Drunk Swedes? Well now I’ve seen everything!The Winter Olympics are dominated by athletes from cold-weather countries. Barren moonscapes where men are named Sven, the sun disappears for days at a time and Ingmar Bergman is considered a national treasure.These men and women were born of Viking stock. And they know how to drink.So no one should be surprised that the streets in downtown Vancouver look like the toga party in “Animal House.” Unless you’re The New York Times’s Ian Austen, who, twice now in the past four days, has written about the proliferation of shit-faced celebraters in Olympic Village as if he were Columbus discovering the New World.Here’s Austen on Sunday, in a piece about how Vancouver was closing liquor stores early in hopes of sobering up the masses, writing like an anthropologist air-dropped into a frathouse:Most of the revelers were well under 30 and a significant number seem to be very intoxicated. A stroll through downtown near midnight saw several young men urinating in public, numerous people drunk to the point where they needed support from friends to stay standing and two women who said they were not feeling well who certainly looked the part.After re-tamping his pipe, adjusting his monocle and fashioning himself a new quill pen, Austen once again braved the boulevards in today’s story about how the city has found itself in serious Olympics-related debt:And until local spirits were dampened by the Canadian hockey team’s loss to the United States, a large section of downtown was overrun nightly by boisterous, hollering celebrants, an astonishing number of whom were drunk. Astonishing!Look for Austen’s next dispatches when the Times sends him to this summer’s World Cup in South Africa. Where a shocking number of footie devotees seem to have confused themselves with bullfighters. Ole-Ole-Ole-Ole? How amusing!