramatically and the torch bearer disappeared under a highway. Then it vanished from screen and the monitor turned off. The original anticipation transformed into disbelief. Where was the torch? Would we see Olympic glory?

No we would not.

Mayor Gavin Newsom later told The Associated Press that the well choreographed fake-out was prompted by the size and behavior of the crowds amassing outside AT&T Park. No one wanted protesting to disrupt peace, but many wanted to see the torch, hear the cheers, be part of a relay that touches all worlds’ continents, touches all the world’s cultures and touches the hearts of millions.

Disappointment spread through the crowd as the flame never returned to the screen or to the planned route. Many were just dumbfounded, and started the walk back to their offices, the Bart station or their tour buses. Their once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the Olympic torch - lost.

For me, I walked back up Market Street and took notice of a young kid no more than 5 years old. The child, unable to fully grasp the actions of the day, will always tell the tale of being there but not seeing the torch, not being touched by the warmth of the Olympic spirit, but rather burned by the red tape of politics.

The early morning cab ride flashed back and I realized those morning rumors became fact. San Francisco relay organizers chose to shorten and change the route. The protest capital of America ran scared from its own heritage and history. Again, Government shortchanged the public for its "greater good." That lunch break left an awful taste in my mouth and it had nothing to do with the food I ate. (Chinese of course.)

And as the Games draw closer and the American election heats up, opinions will be formed about whether to attend the Olympics in Beijing. Pressures will mount in Washington to press China for greater transparency and human rights.

But I ask you - Do you really think boycotting the Olympics will free Tibet? Did two wrongs ever make a right?

I am not saying do nothing. Concerns exist and actions must be taken, but that need exists every day of the year, not because of an Olympic sized agenda.

Every four years the world comes together in the spirit of competition, the spirit of hope, and the spirit of humanity. I look forward to the August Sunday when I’m sitting on the couch just back from a surf session to settle in for the start of the Games. I can’t wait to revel in the stories of athletes overcoming odds to compete on a world stage. I will be rooting for them regardless of their nationality, regardless of the flag that stands behind them. In my mind they are not American, not Chinese, not Russian, not French but a fellow human. To me, that alone is enough to keep the torch lit.