And so, just
like that my friends, the Games of the Thirtieth Olympiad are over,
but before the high of the Olympic drug wears out and they completely
disappear from the public consciousness, I think it's time to take a
very brief moment to reflect on what the games has meant for everyone
in the country, as well as what it will mean for the future of both
British sport and the country as a whole.
Well, I
think the first thing to say is that, after four years of grief,
stick and criticism from naysayers (including me) who saw the
laughable handover ceremony in Bejing and guffawed at its sheer
crapness, that the Olympics delivered on a scale I don't think any of
us quite expected. I admit, I was among them, cringing at Boris on
the London Bus inexplicably driving on the ice rink. I snickered at
the notion that David Beckham kicking a football into the baffled
crowd was the best that Britain could offer and resigned myself to
the idea that London 2012 would be delightfully camp, a crap, kitsch
but hopefully charming in its inadequacy, the bric-a-brac stand to
Bejing's looming hypermart.
What's that?
Ah yes, I'll take an extra slice of humble pie with my large order of
dead wrong, thanks!
And make
that order for every single one of the other cynics who, like me saw
their cynicism wiped out about a minute into the opening ceremony,
which was a superb entry into the crazy yet irrevocably charming
world of Great Britain, and a reminder to the people watching across
the nation that that world does exist, despite our cynicism. It was
wonderful, about people rather than politics and alive in a way that
neither the technically perfect Bejing games nor the corrupt world we
found ourselves surrounded in seemed to be, summed up of course by
the NHS routine, a beautiful sentiment that hopefully political
leaders will soon realise: We care about the NHS, touch it and watch
your career die. Everything in the ceremony symbolised the unity and
imagination and sense of humour we have, our best qualities shown in
the best possible light, which was the start of a change in our
attitude.
This kind of
optimism spread from the great ceremony into the games itself, where
I, happy if we got maybe a couple of medals, seemed to just excel and
get better and more gilded with each passing day. After a slow start,
the medals started to pour in, and people who started off cynical
began to scream at the television, scream in the stands with that
patriotic fervour we typically cannot associate with ourselves, and
suddenly the country of despair had something to scream our heart out
at. This of course lead to the crowning moment, the ultimate metaphor
of the Olympics, as within an hour of each other, long jumper Greg
Rutherford, the stupendously talented and beautiful Jessica Ennis
and the magnificent Mo Farah became probably the most fitting of
Olympic heroes; a triumph that shattered the class divide, racial
lines (Jess is mixed race and Mo a Somali refugee) gender lines
(every single country had a female athlete and there was about an
equal amount of male and female GB medal winners) and showing a
kingdom United, helped by the masses of support for Scot Andy Murray
and Welshman Geriant Thomas as they furthered Great Britain's gold
rush. In the e nd, Team GB, a nation united, scored 29 gold medals,
the biggest medal haul since 1908, the first London games where most
of the sports were only actually played by British athletes and games
like Tiddlywinks, Making Sock Puppets and Whip the Butler were
Olympic events, putting us third only to the usual suspects of China
and the US, an amazing achievement by itself, brought about by the
country's will, determination and uncharacteristic optimism once the
games began, an optimism that became epidemic by the end judging by
the medal total.
But it
wasn't just the winners that were celebrated, which was one of the
most wonderful things about these games and why London fit as an
Olympic city. The Turkish women runner coming dead last got as
massive an ovation as the winner of the heat. The one female Saudi
Arabian athlete, who ran the 800m in a hijab got an ovation usually
reserved for the winner of the finals, but the message a it sent was
far reaching and truly positive. The games were for everyone, and
everyone who made it deserved and got our admiration and respect.
Before this
turns into a gushing update... it's already there isn't it. I'm
sorry, this is simply a success all around and really the only thing
that can hopefully come of this is that everyone in the echelons of
politics realise the value of sport and fund it and support it. But
more than that is the attitude the games has extolled in us. The
games have shone a flattering mirror on us, but it is our time to
keep this in our minds as we return to reality, and realise that in
the end, life isn't all that bad so long as you fight for what you
believe in.
No comments:
Post a Comment