Dear Olympics...
Before I start this, I have a confession to make: I am an Olympics fan.
Not a newly converted fan, neither. My love affair with the Olympics began in 2004. My dad had just had a double hernia operation, so was basically recuperating in a chair in the living room for most of the summer. I was 15 or so, on my summer holidays, no job, so I used to go and keep him company. And, so we watched a lot of the Olympics.
And that’s when I discovered that, to quote John Finnemore; “watching humans do difficult things astoundingly well is quite good fun after all”.
(By the way, check out his Now Show Live bit on falling in love with the Olympics. Because it is true.)
Click to viewI love that there is two weeks every four years where I passionately care about sport. Of suddenly caring about the taekwondo or the fencing or the men’s double trap for a day, and within half an hour becoming an expert on that sport. Of shouting at the TV. Of wanting people I’ve never heard of to do well because they come from the same country as me, or because they are giving it their best and trying hard.
So, unlike a lot of people, I was looking forward to the Olympics. I was one of the few who didn’t think the British presentation at Beijing was utterly awful, I thought it was quirky and individual and humorous and very British; an indicative counterpoint to the well regimented conformity of the admittedly spectacular Chinese ceremonies. And so I was even looking forward to the Opening Ceremony.
So is this the point that I turn to all of you ex-doubters, you newly converted Olympics fans and say “I told you so!”
No. Because this Olympics surpassed all of my wildest dreams. I am, after all, still British. I was looking forward to the sport. I was not expecting the atmosphere to be electric everywhere. I was looking forward to catching the highlights after work. I was not expecting to be spending the day with live streams as I was working because I couldn’t bear to miss it. I was looking forward to watching Team GB to quite well in boats and on the cycling track. I was not expecting the storm of sporting excellence tat came. I was looking forward to a mildly amusing, somewhat entertaining Opening Ceremony. I was not expecting a wry and spectacular celebration of everything that makes me proud to be British. And I certainly wasn’t expecting the organisation and transport to go smoothly. I am British, after all.
Put quite simply, London 2012 blew me away.
Everything exceeded expectations. And now I sit here, two days after the games have finished, at something of a loss with what to do with myself. I have read retrospective after retrospective. Visited http://mofarahrunningawayfromthings.tumblr.com/ far too many times. Watched highlights shows, montages, interviews. Wondering how to fill the Olympics shaped hole in my life. In fact, so loath am I to let go of these amazing two weeks, that after I finish this post, I shall watch Bert and Dickie, a drama starring Matt Smith about rowers in the ’48 Olympics.
I didn’t even go and see any of the events live, and whilst I regret not getting tickets a little, I’m not sure it could have made me love the experience more.
And I am gutted, gutted that I am on a training course for the week that makes up the meat of the Paralympics, so not only is it unlikely I’ll be able to go and see any, but I won’t even get to have a surreptitious watch during the day.
There was a reason for this post before I started my love letter. It was quite a simple reason, and slightly at odds with my effusive praise of a moment ago. Or perhaps not. I am, after all, British. And so, throughout these games that I have loved, I have kept a record of all of the most ridiculous, nonsensical and downright bizarre things that I have heard commentators (and occasionally interviewed athletes say). I have missed many. There is a limit to how many sports I can watch simultaneously (two if I can give it my full attention, one if I am also supposed to be working). If you noticed any not here, let me know in the comments.
So, a celebration of the great things one can do with the English Language:
Of the women’s rowing double sculls champions: "They turned the water into a golden pond"
That sounds... unfortunate.
Of women’s triathlon ending "I was jumping up and down here in my seat"
Of the tennis, from the live text feed: "Serena Williams’ racquet is on fire".
Of an archer "You can really see the strength in his top shoulders”
Anyone know where the bottom shoulders are located?
Of a Judo player “[their] foot is spitting poison”
From the pool: “these two Bath swimmers”
From the Men’s Finn Medal race: "he's just hit the Kiwi"
I didn’t realise fruit featured so heavily in the waters of Weymouth.
From the Men’s Sprint, Cycling: “No flinching as Awang comes right down on top of him"
Because I am in no way immature I did not find this amusing at all. Nor was I amused every time a commentator said “This is Awang” or “Here comes Awang”
Of a team in the K2 1000m (two people in a canoe) “working in unison together”
Of a dressage horse: "he really is on a trampoline"
Why a bad dive can be painful: “when the water hits you in the back of the head, it does not tickle”
Describing Taekwondo: “it’s like ballroom dancing with menaces”
And interview with a dressage rider after winning gold: “its amazing hearing 25,000 people erupt”
(See, totally mature)
And finally, from Thursday night: “The pre-penultimate evening of athletics”
Or should that have been post-penultimately?