I must confess I became an addict at the Athens Olympics - but not to drugs, alcohol or gambling.

No, I fell to the ‘Olympic sickness', better known as pin trading.

Truth is I am shocked at just how addicted I became, especially when I remember the near disdain with which I looked at those engaging in pin trading at previous major meets.

In the past, my pin-trading experience was limited to the friendly exchange of a handful of pins with friends and colleagues, mostly from other Caribbean islands, when we gathered at such events.

Whenever I had exhausted my small supply, that was it, and I usually had no more than a dozen, if so many, on the string holding my accreditation around my neck. On this occasion all my friends were teasing me, asking how my neck is holding up the weight of so many pins. At last count I had 60. Or is it 61?

However, I am going to blame my sudden obsession on the Bermuda Olympic Association (BOA). It was their fault really.

You see, from day one, I was besieged with requests for Bermuda's Olympic pin which was rated one of the best of these Games and was highly prized by pin experts. Unlike the flashy, colourful buttons opted for by the majority of countries and companies, Bermuda's 2004 emblem sported a stately, pewter-like finish and paid homage to the Olympics origins.

It featured a discus thrower atop the Olympic rings and was bordered by an olive wreath; the symbol of supremacy for champions in ancient Greece. Initially, I received three or four pins from the BOA's Secretary General Judy Simons, promptly put one on my accreditation and gave away the rest.

Then all hell broke loose as dozens of other people kept beseeching me for Bermuda pins. So I sought more from the team's chef de mission, Philip Guishard who sent me about 30 pins. Now, I was in business.

Like all addicts, at first I wasn't that bad. Someone would ask for a pin and I would give it to them or we would exchange. Two things happened though. First, I started seeing pins I liked and wanted and I became - thanks to the advice of wise traders - aware that Bermuda's pin was worth more than one pin and that I should be bargaining for more.

Wow, this was intriguing!

Suddenly, I was receiving three and four pins for one Bermuda pin. Sometimes I would accept a pin that I didn't necessarily want knowing it could get me something else I desired from another trader. For example, a Sports Illustrated swimming pin from Sydney 2000 netted me the 2004 Olympic rings pin.

The walkway between the Main Press Centre (MPC) and the International Broadcast Centre (IBC) was the pin-traders' haven for the Olympics with people from the USA, Russia, Canada and elsewhere plying their ware. At least once daily, going to or from some assignment, I would stop by and “do some business”. It was unbelievable fun, particularly watching the pros at work.

Bill, an American who is a seasoned trader with thousands of pins, was making a deal with a broadcaster one afternoon when another man interrupted. Annoyed, Bill snapped: “Excuse me, I'm trying to do a deal with this guy, please.” That was scary.

Some traders approached me with an almost frightening zeal that made me wonder if Donald Trump was lurking in the background ready to shout “You're fired!” if they didn't negotiate the most shrewd deal.

I don't feel too bad about my addiction because for some strange reason - perhaps because the Games were in Greece, the Olympics' ancestral home - more and more people seemed captivated by pin trading in a truly fanatical way.

Take for instance, the odd, little Frenchman who pestered me about pins each time he saw me in the MPC; the first time alarming me by grabbing at my chest to survey my collection.

Then there were the volunteers, security personnel and cleaners who would ask, in a manner that suggested you dare not say no: “Do you have a pin for me?”

On the night of the men's 100 metres final, I was typing away fiercely in the media room underneath the stadium - determined to finish my work before the big race - when a male journalist walked up and asked “are you on a deadline?”. I said yes, puzzled at what he wanted, only for him to reply: “Okay, I will come back. I wanted to see your pins.”

I looked across at my friend Sherrylyn Clarke from Barbados. We barely stopped ourselves from rolling out of our seats with laughter. Little could we guess it would get worse.

After the men's 100 final, Sherrylyn was interviewing Barbadian sprinter Obadele Thompson who placed seventh and I was listening in. Up rushed a volunteer - one who was supposed to be keeping order in the unruly Mixed Zone - and, in the middle of the interview, shouted: “Do you have any pins?”

All three of us were flabbergasted. Clearly the pin craze had reached epidemic proportions and there was vaccine in sight.

It became so bad that the Press Office for Brazil's National Olympic Committee put up a sign reading ‘No pins, sorry'.

Though I did not see it, there were reports that NBC topped the pin-trading community with one featuring a bobble head of star anchor Katie Couric. Lord, it was pin trading gone wild!

On the day before the Games closed, I took my final stroll through the pin-trading hub and some of the experts analysed my gleaming treasures which include pins from Iran, Ireland, Guatemala, Ethiopia and the Caribbean. They estimated that, with the Games coming to an end, I could get hundreds of dollars and possibly more, as time goes by, on E-bay for my pins. I was stunned.

Not a bad addiction, wouldn't you agree?