It was everything the event was not supposed to be. The Olympics should embody sportsmanship and fair play. Taekwondo is about discipline and civility in a fight.

Unfortunately Cuba's Angel Vaoldia Matos forgot about both in the heat of his bronze medal bout.

Matos was leading 3-2 against Kazakhstan's Arman Chilmanov when he slumped to the floor rubbing his leg. When he was disqualified for exceeding a minute's injury time, his coach rushed on to the mat and Matos exploded in anger, reacting to the referee's call by clocking him with a well-aimed kick to the head.

The discipline of the taekwondo mat descended into chaos as both Matos and coach stormed out, with the head of the World Taekwondo Federation in hot pursuit.

The sport's governing body reacted swiftly and strongly. Both were banned for life from the sport for what the federation said was behaviour that strongly violated "the spirit of taekwondo and the Olympic Games."

Matos's bouts in Beijing were struck from the Olympic record. Order was restored.

Kevin Fylan adds: This is the fifth in our series of snapshots from the Beijing Games, where Reuters reporters give their thoughts on what it was like to be there at the key moments of the Olympics.

Read Snapshot Beijing, 1: Matt Emmons, by Erik Kirschbaum here.

Read Snapshot Beijing, 2: Matthias Steiner, by Sophie Hardach here.

Read Snapshot Beijing, 3: Usain Bolt, by Paul Majendie here.

Read Snapshot Beijing, 4: The greatest dive in Olympic history, by Emma Graham-Harrison here.

More to follow over the course of the day.

PHOTO: Angel Valodia Matos of Cuba kicks referee Chakir Chelbat of Sweden during his men's +80kg bronze medal taekwondo bout against Arman Chilmanov of Kazakhstan at the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games August 23, 2008. REUTERS/Issei Kato

Al Himmer and Erik Kirschbaum blogged about their experience of crash-dieting during the Olympics, with most of the venues offering only cookies and bananas for reporters putting in 10 or 12 or 14 hours covering a sport.

Inside the Main Press Centre, there is plenty of food to be had. It's not going to win any gourmet awards but the turkey on whole wheat is just fine and it's hard to go wrong with a salad bar.

Sadly, it's the Chinese food that is the real letdown.

Beijing is a city in which any given alley offers everything from noodle soups to savoury pancakes to fresh hot soy milk, and it is difficult to forgive Olympic caterers for reducing a culinary culture so rich and varied to a mushy blandness.

For those of us who live in Beijing, this dietary disaster is only a temporary privation -- in a couple of days the Games will be over and we can once again eat three meals a day from three different regions of China if we so chose.

But it's my colleagues from out of town who I feel sorry for. After several weeks in Beijing, many have had no chance to experience the pleasant surprise of biting into a soup-filled dumpling. They have not slurped the cilantro-spiced broth of a bowl of beef noodles or felt their tongues go numb from Sichuan peppers.

What a pity if they return home thinking chow mein and fried rice are the real deal.

Most elite athletes put themselves through gruelling training regimes -- not to mention the mental toll that the stress of competition must take -- but few are quite so young as the women's gymnasts

The gymnastics federation states that competitors must turn 16 in an Olympic year but even assuming that rule has been steadfastly adhered to it still means they are putting their bodies through intensive training by 10 or 12.

Most of the gymnasts I've spoken to say they're having a great time and just being in the competition and giving their best is what matters.

Nadia Comaneci, who wowed the world with a perfect 10 at the 1976 Games when she was just 14, said that she came through the world of high-stress competition none the worse for wear. But she had five gold medals to her name.

When I saw China's Cheng Fei, who is 20, face reporters with eyes puffy from crying after her gold medal hopes were ruined by split-second mistakes in her performance, I was less sure the gymnasts out there were having the time of their lives.

For every medal winner there is another gymnast crumpled in tears in her coach's arms.

PHOTO: Cheng Fei of China competes in the gymnastics women's beam final at the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games August 19, 2008. REUTERS/Alessandro Bianchi

After years of seeing just a hole in the ground, then a mess of construction cranes, then mysterious activity going on behind barrier walls, yesterday I finally got to enter the Water Cube.

There's no doubt that it's impressive from the outside. The rectangular building is known for its transluscent facade that evokes giant soap bubbles and at night the whole thing glows in hues of blue, a warm beacon on the otherwise grey and beige horizon of Beijing.

Too many buildings impress from the outside but inside could be any other office block or stadium. Not so with the Cube.

Inside, its ceiling extends all the way up to the soap-bubbled roof, allowing in natural light and an environment that avoids any cloying chlorine stuffiness.

What really blew me away though was the facade itself, made of a material called ETFE, a durable plastic that filters light and is a better insulator than glass. The material is such a curiosity that there is a designated place in the stadium where visitors are allowed to touch it.

What does it feel like? A lot like plastic wrap. It's bendy to the touch and feels like you could poke a finger right through it. (I didn't try.)

There are two layers of it and in between you can see some of the steel bands that form the structural supports, but still, it's amazing that a material that seems so flimsy can keep the whole thing together.

I'd been impressed before by the architecture; now the whole building feels like a magic trick.

PHOTO: The National Aquatic Centre, also known as the 'Water Cube', during the opening ceremony of the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games, August 8, 2008. REUTERS/Hans Deryk

The number of daily hassles in the city is mounting as the Games draw nearer. I now have enough passes and ID cards to open a small shop.

They include my main Olympics accreditation, my office ID and swipe card, a new photo ID to enter my apartment
block and I've been carrying my passport since police began enforcing a long-standing Chinese law that foreigners must have them on their person at all times.

Several friends have had house-calls from their neighbourhood police, making sure they are properly registered and in some cases requiring they register again for good measure.

Having never been in my local police station before this year, I am now a regular there, checking in each time I re-enter the country after a trip abroad in accordance with newly enforced rules.      

There are now X-ray machines at subway stations, compounding the morning rush, and police checkpoints at entrances to the city, where cars and their passengers are scrutinised for anything that might threaten Beijing's Olympics-level security.      

The amazing part of all of this is not that it exists -- a certain level of security is to be expected with any huge event, and in a host country that frowns on popular protest, even more zealous checks are no surprise. But to me what is incredible is how little it seems to bother the citizens it most affects.

While I feel my heart begin to speed with irritation at the mere sight of a checkpoint, Beijingers seem to be displaying remarkable forebearance in the face of these disruptions to their daily routine.

"If there are a lot of cars the wait can be long, but it's for Olympics security so everyone is very understanding," one man told me in the queue at a checkpoint just outside the city.

"Even with the heat today, look around, no one is very irritated," he said.

Sure enough, no other drivers I spoke to seemed the least bit vexed, and bus passengers filed out and queued without a fuss to present their identification at the police window.

Perhaps there is a lesson here for the impatient Westerner in their midst. 

Pictures by Jason Lee

The four modernisations, three represents, the eight honours and eight disgraces -- from catchy to obscure, they regularly feature in newspaper headlines and official speeches.

Combine the tendency toward policy-making by slogan with a desire to engineer a change in some of the earthier habits of Beijing residents ahead of the Games, and you get the capital's latest: the 10 Do's and Don'ts.      

A sampling, proclaimed in massive billboards across one of the equally massive construction sites that define practically every city block:      

Do keep in mind traffic safety rules; Don't jump traffic barriers or rush to make red lights.

Do respect Olympic trademarks and safeguard rules; Don't misuse Olympic banners, emblems, logos and songs.  

Do protect Olympic intellectual property rights; Don't buy and sell pirated or fake goods.

Do beautify the city's appearance and protect the environment; Don't spit anywhere and set up stalls on roadsides.  

Do raise consciousness of Olympic laws; Don't break laws and regulations and influence the whole Olympic image.  

With fakes sold on every corner, traffic a zoo, and spitting showing no signs of slowing, it may take some time for the messages to get through.

Pictures by Lindsay Beck